Good Goodbyes

This memory greeted me this morning. I was first caught by the timeline: two years ago. So much can change so quickly. Just two years ago, I was still living in Los Angeles, and so grateful for the close proximity to Grammy who was living in Fresno. In the photo, I was visiting right after she came home from the hospital after having surgery for a bowel obstruction. Leading up to the surgery, she wasn't sure if she wanted to do anything about it - that she might as well take this as her exit ticket. 

And then she changed her mind. It was a rollercoaster of emotion. Quickly coming to terms with the end of her life and then finding hope for what healing might look like. The surgery went well, but recovery was rough; her incision wouldn't heal. 

It was after this surgery and the complicated recovery that it was decided she would need more round the clock care than my aunts could provide. They found a care center in a private home in Queen Creek, AZ and moved her there. 

Later the same year, she died. 

Before the bowel obstruction, there had been worries about her heart. Another close call. Another coming to terms with the fact that her life was ending, only to find that it wasn't going to be an abrupt ending. 

Seeing this photo is a reminder of the blessing of good goodbyes. I got a lot of saying goodbye practice in with her. Being "at death's door" a few times helped take away some of the shock when the real goodbye came. It was like really emotionally high stakes role-playing. Her transition from life, in the end, was swift, less than a week. But my opportunity to emotionally transition took years leading up to her death. And that isn't to say that grief did not ensue. It did. It does. 

But seeing her decline over the years made me grateful for death when it came for her. Not grateful for me, but grateful for her. Gratitude for her at her passing was simultaneously felt in my own grief at her loss. 

Even in grief, gratitude exists for the good goodbye. She felt terrible during this visit. Her children had all gathered because we really thought it was the end. She couldn't move because of her incision, so required someone to do everything for her. There was a moment where she looked me in the eyes, and I could tell how devastated her pride was at her physical state. Moments like that made it easier to say goodbye - to send her on her way out of physical suffering and a kind of dependency for living that she was not used to. 

And even after this time, there were rebounds. Realigned expectations about what her life looked like. She found Leo at her new home in Arizona. She found comfort and purpose in being present with other residents. She adjusted, she adapted, she went out on an emotional high note. She was able to say a good goodbye as well.

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