Sleeping in Daddy's Room

Grandma insists on calling everyone's father, "Daddy". She refers to her late husband as "Daddy" and she tells me to ask my "Daddy" things. It's Daddy this and Daddy that and for the longest time it really annoyed me. I don't ever remember referring to my father as anything other than Dad (or Old Fart if I'm giving him a hard time) after the age of 4 or 5.

When she was admitted to hospice, she asked for the nurse Daddy had before he died. A week or so ago she asked my uncle to move her bed into the room where Daddy died. My grandfather died on November 20, 2004 just days before Thanksgiving in his office that was converted into a sick room. When she requested this my mother and I looked at each other knowingly, but kept our mouths shut. I had suspected for a long time that my grandmother missed my grandfather much more than she let on, and that she had a bit of a romantic in her that she would never reveal.

This last weekend my father and I made another trip to see her, and she had declined significantly since I last saw her. My first reaction was a familiar one that I knew I had to squelch. It was fear. This time instead of letting others take charge and move in, I used my education as a Massage Therapist bolstered myself with it. I walked over to her and placed my hand gently on her head. I broke through my fear with the one thing I was confident of at that moment. I was skilled in providing appropriate touch, and I knew how to work with people who are dying. I wasn't scared off when the light touch produced pain. I lightened my touch to her comfort level. I asked her if I she wanted me to stop and she said no. Though there was pain, the touch felt so good to her.

The drive home wasn't nearly as silent as the last. There was much less denial, and more anger from my father, and of course, fear. For the first time I can remember my father admitted is worst fear. "I am so afraid of November 20th" he said to me. "Do you think she's waiting for that day to die?" I asked him, though I had been thinking that for weeks now. "Yes, I think that is what she wants".

You hear stories of people dying on the same day, or two days after their spouse unable to go on. Only time will tell if this will be true for Grandma. I hope she gets what she wants. There is something romantic about it, and in a way life affirming. If she can determine this last day, make her last wish come true before going on to the next world, exhibit this last bit of power, it would make me so happy. We are a stubborn lot, my family, and I would hate for any of us to let the world decide for us.