Search Are the dying visited by the dead? Sitting on the bed next to my grandmother as she lay dying, I witnessed a curious thing. Then suddenly she stopped mumbling and looked up to the corner of the room.
Share via Email Photograph: This is technically true, though it was just my brother and me and he was looking at Facebook and I was reading a profile of Hillary Clinton in the December issue of Vogue.
She was breathing in that slow, irregular way that signals that the end is near. My brother got off the couch and called her name, too. It was turning from red to purple to blue. Perhaps I would rage at the gods, regret all that had gone unsaid, pull an article of clothing from her closet and hold it close, taking her in.
But none of that happened. I picked her hand up a few more times over the next two hours while we waited for another hospice worker to come over and fill out the final paperwork and then for the men from the funeral home to take her away.
I did this less for the sake of holding it than to make sure she still had no pulse. She must have found us appalling. A week or so before my mother died, my brother and I started packing up the apartment right in front of her.
I know this sounds grotesque, but we were haemorrhaging money and had to do whatever we could to stem the flow. It was late December and her lease was up on the first of the new year. Vera was a professional end-of-life home healthcare aide, referred to us by the hospice. She was originally from Trinidad and spent a lot of time listening to Christmas music on headphones.
She was 67 years old.
But in Januaryafter months of complaining of pain in her side and being told by her doctor it was probably a pulled muscle, she was found to have gallbladder cancer.
This sounds like the kind of thing you could easily cure by just removing the gallbladder, which everyone knows is a nonessential organ, but it turns out the disease is not only extremely rare but barely treatable. My grandmother was tyrannical in her childishness.
She was stubborn, self-centred, and often seemingly wilfully illogical. Not in the sense of failing to provide food and shelter but in the sense that is knowable only to the neglectee, and even then maybe never entirely.
In the outside world, she won piano competitions and twirled the baton, but inside the house she offered nothing more than an occasional mumble.Celebrate the baby Jesus and reflect on the joy and hope of the Christmas season with these Christmas prayers.
12 Christmas Prayers - Experience Joy! We worship You during this Christmas.
The Guardian - Back to home. The last had a good atmosphere: uniformed staff, sleeping cats in the corridors and a manager who knew all the residents personally.
My mother hated the.
So I focused last year's holiday planning on the best experience gifts instead of toys. I figured that focusing on family time would create more meaningful memories. In the months leading up to Christmas, I avoided the mall and skipped Black Friday.
I'm being explicit about really horrifying experiences in my life, but my hope has always been to be responsible as an artist and to avoid indulging in my misery, or to come off as an exhibitionist. He spent his last weeks in a hospice, the hospice that my mother also died in.
Except that she sat by his side every day. Desperately as he would have wanted to, John wasn't able to do that for her. What Christmas Means to me - By Rhonda. Christmas to me is a celebration, which includes spending time with my family, decorating the entire house, inside and out, and shopping, for the people I love.