17 January 2007
Well, against all odds, she made it. Barely, I daresay, but . . . she made it.
It was a good day overall, but it sure started out rough. Birthday party plans involved dinner for fourteen, bright pink party decorations and cute little favours that Mama and I built last night. But, fairly early in the day, it became painfully evident that Gammy might not even know there was a party happening.
It’s been a very hard eight months since her mini-strokes in May. She has lived with Mama and John for practically their entire marriage—I’m not really sure how long that even is, but getting close to twenty years or more, I know. Until last spring, Gammy was about as fiesty as they come! But, since then, each month brings a new challenge, each week a little more decline. We weren’t sure we were going to have her through the holidays, and really didn’t think we’d get to celebrate this birthday with her. But, despite the fact that the doctor estimated she had “about three weeks” last June, here she still is.
A few days ago, she really took a turn for the worse–just before my arrival this week. And even since I got here just a couple of days ago, I’ve seen her condition worsen. She can no longer help herself do much of anything–she is terribly weak. She seems to be struggling so; sleep is almost never restful for her, if it comes at all. And although yesterday, we were still able to convince her to eat meals, today, we were not so lucky.
So, the guest of honour missed most of tonight’s party–her loved ones still gathering together to celebrate her 95-year milestone. After dinner, she finally expressed a desire to leave her bed, and we were able to present her with her birthday cake and sing to her. It was a lovely little event, and I believe Mama was pleased, as well as exhausted. At the end of the evening, after all the guests were gone, we even had enough consecutive moments of lucidity from her, that she was able to tell us she knew it was her birthday we were celebrating.
This little woman has always been a huge part of my life, and I will miss her when she is gone. I am so grateful that I am able to be here this week with my family.
I found a great little quote today—apparently Cherokee in origin:
When you are born, you cry and the people around you rejoice. Live your life, so that when you die, the people around you cry, and you rejoice.
~MB
