Say what I will, she knew a good exit when she saw one.
Grandmom's dead, as of 11:30 this morning. It spun our Christmas plans a little screwy, you can say that much.
I had forgotten that my grandmother's body was still going to be in the room, and it was a rude shock when I strode in. I left to stomp around the building and cry. Eventually my mom came out to get me, and we walked a little bit.
I always seem to dwell on the individual parts of the body, when I see a corpse. My grandmother's eyes looked like a sleeping cats; her mouth, hanging eternally open, reminded me of a taxidermized stoat in the Natural Science Museum. Her hands were like chicken feet. The only thing I couldn't resolve was her legs. They were just thin sticks with knobby footends, under the blanket.
My mom said that at the end, when Grandmom was breathing intermittently, she would seem to hold her breath. She would look disgusted when she took another one. She had decided that she was done with this shit, and she saw it through. I'm glad my mom was there for her, as she had been for a long time.
I rarely mention it, but it's worth saying: my grandmother was a doctor of microbiology and an Episcopalian priest. She was really funny, and she shared the family tendency to make light of any difficulty that came our way. She was a good egg, in a lot of ways, and I'm glad she did it like she did, on her own damn terms.
I'm leaving comments enabled, because I know it's good to say something, and it's probably good for me to hear from people; I may not respond, though.
To cleanse your palate, you should check out my Yuletide story, which is sweet, funny, and just what I hoped for: Understudy, Psych, Gus/Shawn, G.
I had forgotten that my grandmother's body was still going to be in the room, and it was a rude shock when I strode in. I left to stomp around the building and cry. Eventually my mom came out to get me, and we walked a little bit.
I always seem to dwell on the individual parts of the body, when I see a corpse. My grandmother's eyes looked like a sleeping cats; her mouth, hanging eternally open, reminded me of a taxidermized stoat in the Natural Science Museum. Her hands were like chicken feet. The only thing I couldn't resolve was her legs. They were just thin sticks with knobby footends, under the blanket.
My mom said that at the end, when Grandmom was breathing intermittently, she would seem to hold her breath. She would look disgusted when she took another one. She had decided that she was done with this shit, and she saw it through. I'm glad my mom was there for her, as she had been for a long time.
I rarely mention it, but it's worth saying: my grandmother was a doctor of microbiology and an Episcopalian priest. She was really funny, and she shared the family tendency to make light of any difficulty that came our way. She was a good egg, in a lot of ways, and I'm glad she did it like she did, on her own damn terms.
I'm leaving comments enabled, because I know it's good to say something, and it's probably good for me to hear from people; I may not respond, though.
To cleanse your palate, you should check out my Yuletide story, which is sweet, funny, and just what I hoped for: Understudy, Psych, Gus/Shawn, G.