G'ma

My grandma is dying. I am so sad...it's not a sense of, oh, she's almost 93, of course she is going to die. It's a poor circulation/infection that is slowly draining the life out of her. Right now she is in a lot of pain, but she is still functioning "normally" and going on her daily business. But it's happening - faster than I want it to. I haven't talked about this very much..ok, actually the family and I have discussed it thoroughly because G'ma has some big decisions to make in the next several days. She can either let them take her leg (her other one was taken above the knee 5 years ago), or she can get sicker and sicker until it finally takes her. But I haven't really grasped what this will mean. I think I have been in denial because she still seems like G'ma. For me, it means losing the person who used to pretend to make my sister and I into sandwiches. The woman who opened up her glorious shoe closet and square dancing dress collection for sister and I to play hours upon hours of dress up. When I baked with her as a child, standing on my tiny step stool, she'd ask me to pour in the sugar and I'd say, "all of it?" and she'd answer "allofit!" She meticulously crafted a miniature dollhouse and hat shop with my Grandpa, two gifts that will be bestowed upon my niece. It almost feels like I'm also losing the last link to my beloved Grandpa. Isn't that weird? Every time I see a geranium, I will think of her...first when I was younger and watching her tend to her garden...later as a woman and how I finally had to begin planting them for her in the brick garden off of her front porch. The one that I used to jump over instead of taking the steps. And the tire swing...how many afternoons did I spend twirling and flying hanging from that big old tree? Those sweltering Kansas summer days, when I'd stop by and she'd say, "Go get a Coke from the garage", and she'd get out the Yahtzee or Tri-ominos for a cutthroat game at the kitchen table.

I can't imagine the thoughts going through her mind. Is she tired of being without Grandpa and ready to go plant flowers with him again? Is she just feeling the strain of her 92 years and ready to take a final rest? There are times when I believe this to be true. Then, there are times, when we're sitting at Sunday dinner and she's making some sassy remark and trying to get my Jack Jack to quit throwing food that I wonder if she really is ready. Maybe she's just relishing what could be her last few moments here. Time is truly precious and I know that I take it for granted more than I should. I know that whatever my G'ma might decide to do, I will understand and know that through this whole ordeal, she has been so brave and so strong - much more than I could ever be.