I Cannot

I am trying to write an article, or rather, I have three different freelance articles to write. But I cannot write them because Ana is dead.

Ana was an amazing Burner, a wonderful woman. We met via the Burner Community, and I wouldn't call her a close friend, but she was an awesome person. And now she is not here.

They say the driver was on drugs. She was hit biking to work yesterday by a giant truck. We talked about biking, and how she was scared to bike but loved it. I agreed. I told her about my pretty safe commute (in bike lanes and parks) and she said she got scare biking sometimes. 

I can't believe she is gone. The article doesn't mention she was full of life, energy, and love; that she was a single mother; that she contributed at Burning Man; that she was so much. How is she gone? How? How?

I can't believe this loss. I am stunned. 

Will go tomorrow to the wake, but there have been too many losses this year. 

Grandma Blur

The past two months have been a blur. I have been better at keeping my head above water, and the grief is no longer as painful as it was.

after running the grandma 50k. grandma is wearing her beloved cahsmere sweater with a silk blouse underneath.

When my grandma was ill, I felt sick with worry. I called and texted my mom, who was with her in the hospital. No one realized it was as serious as it was; I think the one the most stunned was my father. He last saw her a month and a half before she died; he had dropped her off at the grocery store and she walked around and did her shopping by herself. Fast forward to the day she died - Dad arrived 20 minutes before she died, straight from the airport. She looked so terrible (She fell apart a lot in the last few weeks, and from Friday afternoon to Sunday morning was such a massive difference that I cried when I first saw her.) that my dad must have been in shock. I still don't know if he has processed it. 

Then grandma passed away. I spent my time crying. I rode the bike for hours. I listened to the same song on repeat for even more hours. I cried. I refused help from my friends, only finding solace with family. Poor Wayne had to deal with my mess. Nothing felt right. Nothing made sense. I hated everything. I felt horrendous.

I went back to work, and while my job is fairly good with giving us a week bereavement for a grandparent, I thought, "We should get a month." I was that much of a wreck after returning. Perhaps I could have asked for more time, but at the same time, it probably was good that I was "returning to normal." My coworkers understood my mind and I hid out, working at home in pajamas and crying.

Mexico was truly healing, and brought me back to a very different place. I talked a lot about my grandmother because she was so top of mind. I decided after Mexico, I'd run with her rosary beads in every single race - until Burning Man. And then I'll leave them in The Temple after the ultra, so they can become part of the universe, part of the playa, part of me forever.

I thought something was truly wrong with me; my sister and father and mother and cousins seemed fine. Instead, I was bawling on my runs and in the gym and during yoga class; I cried on the subway and in the shower. I sold my tickets to parties and concerts and thought about how my grandmother would never have my cookies again, and wondered what she looked like in the casket now, and it was so cold out and I hated that she was gone gone gone gone gone.

But everyone's different. I realize part of it is that I had the closest best relationship with her. My grandmother adored my father, but they had a very complicated relationship - and my grandma had a similar difficult relationship with my uncle. She was not appreciative of all that my mother and aunt did for her. My other siblings/cousins did not talk to her as much as I did. Family was everything; she pushed aside other things. 

I would visit her whenever I could. In summers, I'd bike to the beach and then bike up to her house. I'd run to her house in what I dubbed the "Grandma 50k" (because I ran the long 50k way there). I would call her once or twice a week. I'd send her little notes every week or so - and inexplicably, I found a few of these unopened in her house.

Her life was sad at the end - very alone, not much passion for things. It is a little scary.

I've had trouble keeping it together. I've been writing articles and running and going to work and doing my laundry and plucking my eyebrows and all that. But on the inside, I felt very shaky.

It's spring now. New things. Biking weather has begun, and I took my heavy blankets off the bed. My grandma always loved spring; I'd get her nice plants every year on Mother's Day. She loved them.

So even though she's gone, I must let my heart fill with joy again. I'm going to get a plant - the purple little flowers she liked - for my fire escape. I'm going to bake her strawberry shortcake for Wayne's birthday, maybe. I won't ever forget her, and even though my heart is still heavy, I have so much joy knowing how much she gave me.

Goodbye, Grandma

My Grandma Ann died today. She was 93.

Grandma has always been a bit sickly, and also a bit of a hypochondriac. Sometimes it was difficult to see what was what, and to get the truth of the situation. She had a rocky relationship with her two sons, and wasn't always the kindest to my mother, but we got along well. I always sent her notes and letters and postcards, would bring her pastries whenever I stopped by, called her a few times a week. As she grew older, her hearing became more and more terrible, and we couldn't talk on the phone quite as much.

This story begins back in December, the story I'm about to share about the end of her life.

our last photo together

I invited my parents to come over to dinner - Wayne and I would make manicotti, garlic bread, veggies, some cranberry cake. We had some wine. I asked them to bring my grandparents. It could be stressful when my grandma came, because she struggled with my stairs, she complained it was such a long drive (30-60 minutes, depending upon traffic), and she drove my father crazy at times. She came. We had a nice time, and Grandma missed a lot of the conversation. She seemed to enjoy the food (She's Italian, so she appreciated the manicotti.) and seemed like she had a nice night. She really struggled going up the stairs, and I had a feeling it would be the last time she would be coming over. I noticed how she struggled when she got up to the furniture, grabbing onto pieces of furniture, using her walker. I said to Wayne, "She's gotten a lot worse."

I called my mother about our plans that Friday, and said I wanted to incorporate a visit to grandma's. She said okay. The morning of, while I was working at home, I received a text that she fell but seemed okay and that my mom was going to take her to the doctor. I was worried. When I arrived, my mom and my grandma were in the car at the train station. Grandma seemed very out of it and was not holding a conversation very well. She had a bandage.

We got to my grandma's house. I was shocked at the amount of blood EVERYWHERE. All of the living room floor, kitchen floor, paper towels in the sink covered with blood, in the bathroom. I couldn't believe it. My grandma's hands shook a lot, so I could see why there was such a huge mess. I was shaking and seeing how fragile my grandma was, I felt ill. She kept trying to get me to eat, and I couldn't. I felt like I was going to throw up.

I made my grandma a grilled cheese sandwich. I kind of burnt it, and grandma pronounced it delicious anyway. I had brought over some of my chocolate mint brownies, and she ate them, saying how good they were. Considering how picky she is, and how good of a baker she is, I was grateful for the compliment.

My mom cleaned up. I tried to cheer my grandma up.

After my mom and I left, I went back to my mom's house nearly in tears. My mom made me a grilled cheese sandwich, same as what I had made my grandma. I tried to explain that I couldn't eat there. All the blood....

My grandma spent that night at my mom's house. My parents spent Christmas with her (I was in the Galapagos.). I was worried about my grandma. I didn't call her because I had terrible internet connections all over Ecuador. When I got back, after hibernating for a day, I took a car2go and went out to visit my grandma. She was pleased I was visiting her, asked about the car. I brought her pastries from the best bakery, Fortunato Brothers. She loved the pastries. We ate the dough bows and creamy pastries with flaky crusts. She offered to get me tea; I told her I was okay. She told me she fell again that morning, even with her new part-time aide there. She was scared of falling. I gave her a magnet from Ecuador - she loved the magnets I brought her.

I left after two hours, because I paid for the car by the hour and I didn't want to get home too late. She was glad I came, and gave me money to take Wayne out to lunch (as she said) and kissed me and told me she loved me.

Two weeks later, she went into the hospital. She wasn't eating, and she felt weak and tired. It seemed like a bit of hypochrondria with how she was talking ("I must have tumors because I fell.") but my mom took her to the hospital. They tested her and my mom and I talked about how she wanted her to go to rehab before anything else. After a day in the hospital, my grandma began begging to go home, asked the nurse to call her a cab, asked my dad to take her home, called her friends to pick her up. She got mad and nasty at people.

I heard about it and wanted to go. "Don't. She'll yell at you. She's not right."

My mom left on Thursday, to go visit my sister. I decided I would go visit her on Friday. She was awful. I mean, I've never seen her looking quite so terribly. Her skin had some weird dark marks, and the skin in her face was puffy and saggy in a way it had never been. She was slurring her speech. She said she wanted to die. She said no one should have to live like that. She said that no one loved her, that no one cared about her, except me. I told her that wasn't true, that mommy just spent 5 days with her in the hospital. She said why was my father in Florida. She said that my father and his brother wanted her to die. I told her that wasn't true. I was crying. I kept telling her we all loved her, that I loved her. I told her a little about going to Panama, but she didn't seem interested. I tried to give her cake. She literally ate a crumb. She spit up the second crumb I tried to give her. I told her to eat it, that I baked it for her. She begged for ice water. I brought a Styrofoam cup (Who still uses Styrofoam cups?) of ice water with a straw to her lips and she drank greedily. "Why am I so thirsty?" She asked me to get the nurse and get a bedpan. The nurse and I chatted; she didn't give any horribly terrible news. My grandma kept saying, "They say you don't get out of her alive." I told her that wasn't true; she had been in St. Francis Hospital several times before. She said she wanted to go home. I said she needed to get better, go to rehab. She didn't care. "I just want to go home." I pointed out that she couldn't walk to go to the bathroom or get food, so she couldn't go on like this. She needed to get stronger first. I held her hand, kissed her cheek, told her I loved her. She asked when my daddy was coming. I showed her photos of the kitties, but she wasn't that interested. She seemed lethargic and unable to engage in a way I hadn't seen before.

Saturday my aunt, a nurse, visited her. She is my mom's sister, so not related to my grandma. She talked to the doctor. My grandma had elevated levels of one of her heart medications in her blood - that was making her lethargic. Once she was stabilized, she would be stronger. "On Monday, she'll go to a rehab center." The plan was for my mom to fly up on Monday and help her move, and my dad to come on Tuesday or Wednesday.

I was relieved. It was going to get better. She was suffering, but we could figure it out.

I went over to my friend Beth's. I was in a bit of a distracted mood, upset. We went to another party. I drank cocktails and was distracted and tried to have conversations with people, but pretty much failed. My sister called. I figured I'd call her when I left. When I got out of there, distracted and upset around 11, I texted my sister in the cab. She immediately wrote back, "Grandma is doing worse. She went to the cardiac care unit."

I called her and began bawling as soon as she began sharing information. Grandma's blood pressure suddenly dropped. The doctor was concerned because of her age; she might not be able to bounce back. My parents were flying back the following morning. That told me it was really bad. I called Wayne after I got off and asked if he'd take me to the hospital in the morning. My cabbie offered his condolences, and we chatted as I bawled. Nice guy. He told me about his grandmother giving me couscous and goat milk when he was younger. He said he still misses her and she died 20 years ago.

I called the hospital and they said I could come after 10 a.m. I figured I wouldn't set an alarm because I'd wake up on time. I put out a nice outfit - a cashmere sweater (Grandma loves cashmere.), a nice pleated skirts, cute tights, boots. We went to bed.

I woke up at 9a.m. Wow. Late for me. I went into the kitchen, and began making pancakes. Wayne and I ate and chatted.

As I was about to hop into the shower, my mom called. "The hospital called your uncle. They think it might only be a few hours."

I jumped into speedy mode. I took a 3 minute shower, threw on clothes, and dragged Wayne out the door. He was looking for his gloves, and I was like, "USE MINE WE NEED TO GO."

In the hospital, my parents weren't yet there. I saw the nurse and thought maybe she already died. Her room looked empty. The nurse said she was in there. She was so small I didn't notice the lumps on the blankets. She said to go in. She was honest. "We are treating this as aggressively as we can, but she's doing terrible. We're doing everything we can."  I asked if I could go in. "Yes. She's not responsive, but I believe she will hear you. You can talk to her."

I went in and I stopped. I began immediately crying. "She didn't look like this on Friday. Oh my god. Grandma..."

The nurse nodded. She knew what had happened.

I went in. With tears in my throat, with Wayne behind me, I touched her shoulder. Her eyes were closed. There was blood rimming her nose, around her lips. A tear was stuck to the side of her face. Her hair was flat and smaller. Her skin was darker; splotches. She seemed struggling. I held her shoulder. The nurse said, "Her hands are so cold," and gently put mittens around her hands. Tears streamed down. I talked about Wayne, about the cats, about my sister, about her babies, about anything and everything. I was desperately hoping she'd respond.

Someone came in to test the pacemaker. We chatted a little, but I tried to keep talking to Grandma. I cried a lot. My parents came in. I immediately ran into the arms, crying. I told them to talk to grandma, that she could hear, and I gave all the information that the nurse had given me. My dad went over. "Hi, ma, it's me. Kenny. I came from Florida to visit you."

As my father began stammering as tears poured out of his eyes, I could see something change in my grandma. Relaxing. She knew he was there. She was at peace. I tried to continue to talking to her, and the nurse and my mom talked. My mom came back in, and gestured wildly to my dad and I and my brother. The nurse had asked her if she wanted DNR, that it was the humane thing to do. I knew what my grandma wanted, but I let my dad answer. He agreed. But then the machines began beeping, and someone said, "She's coding." I didn't know what it meant, but I did. The doctor came running in. Somehow we were talking with him, and my uncle was put on speaker phone. My uncle said, "She hasn't been eating. She's anorexic, that's why she's here--" and my mom interrupted him, "Yeah, but right now. Right now." My dad and my uncle agreed.

We said goodbye. We told her we loved her. I thanked her. We said goodbye from the animals, and my sister and her kids and Brian, and told her we all loved her. I squeezed her shoulder, and then went into the hallway. 

We all hugged each other. We were crying. I called my sister and told her the sad news. I texted a few people. I cried. My knees grew weak. I cried. I cried. I cried.

The doctors and nurses were so nice and compassionate. 

My dad and brother and Wayne left; my mom and I would talk to the nurses. The nurse was like, "Do you want to see her?" I shook my head and cried. "Am I a bad person if I don't?" My mother said, "Of course not," and went in. Then she came out. "Cher, I think you should see her. She looks much better." 

I went in. She did. She looked at peace. I was glad I saw her like this. I wasn't aware of how much she was struggling and how she was in pain.

I'm glad she's not in pain, but I'm not glad she is gone. It hurts so bad. I miss her so terribly. She never did eat the cakes I brought her. I'm sad that she'll never try another dessert of mine, or give me a kiss, or listen to a story, or anything. She had a sharp decline. She lived alone, her entire life. I'm happy she has as good of a life as she could. I miss you, grandma.

Papa, My Dear

My Papa died three and a half years ago. I still miss him.

I went down to visit my Gram and it's funny how pain recedes, but often flashes so fresh in certain instances. 

Gram still keeps his sweater hanging off the back of the chair. Greg, their neighbor, who died last year after a long, painful struggle with bone cancer, used to call him "pinky" because of it. Gram also has his ashes in the house, and his leopard-print Snuggie that my sister and I bought him because he was always cold.

Three and a half years ago, I talked to my Papa the day before I left for Burning Man. He was in the hospital, but moving to a rehab center. He sounded in good spirits. I told him to feel better, and that I loved him.

And then I went to my favourite week of the year, to Home. I thought of him, but I wasn't worried. He was getting better.

Thursday morning, while I biked with my good friend Rachelle to the Black Rock City Farmers Market, to much on carrots and pickled cauliflower and laugh and flirt and smile and be free, my dear Papa died. 

Gram was woken in the middle of the night, "Come quick; he's doing poorly." She sat by his side, watching her husband of so many years, of so much love and adoration, pass. He was unconscious, but she held his hand, whispering, "I love you." In reply, he squeezed her hand.

That night, while my Papa rest in a funeral home somewhere, and my family members suffered, I biked deep into the playa, shimmering in sparkles. I went to the temple and wrote on the wall. "Papa, I don't want you to be in pain anymore. Please get stronger and happy. I love you." It was impossible for me to know that he had died. He was already gone. Without cell phone service, reality was lost.

I left the playa, full of love and light. While Rachelle was driving, I called my mother.

"Is everyone okay?"

"How was it?"

"Is everyone alive?"

"Did you have fun?"

"Mom - did anyone die?"

"Papa."

With that, my world collapsed. My beloved Papa...The pain ripped through my whole body as I began bawling with a force that left me feeling ill.

I texted my boss, who was so understanding and told me to take all the time I needed. I went home, and cried, and washed my clothes, and cried. My sister flew to NY and we drank and I cried and I cried.

I flew to Florida to visit my Gram; she was holding up well. I slept in my Papa's side of their bed but couldn't really sleep. I'd wake up at 4 or 5am every day and head out for long runs,  five, six hours. I'd stop and fill my water bottle in parks along A1A, and cry. I'd hold it up in front of her, and play Rummicube, helped her go through his stuff. It was just so sad how much love she had for all his items, when I knew it would go to a thrift store where no one would care about it or know what a sweet man he had been. I hugged my Gram and tried to keep in most of my tears as we threw away medication, old shoes, and rearranged things. She was keeping busy.

When I got to the airport, they told me my flight was cancelled. I had to get back to NY the next day; I had a presentation at work. More than that, all the pain began leaking. I bawled at the ticket counter. Somehow I got on a plane and got home.

"My papa died," I told the guy on the plane next to me.

"I'm sorry about your father."

"No, he was my grandfather. And he was wonderful."

And he was. I miss him still, every day. I wish I could get a sloppy kiss on the cheek from him, give him a hug, hear his thick British accent. Even in death, love still doesn't die.

I love you, Papa.

Because life sometimes ends

...grab the person you love and tell them how much you  love them and burrow in their arms and feel the love and enjoy them....because every moment ends....

The Things You Remember

How someone laughed. The twinkle in their eye. How they tickled you when you were small. The space they took up.


And what you don't realize...

The space they leave behind seems even vaster than you ever thought possible.