The weekend was a whirlwind of activity for us. Some wonderful things happened that I totally planned on blogging about, however, I felt it more necessary to spend my time talking about Papaw Doyle.
We arrived home from our adventures on Saturday night, and Steve retrieved the kids from Granny and Pop's early Sunday morning. I called my mom, who had expressed a desire to see the kids on Sunday but got no answer. When I was able to reach her she said that Papaw was doing badly, and was in the SICU at Hamilton Medical center. Just from the information that I had gleaned in the past few days from Mamaw and others, I knew that he must be close to the end. I said I'd come up there, and left Steve with the boys for a short trip to the hospital.
As soon as I got there I was greeted by several family members and told to go on back to his room, as visiting hours were about to end. I steeled myself, conjuring up the image of my maternal grandmother, when I had visited her in the same SICU, shortly before her death, and tried to prepare myself. It didn't work. I asked Mamaw if Papaw could hear me. She said, "Of course!" and leaned close to him and said "Jessica is here." Although he looked like a burn victim due to a bad rash that was being treated, and his eyes looked like tiny little pig-eyes when they opened, he reached a strong hand towards me and wanted to clutch my arm, which he did with amazing strength and said "I love you.. I love you, you know that don't you?" After that he moaned a bit and showed obvious pain. His body looked like some insignificant bumps under the sheets, he was barely there. I wasn't prepared for how this would effect me and I just stood there stunned, nauseated, and I wanted to run from the room, but I didn't. I stood there looking like I didn't care, my best defense. A cousin of mine, just a few years younger than me, entered the room at that point. Papaw all but leaped from the bed to hug her when she came in. His strength those few hours before he died was intense. The effort left him moaning, and I had to sit down.. peeking at him from underneath the IV bags. He said to mamaw, through the oxygen mask "How much longer do I got, this is bad, its too hard on me." I watched him try to kiss Mamaw through the mask every time she got near enough for him to do so. I couldn't stay much longer, told everyone that I loved them then went to the waiting room.
Stuff happened after that. I sneaked in one of Papaw's sweet good friends so that she could see him after visiting hours and then hugged her while she cried because she saw him. I talked to family, I told stories that weren't relevant to anything, and we all giggled about some stories about cremation. I didn't want to leave Mamaw, but she was behind closed doors and I needed to get back to my children who I had hardly seen all weekend.
Manny isn't sleeping anymore, but I feel kind of stupid complaining about that.. so lets just say that I got about 2 hours of sleep that night between thinking and parenting. I was laying in bed when mom called and left a message that papaw had died about 11 PM, about 8 hours after I left the hospital. I talked to her a bit then slept. I called mamaw and dad a few times over the next few days and tonight we went to visitation.
I opted to bring my children to visitation. I know that death is handled REALLY differently in different regions of the USA. But I have been to a lot of southern open casket visitations and I had an idea about how my children would react. Jake was thrilled to see all of his grandparents in one place. Pops and Granny went with us. He ran up to Mamaw. I wasn't really expecting what came next as he tried to jump on tiptoes to see what was inside the casket. He saw Papaw and his expression changed a bit, then he decided he would go sit with my mom instead. That was all. Manny also saw Papaw's body and waved at him. I had similar experiences as a child, and I think that this is healthy. Others might disagree, but.. well.. we do the best we can.
Is Death worse than Birth in America? Most people know that I am a birth advocate, and believe that birth is natural and that we shouldn't be tortured, frightened and otherwise poked and prodded during birth (dont' get me started). Equally, I believe that death is another part of life that is similar to death in that.. it can be painful, it is scary, you want your loved ones near you (or not), it is private, it deserves respect and, once it is over, the pain goes away and you are left with bliss. These two parts of "life" are so similar. Why is it that, in this society, we remove the loved ones and the comfort and support from this part of life.. just so that nobody feels discomfort, except for the person dying? I was once told that I shouldn't talk about my childrens' issues because it made others uncomfortable. Does that mean that we shouldn't hold the hands of the dying and of the ones giving life because it makes everyone else uncomfortable? Rubbish. It is VERY hard, and I didn't do as good of a job as I wish I could have holding Papaw's hand.. but I tried.. and I will think on it for the rest of my life. Once upon a time women gathered around a woman during her birth and did everything they could to ease her through transition, and once upon a time EVERYONE gathered around a dying man and hugged and kissed and eased him into the great beyond. I think that everyone did the best that they could to do that for Papaw.
Papaw's funeral is tomorrow. Steve will watch the kids while I go. I'm fine, by the way, and we don't need anything. Papaw is at peace and Mamaw's life will begin a new chapter, I think. She is healthy and full of energy and will find a way to help others in a way that will leave the rest of us in awe, I am sure.
(ETA)
Steve has a notion that people start to worry about their "legacy" when they get older and what sort of memories they leave behind. I can understand this, especially since I don't believe in an afterlife, that our rewards ARE here on earth, and that the only thing we leave behind is who we were and the impression we made on people. Papaw has nothing to worry about. His legacy is set in stone. When I was little he played with me, and I don't mean he threw a ball for a few minutes or that he played peekaboo from his chair in front of the TV. He downright PLAYED with me. For hours. On rainy days we would play "redlight, greenlight" in the basement. On sunny days he'd set up a baseball game with cousins or family members, or he would help me practice my shooting until the backyard should have probably been declared a health hazard due to the number of lead pellets. He was a huge part of my childhood, and I'll never forget that. Papaw was a schoolteacher, and touched the lives of hundreds and hundreds of people. His 90th birthday was standing room only, and attended by a couple hundred people. I can't imagine what his funeral will be like. I hope they have a big room.
