My mom went around to one side of her bed and my dad and I stayed on the other. We took her hands. We told her it was okay to let go, hoping that she could hear us. I just sat and watched her face, thinking, "Is this how it ends?" So unreal. We were just sitting there, watching her die. It felt so wrong. I wanted to stop it. I wanted to call a doctor in to try to save her. But this is what she wanted. Her silver hair was thin and wispy, her hands spotted with age, a big, ugly bruise around her IV line. We all prayed, and for one of the very few times in my life, I watched my dad cry. This was his mom, the one who gave him life, and she was dying before his eyes.
I think it was too much for my dad - he wanted to go downstairs and get some coffee. So I went with him to the little cafe and we got coffee and sat at a table. I couldn't help but keep thinking about the old, old woman just upstairs whom we were so intimately connected to, breathing her last few breaths while we sat drinking our coffee. When we came back to the room, her body was still there, but she was gone. She had passed at 4:45 am. My uncle and aunt were there, everyone was crying silently, standing over her bed. It didn't feel real. I kept looking down at her, waiting for her to wake up but then reminding myself again that she was not going to.
I guess it still hasn't really hit me. My birthday is in a few days, and I keep thinking I'm going to get a card from Grandma Johnson, because I ALWAYS get a card from Grandma Johnson. I've gotten 32 birthday cards from Grandma Johnson. I just wish I would have known that last year's would be the last.