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Grandma was settled into her bed a St. Peter's without undue fuss. As far as all of us were concerned, anything was better than the hospital. Mom was seriously considering selling the house and doing something significant with her life now that Grandma was taken care of. Mom had realized how inhibited she had been with Grandma living with her. Now was truly free to be herself. She could stay up late and not call home. She could wear sleazy sequined dresses and go-go boots. I was happy that she felt like she could do all those things and more, as long as she wasn't going to do it near me.
I visited Grandma about three times a week. Mostly, she was in good spirits. Sometimes she was not. I had to spend a great deal of time analyzing her complaints to determine if she was just whining or if there was something which really was a problem that the nursing staff needed to know about. She cheered up whenever we would hand her a National Inquirer. My respect for that publication grew significantly.
The lady she shared a room with was only 74 and looked twice as bad as Grandma. She didn't seem to be aware of her surroundings but she talked. Whenever we would yell a question is Grandma's good ear, the lady in the next bed would answer. "Did you like the flowers," Mom would ask. 'Yes,' the lady would whisper, followed by an eerie gurgling noise. Grandma, of course, could not hear her roommate's monologues, so maybe it was for the best.
And WONKITY, reality hit us on the head with a big mallet.
Just a few days after Christmas Grandma became deathly ill. Her lungs were filled up with fluid and she was transported to the hospital. Mom and I took turns staying with her. One horrible night I had to lie awake in the hospital room and listen to the machine next to her go PING 1370 times. I hear that sound in my sleep to this day.
Grandma got weaker. Grandma got better. Grandma got weaker. Mom and I were getting fuzzy around the edges. I had a sneaking suspicion that Grandma had hidden reserves of strength and that she would still outlast us all.
Grandma wanted to be cremated so Mom and I started making the arrangements. I read The American Way of Death by Jessica Mitford over 10 years ago and I thought things would have changed. Boy, was I wrong. Here is an amalgamation of conversations with 2 different crematoriums:
Me: I'd like to have my Grandmother cremated.
Crematorium Salesman: (Solemn, yet cheerful) Well, we have the Phoenix Plan for $$$$$, which includes a Service...
Me: Excuse me, I want something very simple.
CS: (Pause) We have the Viking Pyre Plan for $$$$, which includes a Bier that is a Faithful Reproduction of a...
Me: No, maybe I'm not making myself clear here. I want you to pick up the body. I want you to toast the poor woman to ashes. I'll pick up the leftovers.
CS: (Shocked, then indignant) I'm Sorry, it's Much More Complicated than That. You have to have a Container for the Deceased to be Cremated in, and that in itself costs $$$.
Me: OK, you have to have a box for the body. What do I get for $$$.
CS: (Getting irritated) The Crematory Casket is Silk Lined with Lovely Brass Fixtures...
Me: But I don't need that, and I'm pretty sure Grandma won't care. Why can't you just toss her in the fire?
CS: (Getting angry) Really! We have Guidelines and Restrictions which Require us to Enclose the Deceased in a Suitable Container...
Me: Are you intimating that there is a state or federal law which specifies what the body has to be cremated in?
CS: (Long pause) No.
Me: So what is the cheapest thing I can get?
CS: (Abashed) We have a pine box for $$.
Me: Fine, that will do. Now what do you put the ashes in?
CS: (Evasive) An Exquisite Urn of the Afterlife will hold the Cremains of the Deceased. It has Detailed Depictions of Cherubs and...
Me: How much?
CS: (Irritated again) That is $$.
Me: And what is it made of?
CS: (Resigned) plastic.
Me: You have to be kidding! $$ for a plastic urn?
CS: (Angry) We have to have Something to put the Remains in!
Me: OK, I'll give you something to put the ashes in. How big does the container need to be?
CS: (Shocked again) I really have No Way of Telling That!
Me: Aw, comeon, you must know how big the urns are. What do I need to bring? Something bigger than a breadbox? A suitcase, maybe? Or smaller, like a shoebox?
CS: (Nearly postal) i suppose a shoebox would do it!
Me: Good. I have a box my Reeboks came in right here. Now, about payment plans...
CS: !!!
The third crematorium we called was a small Mom & Pop funeral home which showed a great deal of common sense. They had a no-nonsense no-frills cremation plan. They pick up the body, put it in a cardboard box, drop it in a large toaster oven set to broil, and put the ashes in a plastic urn. All for one low price. No options, nothing to sell you on, take it or leave it. We took it. I paid half.
One other amazing thing I found out was that when someone dies at the hospital, the hospital does nothing else for you. The body gets transported to the funeral home, then you have to go to the funeral home, identify the body, and then get a doctor to go to the funeral home and fill out a death certificate. I had thought that all that would be done at the hospital.
With Grandma wavering so close to death, Mom and I spent a great deal of time examining out relationship with Grandma and each other. There had been so much bad blood between us all. Mom loved Grandma because Grandma rescued her from an orphanage. Mom hated Grandma because she has almost always been a terribly negative control freak. I loved my mother because, well, she was my mom. I hated Mom because there were so many bad traits that I felt she had leaned from Grandma. As a family, we had all been shattered and glued back together a number of times. If Grandma died would we cease being a family? Suddenly, having a dwindling, somewhat dysfunctional family was more important than not having a family at all.
So I resolved to myself to just keep trying to support Mom and do my best to cheer Grandma up in her last hours and just not project what the future will be and take care of myself and laugh and love and live right now. I knew we would all follow Grandma one day and we just didn't have the time to enjoy life and regret it simultaneously. This is why we are mortal.
Mom and I continued to sit by Grandma's bed with grim expressions on our faces. The nurses would come by and do their best to console us and say a kind word. We all worked on putting the bad memories behind us and seeked a higher ground. Surely out of this sad and surreal occasion we could find a grain of understanding and acceptance? We looked very hard. >>>
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