103

One hundred and three. That's the age of my maternal grandmother. She has been in a nursing home for the past 15 years. She went in shortly after my grandfather did. He went because he had a stroke. I remember being there when my mother told her that he has passed away. I was sure that she would be right behind him. But she lingered. Well, I guess you can't really call in lingering when she has outlived him by 16 years. She is frail and weak. She doesn't talk and hasn't eaten in the last couple of days. I'm guessing it will only be a matter of time. My prayer is that she will go in her sleep, peacefully and in no pain. Isn't that how we'd all like to go.

Seeing her started me thinking about my mother when she passed away. That was 8 years ago. Man, it's crazy how fast time goes by. She was in the hospital for the last 18 days of her life, the last 10 in hospice. Her room was at the end of the hall, right next door to the hospice lounge. The lounge had a couple of couches and some tables and chairs, a TV and a small kitchen area with a sink, mini fridge and a microwave. My father, sister and I basically moved in and took over the place. We rearranged the lounge. My father bought new lamp shades for the lamps. I slept on the couch, while he slept in the chair next to her bed. I'd wake up in the morning and go sit with her, while he took a shower and went downstairs to have something to eat. We were with her around the clock. My brother came when he could. My uncle spent a few days there as well. My husband brought Chinese food from Fort Erie one night. My brother brought Anchor Bar chicken wings another. We lived there. The thought of leaving her there alone was unbearable to me. I felt that it was the least I could do to stay and help take care of her. There were times when she was lucid, but she was in a lot of pain so they had her pretty heavily medicated. We spent a lot of time sitting around her bed, telling stories. I got to witness my fathers love for her. She was forever kicking her socks off and her feet were always cold. He'd stand at the foot of her bed and put her feet under his shirt, against his stomach. It was one of the sweetest things I've ever seen. And he'd talk to her, reminding her of all the great things that they had done in their life together. They didn't wait for tomorrow, they did things today.

The night she died, my sister and I were with her. My father, uncle and brother were in the lounge watching something on the television. She had been pretty quiet, but she became very alert, looked off into the corner of the room and then took her last breath. Just like that. One breath in, alive. One breath out, gone. I counted it a great privilege to be with her for that. She saw me into the world and I saw her out. She was 67.

And probably, in the next few days, it will happen for my grandmother. Just like that. This is just a temporary life. Even if you live it for 103 years, it doesn't last forever. We need to make it count. We need to do great things now and not wait until later. We need to remind ourselves of the wonderful things that we have in our lives. We need to connect to the people around us, the people who love us and tell them how much they mean to us. Here, I'll go first. I love you my friends and family. You make me a better person, you put up with all my nonsense. You have my back. I am grateful for all of you. See, that's how you do it. Just like that.