726. rest in peace, grandma.
A year ago today, my grandmother passed away from a ruptured cerebral aneurysm.
It's strange, the things you remember when things like this happen. I remember I was at Dairy Queen when my dad called, and said Grandma'd had a stroke. Becky, Josh, and I were having dinner in the corner booth of the restaurant. An hour later, Dad called back to tell me she wouldn't live through the night, and that she was on life support until the family arrived.
I left DQ then, called my brother Andy, and I cried in my car on the way to the hospital. I remember feeling very awkward in the hospital room, because my dad's family isn't in tune with their emotions, and here I was feeling like I was going to cry, and everyone else was all stiff-upper-lip.
My mom and Adam showed up, and so did Andy and Rachel (Becky's sister and Andy's girlfriend at the time). We waited for a long while for Doug, Dad's brother, to arrive. By a stroke of luck he was already on his way into town for a visit (he lives in Pennsylvania). While we waited, Mom and I visited with my aunt Lori, who was working that night, and she showed us scans of Grandma's brain and told us that the rupture was a terrible one, that it had pushed the hemispheres of her brain to the wrong places.
Finally, when everyone was there, we said our goodbyes and the nurse unhooked life support.
Watching Grandma die was awful. She couldn't breathe well and it was like she was slowly suffocating. After a short while, Mom asked the nurse if they would give Grandma some morphine to make it faster and less painful, like the doctors had with Moma when she died. They did, and it was still awful, but it seemed like the morphine did its job.
The next few days were kind of a blur. I remember feeling awkward at the viewing, and not crying. Then the day of the funeral, I remember that it rained, and I had to take Emmy to Walmart before meeting the rest of the family at the funeral home so we could buy some appropriate clothing. I remember spending the whole of her funeral angry because the man who officiated it turned it into a sermon. Grandma didn't believe in God.
A year later, I still don't think I've properly grieved for Grandma. I've visited her grave only once since the burial, and the only times I've cried were in the car on the way to the hospital and last night briefly, when I realized it had been a year.
I'm sorry, Grandma. I love you, and I miss you.
Rest in peace.
Judith Ellen Thomas O'Neal
January 16, 1941 - March 06, 2010
It's strange, the things you remember when things like this happen. I remember I was at Dairy Queen when my dad called, and said Grandma'd had a stroke. Becky, Josh, and I were having dinner in the corner booth of the restaurant. An hour later, Dad called back to tell me she wouldn't live through the night, and that she was on life support until the family arrived.
I left DQ then, called my brother Andy, and I cried in my car on the way to the hospital. I remember feeling very awkward in the hospital room, because my dad's family isn't in tune with their emotions, and here I was feeling like I was going to cry, and everyone else was all stiff-upper-lip.
My mom and Adam showed up, and so did Andy and Rachel (Becky's sister and Andy's girlfriend at the time). We waited for a long while for Doug, Dad's brother, to arrive. By a stroke of luck he was already on his way into town for a visit (he lives in Pennsylvania). While we waited, Mom and I visited with my aunt Lori, who was working that night, and she showed us scans of Grandma's brain and told us that the rupture was a terrible one, that it had pushed the hemispheres of her brain to the wrong places.
Finally, when everyone was there, we said our goodbyes and the nurse unhooked life support.
Watching Grandma die was awful. She couldn't breathe well and it was like she was slowly suffocating. After a short while, Mom asked the nurse if they would give Grandma some morphine to make it faster and less painful, like the doctors had with Moma when she died. They did, and it was still awful, but it seemed like the morphine did its job.
The next few days were kind of a blur. I remember feeling awkward at the viewing, and not crying. Then the day of the funeral, I remember that it rained, and I had to take Emmy to Walmart before meeting the rest of the family at the funeral home so we could buy some appropriate clothing. I remember spending the whole of her funeral angry because the man who officiated it turned it into a sermon. Grandma didn't believe in God.
A year later, I still don't think I've properly grieved for Grandma. I've visited her grave only once since the burial, and the only times I've cried were in the car on the way to the hospital and last night briefly, when I realized it had been a year.
I'm sorry, Grandma. I love you, and I miss you.
Rest in peace.
Judith Ellen Thomas O'Neal
January 16, 1941 - March 06, 2010