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A Quiet End

My grandmother passed this afternoon.  She’d been suffering with the aspiration for over a week, so it was a blessing.  My uncle was with her at the end.  She would have been 90 on Monday.

Hubs and I came up immediately, and we’ve already got the death story memorized as often as we’ve heard it repeated to the steady stream of visitors and callers.  And all I can say, is thank God for the death food.  Mom didn’t have anything worth eating in the house (not that that’s a change from the norm–I did not inherit my foodie tendencies).

In typical me fashion, in half an hour I managed to pack for three days, remember all of my and my hubs’ funeral attire, get the tea stuff, a full regiment of gluten free foods (see above about nothing to eat in the house, though with said parade of yummy bereavement food, he’s not really interested in his food), and think to pack the big ass bottle of ibuprofen and a giant bottle of water to try and prevent the crying hangover.  Call me Miss Prepared.

I’m doing okay.  My process is to hold it together, do all the organizing and such and wait until it’s all over, when everyone is gone, and I’m alone and quiet to fall apart.  So that’ll be in a few days, after the funeral.  And you know, it’s okay.  It’s sad, but it’s not tragic.  She lived a long, full life and in the end she was suffering, so we were all glad to see that part be over.

So anyway, for the next few days I’m up at Mom’s.  And when I get home, I will finally be able to get back into something resembling routine.  The other shoe has dropped, and in a bit, life can go on.

I want to thank everyone for their kind thoughts and condolences.  When I logged on to Twitter three hours after I made my announcement, it was to find no fewer than a HUNDRED replies.  How awesome are all of y’all for that?  I love my peeps.

I’m off to make sure everybody eats something.

17 thoughts on “A Quiet End

  1. Hey, Kait, I don’t really know you yet, but I’ve enjoyed following your blog these past few weeks, and by reading it I feel like I’ve gotten to know you a little bit. I’m sorry to hear about your grandma. Even though you were expecting it, it still must be hard.

  2. Hi Kait, my deepest sympathies and condolences to you and your family. Loosing a loved one is never easy, no matter how much you can ‘prepare’ yourselves for it. As we say in Holland – Sterkte (it means strength)

  3. My heart goes out to you. Been through that three times on account of a blended family, and each time it seemed I was the one caring for them at the end. When my grandmother in law passed, I was taking care of her during the say. When I repeated all the stories shed been telling me, it was to find I was the only person in the whole family to hear them. I was honored and grateful, and her eulogy was one of the best things I’ve ever written. Point is all of us are mysteries to each other. Sometimes we lose sight of that and think we know all that is to be expected of someone. When theyre gone, we realize how much was left for them to do or say. Loss is what teaches us to never forget how important it is to do and say and write everything that we can.

    Again, my condolences, Kait. I hope those who speak for her say what should be said.

  4. My condolences for your families loss Kait, take care and when it comes time to “fall apart” just let the tears fall and cleanse your sorrow as you did all you could and your grandmother is now no longer in pain or suffering…

  5. I’m sorry for your loss, Kait. I wish you peaceful moments to process and adjust to the new “normal” of your life. My condolences to you and your family.

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