Dan's Incredible Moment

(My lovely friend Dan shares another story this year.  Thanks, Dan for sharing this moment around your grandmother's passing.  The arrival and departure of loved ones, and the moments around these occasions, certainly become knitted into the fabric of who we are.  Grateful for your reflection!)

We had been in the hospital for over 24 hours. We wondered what would happen, but we never left her side. No one doubted the fact that Grandma Evelyn would not recover from the massive stroke that afflicted her at the age of 93, but we also had no idea at which point she would feel she could leave us. Because, as it was something we learned as a family, no one leaves this world, seemingly takes that last breath, until that one precise moment. That one moment when they feel they can say goodbye and leave us in peace.

This is not for those ripped from this world through accidents or violence. This is for those that have the opportunity to have those final moments of joy, forgiveness, peace, and understanding. For my grandmother, though, it was a final moment of laughter – a moment when she knew we would be okay without her.

It was a sunny day in late August. My mother was with her mother when the stroke hit. I was over an hour away and got there as quickly as possible. The family gathered; my sister, her husband and daughter, my brother, his wife and kids, my grandmother’s sister and husband. We knew there was no way she would survive; we could only keep her company as the end neared.

We stayed with her. Some of us read her passages from the bible; John 13 and Psalms were her favorite. Others talked with her about what was new in our lives and the memories we had. While each of us spent our time with her, the others stayed in the waiting area; waiting, wondering, praying.

Then, for some reason we were all there. We surrounded her bed and were reminiscing on her blessed 93 plus years on this Earth. Someone remembered that at age 56 she decided to learn to ride a snowmobile. She had a black and yellow snowsuit, the one I use to wear to work on the farm when I was a kid. Her sister recalled her tales of trails. We laughed together.

My sister is the one that turned and noticed, “She’s gone.”

We were all there, together, and that is what my grandmother was waiting for. We had each held her hand, we had each visited with her, we had each had our chance to say goodbye. But the moment she wanted, the moment she held on for, was the moment we were together, as a family, remembering the good times.