Death, Birds, Hope

My grandmother has pancreatic cancer and so I've been thinking about death a lot more lately. Death and oddly enough, birds.  

My grandma is on hospice care at home and we went to visit her last Saturday. Sure, she has looked better before but she was still herself; except she stayed in bed. She couldn't host us as she typically would have. She couldn't serve me her watery ice tea (I could never tell her I didn't like her tea) or cook her famous pot roast but all in all, given the circumstances, it felt pretty normal. It was a nice visit. 

As she lives a little over an hour away, the soonest we could come back was the following Friday.  In six measly days, she had changed completely. 

I was taken aback when I first walked into her room.  She looked as though she had lost 15 pounds from her 108-pound frame. The weight loss affected her face and her eyes were sunken in. I hate to say it but she looked .... well, bird-like. It was like being around a different person. Even her demeanor was different; less interaction, more of a blank stare, and more...silence. She hasn't eaten much and having a conversation takes more energy than she has in her reserve tank.

I found myself watching the "Dr. Oz" show with my grandma in silence alone.  The whole thing was surreal. My grandma is dying and we're watching Dr. Oz with our remaining time together. The thought occurred that I should take advantage of my time with her and chat.  I prepped her with questions about her courtship with my grandfather (who passed seven years ago). She struggled a little bit and I didn't catch every word but it went on for a few minutes and then....she got sick.

I felt awful. I know intellectually that maybe it wasn't my fault that she became ill but I still blamed myself.

Waiting for someone to die is a strange thing. I know it's not a unique situation but it's still new to me.

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My grandmother's mother washed the dead in her small Texas town for wakes or funerals. Her mother would bring the body into the house and wash them on the table. Yes, she would wash bodies on their own kitchen table. When my grandma was five or six, her father died and his body was brought into the house to be prepared. She saw his body and hid in the back of the house for a long time.
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My mother is frustrated that my grandmother doesn't want to talk much about it.  "It" of course, means talking about dying.  My grandmother is from the "Greatest Generation" and traditionally they aren't as open as Baby Boomers. She's always been no-nonsense and dying from cancer has made her a bit "stoic" as my mom sees it. But is she afraid? She's been a faithful Christian her entire life but what does she think, what is she feeling? 

I told her how much I loved her cherry pies and this barely got a half-smile. I counted that as my victory for the day. 

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My parents have been taking care of my grandmother often, which means I have to take care of my parent's pets and house when they are gone.  Their house backs up to a large wooded area and they have taken in three cats from "the wild" as their own.  In two of the last three days, one of the cats has killed a bird on the back porch. Just gutted the whole thing out - there were even blood stains on the concrete.  This isn't surprising, as cats kill birds all the time, but it gets your attention. 

Death and birds.

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Last night, I woke up numerous times, and with each lapse of consciousness, I was haunted by the memory of my grandma. 

How different she looked, how powerless we are, the pain she is feeling, and the emotions she can't or won't express. I wondered about my own death and how similar or different it might be. Any time I think about death, I think about God. And when I think about God, late at night, I always doubt. I begin to doubt that God exists or if there is any purpose in life, I doubt my feelings and my own experiences. 

I feel existential dread as I recognize the slow and inexorable wheel of time as it moves relentlessly forward every day of my life. The world is defined by its commitment to change, entire species and epochs have come and gone....for what end? One day you and I will be gone. One day, it's more than likely humanity will become extinct too.   I know this isn't an uncommon thought or concern but I wonder what the point of existence is anyway?  The pain, the mystery, the suffering, the wondering...the plan?

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A few days ago my family and I went to one of our favorite pizza restaurants to eat out and on the way out, I noticed a small dead bird that had died from running into the window. This happens all the time, millions of birds die every year around the world due to flying into windows. Still, the human brain is wired to recognize patterns..... so, there it was again, death and birds. 

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A few weeks ago a wren made a huge nest on our front door. There are six eggs. We have watched them grow, day by day. 

It was a welcome bit of hope in a troubled time.