Wednesday, March 30th during mid-afternoon, an era of my life ended. I knew the era was not going to last forever (despite appearances to the contrary), however, I was not expecting it that day.
My Wednesday began like most others. Heathens up and out the door for school. An hour or so later, I followed to make my commute to teach for the day.
Like most college instructors, I despise cell phones ringing during class - however, I understand that I have parents in my classroom that may have sick children, etc. I simply ask that all phones be on vibrate and that students leave the room to take a call.
At the beginning of my semesters, I explain that I also have children and that my phone will be on vibrate as well. During the course of lecture, if I hear it buzz, I can easily walk past the table to see whom is calling and decide if it is necessary to take the call. In six years, I have never taken a call.
The past few semesters, I've warned my students that I have an elderly uncle that I am the primary contact for the nursing home and a very elderly grandmother that I am the second point of contact as I'm one of the only family adults living in town. When those numbers blink up on the screen - I must take the call. Despite the number of calls I have received from the two facilities, they never called during class time.
Wednesday, the Manor called me at 1:31 pm. This means that my father, the primary contact for my grandmother, was unreachable. Considering it was a bright blue, crisp spring day, I was not surprised. I figured he was out in the yard. However, it had to be answered. I apologized to my class, feeling like a bit of a hypocrite. But it was necessary.
It was one of the nurses from my grandmother's wing. My Gram had been experiencing chest pain and was refusing to go to the hospital, despite the nurse's urging her to do so. She knew my Gram would listen if family told her she needed to go - so she called. I had her take the phone to my Gram.
Although not far from getting over a cold, my Gram's voice was weaker than I expected when she answered the phone. I had to explain twice who I was - at 92, her mind was weaker than any of us wanted to believe. And she responded, "Oh, do I have to?" when I said she needed to go to the hospital. I pleaded with her to go and promised that I would meet her there. She finally said she would and we ended our call with me promising to head for the hospital immediately.
I walked back into my classroom and did something else I have never done in six years. I announced, "Class dismissed," to a room of stunned faces, gathered my things, and was out the door ahead of most of my students.
I work approximately a hour from the hospital where they were taking her. On the drive into town, I made the necessary phone call to my father (turns out he had simply been in the shower), and called the Asst. Zookeeper to make sure he had the Zoo covered for the evening. My Gram tends to get rather cranky at the hospital because she doesn't like being there. Between that and the decline in her memory, she needs to have someone with her that can clarify things such as dates, times, durations, etc. The Asst. Zookeeper and I both figured I would be at the hospital until at least 8 or 9 that evening until she was admitted.
I was just 10 miles from the hospital when my mother called and told me to hurry. Gram had already reached the hospital and the hospital had called about her advanced directives. My heart dropped as I sat in stopped traffic in the construction zone between me and my grandmother. I counted every second as I sat at the red light just a few minutes later. It was all I could do NOT to pass the car going 5 miles under the speed limit. My mother had said to hurry, yet everything seemed designed to slow me down.
I pulled into the emergency room, grabbed my purse. Leaving my car running and the door hanging open for valet, I ran into the hospital and asked for my grandmother at the front desk. I was told they were waiting for me and that I was the first family member to arrive.
I knew from the tone of my mother's voice telling me to hurry that the era was ending, but I had been denying it. The look on that woman's face at confirmed it. As I was taken back through the maze of rooms, she was gathering up doctors, nurses and telling them that I was there for "Room 11." Those faces were just further confirmation of what I knew was happening.
The curtain in room 11 was brushed aside to show my Gram - very tiny on such a large bed. We've been joking with her recently that she was just going to simply disappear one day as she has continued to get shorter and shorter. Her eyes were closed and she was wearing an oxygen mask.
I was there awhile by myself before my parents arrived. I simply sat and held her hand and talked to her. Told her how much everyone loved her. How much I loved her. And I told her that while we would miss her, that we would manage without her - she could rest.
After my parents arrived, we were told she had passed away without regaining consciousness. While my parents made phone calls to family, I simply sat and continued to hold her hand. There wasn't anything else I could do. When my parents said it was time to leave, I did - feeling guilty, as though I was abandoning my grandmother at the hospital. And I drove home to my Zoo, trying to figure out how I was going to tell the Heathens that Great Gram was gone.
