Woah… This week has been overwhelming, unsettling, and chaotic.
My Grandma died on Sunday. I received a phone call from my mother on my Grandma’s mobile. Hmmm. That was sus to begin with, but I answered. The conversation lasted less than a minute. I was told she’d died that morning, to please keep in touch. I thanked her for calling me and hung up.
I was at my youngest nephew’s first birthday party. Lots of people (loads of children!) and everyone smiling, having fun etc. I told my sister-in-law’s mother first. We were both standing next to my brother and sister-in-law’s phone in the kitchen when I muffled message was left on the answering machine. I thought it was mum and told my SIL’s mother that. We then told my SIL… and decided to tell my brother (it was his step-Grandma) after the party. Did that…
The whole family knew she was unwell, knew she didn’t have long, knew she wanted to die. Yet… it’s still a bit of a shock. I knew this was coming but somehow never prepared for it. How do you prepare for a loved ones death? I don’t think you really can.
It hurts and fills me with guilt to think of my last conversation with her. She told me not to be sad when she goes, that it’s what she wanted. I logically know that, but I’m sad. She needed to die. She was suffering so much and that just wasn’t fair. I am glad she isn’t suffering anymore but I do miss her.
It makes me sad that I won’t get to talk with her again. To exchange recipes via email or get advice when I’m in the middle of cooking and not sure what to do!
Her dying has created some chaos. It all seems fairly calm on the surface but I’m waiting. All my siblings are waiting. My parents are so, so likely to create a huge drama of my Grandma’s death. I don’t think that they’re not hurting, everyone is, but…. yeah…. they create drama soap opera style.
I was offered plane tickets to attend the funeral. I had two siblings say that they would go with me if I went. I wanted to go. The other Rach (who’s twelve) desperately wanted to go. We saw my psychologist on Monday. She said she didn’t think it was a good idea… and to please not go, for her sake. She meant it kindly and was said with a smile and a laugh. We both know how much of a mess I’d most likely be if I went to the funeral and spent time with my parents.
So I am staying here. As far as I know the funeral is tomorrow. I have written a eulogy that will be read by the celebrant. That was a request from, I think, my mother and father, passed on to me by my brother here. I panicked over doing that. It took me hours to write such a small amount. It doesn’t cut it. It doesn’t cover what I felt and how much I wanted to say… but right now, I don’t have the words.
It is still hard to believe you’re gone. We are all here today to say our goodbyes and honour you in the best way that we can.
When I bake your shortbread or make yorkshire puddings I will be reminded of you. When I play boardgames with loved ones I will fondly remember the evenings we spent doing the same.
I can’t explain the admiration I felt when you traveled to Canada and the UK alone after Grandad had passed away. I want to be able to live a life as full and as amazing as yours was.
We love you, Grandma. We will miss you. We will always remember you.
I have never written a eulogy in my life. I have never had a family member die…. aside from when I was young. I have never really dealt with death. I’ve had pets die… and pushed that away too. This is harder. Losing loved ones is so much harder.
My mother left me a voicemail asking for my address and an email address. This is for my Grandma’s lawyer. I set up a fake account. I passed on my address. That sent the system in to chaos. There was panic and terror that they were going to come and find us. Our psychologist suggested discussing it as a group – working out strategies (she suggested a few anyway) and making sure everyone knew what to do if my parents did actually turn up on my doorstep. Highly unlikely that they would, but, just in case.
So… here is what we worked out last night. Please excuse the messy handwriting of the littles.