November 5/12

I got home after 5:30 today, which is about usual, but tonight it hit me that on a night very much like this one--chilly and dark--11 years ago today, having just said goodbye forever to my beloved Gramma.

Gramma had suffered a stroke on October 6th.  She lived in Fort Smith, a tiny town on the NWT/Alberta border, and her condition meant she had to be medivaced to Edmonton, where I lived at the time.  From the moment she arrived, I spent nearly every free hour I could at the hospital, watching a steady procession of my relatives come and go, all arriving from points far away to see her.

The strokes (TIA strokes), plus her diabetes, her advanced age, and a slow recovery from a mastectomy earlier in the summer all took their toll, and her body began to shut down.  Knowing she was dying, all she wanted was to go home to Fort Smith.  On that last day, November 5th, she was drifting in and out of consciousness more, and it was harder to get her to respond.  Most of the family, understanding that she was dying soon, had left, heading to Fort Smith for the inevitable funeral.  Left behind were me, my parents, and an aunt who lived outside of the city.

Gramma was scheduled to be flown back to Fort Smith that day, but the medical professionals were playing games; the mediplane staff didn't want to take her in her condition because she might die on the journey, and the hospital was reluctant to sign off on her release, given her condition.

My dad and I argued as calmly as we could--we knew she was dying, and she knew it too.  She just wanted to go home.  If she died on the journey, or had an event, so be it, as she had signed a "Do Not Resuscitate" order, which we all respected.  We'd sign whatever they wanted us to, releasing them from liability, it didn't matter.  All that mattered was getting her home.  Finally, everyone agreed.  She was going home.

We all had to say our goodbyes.

Even if we had left right away, Fort Smith was nearly a day's drive from Edmonton, and we wouldn't make it in time.  So there, in a dark, dreary room shared with another patient at the University of Alberta Hospital, around 5 pm, I tried my very best not to cry as I leaned over to hug her and kiss her for the last time.  Then they wrapped her up, buckled her in, and wheeled her out of the room.  To me, she was gone.  And I just let loose.  Pent up tears--a month's worth of bring brave and responsible for her--came flooding out.

In the very early morning hours of November 6th, we got the call; she died peacefully in the hospital in Fort Smith.  Her home.

I weep tonight just as I did 11 years ago.

Gramma...

...Wish you were here.