TIFU by kissing my dead grandma on the forehead.
I (41F) was fortunate enough to spend the majority of the last two weeks with my dying grandma (89F) who has been in the late stages of dementia. My mom (71F) had brought her to the family house as she was growing concerned about Grandma's care at the nursing home. Mom is a bit of a holistic sort of lady and was hoping a diet of good food and a lot of beet/carrot/green juice might perk Grandma up. (I hate that Grandma's last foods were carrot/beet/spinach juice - I'd probably refuse to drink that too)
My sister (43, former paramedic) had kept a very close eye on her and spent the week helping feed, change, and keep Grandma as comfortable as possible. Her body was very frail and only around 90 pounds at the end. She especially became concerned last Saturday as Grandma was having increased difficulty swallowing and had been refusing food/juice/water. (Aspiration is a very real concern as is pneumonia from asperating) After an ER visit and hospital stay, lab work, CT scans, and swallowing tests the doctors recommended hospice care.
Our family was lucky enough to have my grandma comfortably set up in the great room of my mom's home. We had five generations of women with her at the end. Her daughter (my mom), 4 granddaughters (myself included), 3 great-granddaughters, and 1 great-great-great granddaughter. How cool is that?!
What folks don't tell you is a death watch is pretty fucked-up. You sit there counting respirations, checking blood oxygen levels and just waiting. My grandma's last words were on Thursday when she was cursing out my step-sibling that had gotten up in her face shouting "I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!" - but that is another story for another time. (she left shortly after) By Friday afternoon Grandma had been completely unconscious for over 24 hours. Her respirations were slowing, blood oxygen levels were below 80. My grandpa (83M) had come to say his last goodbyes and shit was getting real.
By the early evening, she was breathing was quick and shallow as her oxygen levels continued to fall and her pulse increased as her body tried to compensate. We held her hand and waited for the inevitable.
It hits nighttime and we are all sharing our favorite stories about Grandma. (My oldest sister had the best stories! It was so cool to hear more about my Grandma's early life) She was a feisty piece of work: a Roller-Derby-playing, pot-smoking/growing, would-hide-a-body-for-you, Puerto Rican beauty. Heck, I remember quite vividly how she used a machete as a tool of all trades in the garden and told me she used it for therapy when she was whacking out roots... she would imagine people who had pissed her off or hurt the people she loved and just go all in.
Anyway, at 9:17 pm she takes her last breath. It was pretty dramatic, to be honest. Not some soft last exhale - but this drawn-in craziness with a gurgling exhale. It was something you'd see in a movie. Had the rest not happened I would call it borderline traumatic. Of course, people are crying and understandably upset. My RN sister checks all of her vitals and confirms - she's gone.
At this point, I wasn't crying. It was kind of strange to just watch this happen. It didn't feel real. After a minute my RN sister is calling hospice to let them know she has passed and I decided that I should go ahead and say my final goodbyes to Grandma. I lean down and gently stroke her hair, then tenderly give her a sweet last kiss on her forehead and whisper "I love you, Grandma." This was it. She was gone. No more suffering. She was at peace.
Suddenly she breathes in with a breath you hear from folks who just had undergone CPR after drowning. Or maybe the sound of someone who had inhaled too much pot, had been coughing, and then was catching their breath? I don't know... but it was loud, it was quick, and it scared the shit out of me.
