The Last Time · 4:06am May 28th, 2015
Dear Loyal Watchers, Interested Visitors, and Confused Passersby:
I saw my grandmother for the last time today.
Well, yesterday by the time you read this.
I saw here quite a bit of the last three days, as I sat by her bedside in the nursing home. The thing that ate at me though was the fact that she could not speak with me. Even if her lapses in and out or awareness had lasted for more than a few moments at a time, her loss of the ability to speak before I arrived meant that she could only acknowledge my presence by squeezing my hand and staring at me for a few moments with her grey eyes before they wandered away and closed again.
So, after three days, I kissed her goodbye, told her that I love her, and then drove the unforgiving hours back home so that I could go to work tomorrow (today, yeah). By the time I got home my mother had left me a message saying that my grandma was gone.
I saw my grandmother for the last time today, living, but it was not the last time I spoke with her. How very odd. The last time I spoke with her was in February. I was in her neck of the woods, and stopped in to show her a book I had just gotten signed by a noted artist that day. I can still hear her inflections as she got so excited, and then finally as she said "I love you too," before I left.
There is a last time for everything, and they don't come when we expect them, or even when we might anticipate them. My grandmother faded quickly... horribly quickly. She had been anticipating her birthday, my mother said last week, and seemed chipper about getting out of the home for the day. Two days later, I could not speak with her. Today, I lost my chance to ever see her alive again.
Death has done this to me time after time, the bastard. He makes it so that I've lost the chances to speak and to see all of my grandparents, my grand-aunts and uncles, and my godparents. I have lost all of my chances to speak with and learn from all the members of The Greatest Generation in my family now... they are all gone.
He's done this to friends, too. I can remember the last time I spoke with my friend David. We were sitting in his classroom, and he was breathing heavily as he joked about me not screwing up his classroom too badly until he came back. I watched him go down the stairs. Gone. I remember the last time I saw one of my best childhood friends, the one bitten by the deer tick. We both said "Bye," and with that his blue Chevy Blazer drove away. I don't know what became of him. I doubt I ever will.
For all things, there is a last time.
People have often remarked that I can, in my stories, take a single moment and fill it with meaning, and a few have even asked if I somehow have a photographic memory. I can assure them that is not the case. What I do think I do that most people don't, however, is that I see the importance of moments. I take the time to watch seeds come spinning down from maple trees, or follow the progress of birds across my yard.
As I do, I think that I find the value in them, and I can't help but think that there's an aspect of self-awareness in it... that this might be the last time I visit Lexington, Virginia or that this might be the last time I sit at this stool in a little diner. I think that it helps me immortalize these things more, make them more "real."
The reason I state this is because there are ample chances that we are given to enjoy the moment, but we often don't because we think we'll have another, that this moment is meaningless because it can be imitated or reproduced later.
Well, that's wrong.
I can remember the last time I got ready to leave my first apartment. It was a dump and I hated it, but it was mine... and in the last moments I sat on the old stained rug, stared out the glass door that never shut right, and waited for the landlord to come and get the key. I remember that last moment, and trying to feel those feelings again is impossible. I've actually driven past my apartment twice in the fifteen years since I left it. That part of the old rust-belt city has gentrified, an the road is now clean and lit. Trying to go back just to see what's become of it would be an exercise in futility.
I remember the last time I walked out of the Day Care Center where I earned my first paycheck as an educator. I remember the staff crying, the kids crying, the teachers crying. Me crying. I remember the names of the two kids who wrapped themselves around my legs and refused to let me go... Serena and Julia. Fifteen years has passed and that last moment lingers, and trying to reproduce it is impossible. The older teachers are all probably retired, the kids are all now in High School or college, and the daycare itself if now just a group of storage rooms on the campus of an unremarkable university. This I discovered as I uselessly tried to get the worn keypad to accept my old code, it beeping in surprise at my appearance some dozen years after-the-fact.
Life is made up of these last times, but we can't know when they will be. There will, for each of you, be a last day that you walk out of your apartments or dorms. There will be a last day you see someone who is now a friend.
There will be a last day that we all meet here, on this odd little slice of the web. There will be a last day that I write a blog. There will be a last story that I submit... there will be a last day that I sign on. The same goes for you.
The reason I bring this all up is because I am imploring you all to take stock of the moments as you live them. Understand that each moment you have with those you love can not be replaced or stockpiled. There are no do-overs on missed opportunities to tell someone you love them, or to sit and talk about pieces of their lives that are never to be known again.
You are the only ones who can make the moments count, who can give them meaning.
Don't waste them... they go silent faster than you dare believe.
Stay Awesome,
-Desc
You must've been so close to your grandma, I know the feeling.
I'm so sorry for everyone you've lost. :(
Sending internet hugs your way, T.D. I still dare for next times and future mendings, so note that those are redeemable for infinitely many real life hugs should we be sharing the same room of oxygen again. Thanks for writing this.
I'm sorry for your loss, TD.
I can relate to this. I worked as a tutor and a TA for service hours back in high school some 8-9 years back. I remember the kids were sad to see me go. They even made me a card and gave it to me on my last day. I still have it stuck to a corkboard in my room to this day.
This was a fourth grade class, so...they'd all be graduated from high school right about now, I'd imagine. It's hard to believe it.
I haven't tried going back like you did, though. The school was in one of the poorer neighborhoods, and that would just be shifty as all hell.
This really does do a good job of describing a number of your stories.
And your blogs, for that matter. And many of those blogs make me wish there was some sort of bookshelf feature for blogs.
Cheers, Descy.
Hell of a thing aint it? hell of a thing.
My condolences
Also, well said!
I'm sorry for your loss.
Thank you, though, for the beautiful blog. Brought a little tear to my eye. It's true... We never know when this time will be the last time, so we'd best cherish it all.
Kinda reminded me of this song. Hope you enjoy.
I'm sorry for your lost. I lost my grandmother almost a decade ago now. The void a loved one leaves never really closes, but you eventually get used to it.
Honor her memory. Cherish the time you had with your grandmother. It's always less than you imagine and there fore all the more precious.
This is, once again, one of those scenarios where I agree with you by being totally opposite.
I'm not going to say sorry for your loss or such trite words, because I did not know these people in your life. For me to offer hollow words would only serve to cheapen the value from others who knew the people in question.
I absolutely agree with your view on personal moments. I've never been much of a sitter, I prefer to keep moving and interacting. For me, it's always about moving on and finding something new in life to keep living for. I wasn't even aware I did this until my Great Grandmother died. We were very close. My family made the 2 hour car ride to visit her for a weekend once a month, without fail, for as long as I could remember. She was 93, and we could all see her health was failing. I vaguely remember the night I visited her in the hospital, carrying on a small, pointless conversation of platitudes.
And she was gone before I got home.
And yet, I wasn't sad. I was a pallbearer at her funeral, and I wasn't terribly affected at all. Somber, sure, but not sad. The next day, life went on just the same as it always was. I smiled, I joked, I laughed.
I think I've got my family to thank for that mindset. Death can be a tough thing to deal with, especially sudden death, but life goes on. And while there is certainly value in appreciating things as they occur, which I will never deny, I find the most importance in getting up and taking the steps back to our lives. Every now and again I think about her, usually when someone in my family decides to have a martini (her favored drink, being full blooded Irish), but it's always a happy occurrence.
Take your time to grieve, but remember that life does go on, with or without us. There may be great things in your past, but there are even greater things in your future.
-Lumino
All very true I could tell you some stories, like my brother's death...
But for now I shall light a candle and incense for your mother.
*hugs for the Ravencorn*
I'm sorry for your loss, TD.
I'm glad you're able to put how you feel into words. There's a power in being able to share feelings like these with anyone anywhere through words alone. And you command your words so well that everyone feels the emotions behind them. Know that even though there's a large gap of land and water between everyone you shared this experience with, we're all with you wish you the best.
Jesus Christ, man. That hit closer than anything ever has or ever will.
*hugs tightly*
I know these feelings all too well, TD. My brother started a sort of tradition which he has brought me into after we enlisted, following in the footsteps of our granddads. On the one side, we carry with us a patch from the 4th Marine Division and on the other, a Past Fire Chief badge. They are sources of encouragement and hope and they help keep the memories alive and allow their legacy live on.
You and your family have my prayers, thoughts, and sincerest condolences.
i'm so sorry to hear about your lost
Internet hug, bro.
This blog came at a... coincidental moment in my life. Right now, my own grandmother is starting to exhibit symptoms of dementia and it's breaking my heart. So, I feel your pain.
The worst part is, she raised me for 16 years. I'm 20 now.
When a door closes, another opens. When another opens, a new path is laid out. When a new path is laid out, a new adventure begins.
I don't believe in last times. I believe in new paths toward the sane destination of living my life to the fullest extent. Living life to love those around me and to hopefully earn the approval of my heavenly father.
I agree with your sentiments, but I never view things as ending. I merely look upon the next door to open before me.
Thanks for the wisdom, sir. Stay strong.
We are all here for you.
You have my sympathies for your loss. I wanted to point something out that might help provide some sort of silver lining to all of this. When one thing ends... Another begins. When death takes us it is an end. That's true, but I believe it's also just another beginning! Stepping away from this pale blue dot, this speck of cosmic dust that we humans call home, and into something grander. A new adventure that one day we must all begin. Again, the pain of separation is a real thing and I don't mean to be tright or cliche, but I believe, when we leave this life behind, our bodies broken and used up, there is something not only new but better awaiting us there. That includes family and opportunities that we thought lost to us.
As long as shes in your heart, she'll never be truly gone.
Keep your chin up and cherish your memories of her.
I feel for ya'.
At least you got to be with your grandmother... I just lost my dad on Monday, on freaking Memorial Day. My family had people to mourn for before and I could never quite share those feelings until now. I was just sitting in my room when my mom told me, cried my eyes (and nose) out. The worst part was I couldn't be there, because of my parent's divorce and other circumstances my dad spent his last years in Texas, far away from home, far away from me... even so my heart goes out to you, I can't imagine how you must've felt
That's deep.
My condolences, for what they are worth.
I wish I had the sentiment that you do, but sadly I don't. I've noticed that the ones that can truly understand the value of things are the ones to lose the most. While those that do not fully appreciate them are left with more than they could hope for. I am one of those that cannot feel the lasting connections, though I long for them, my heart will not hold them. I am envious, but happier that you and others like you are able to appreciate all that there is.
gonna have to come back to this later. I couldn't get past the last time than we expected part after the signed book and how lively you made her sound compared to that.
I'm sorry for your loss. It's good that she had such a loving grandson as you, though. She seemed to have been able to go in peace knowing she got to spend such time with someone who bothered to be there for her in her last moments.
I would say that I am sorry for your loss, but empty platitudes are practically worthless after you hear enough of them...
So instead, I bid you to celebrate her life, raise a toast to her memory, tell stories of the silly things she would do with you when you were younger, and most importantly, be glad to have known her; for while I may not offer a statement in shared mourning, I am glad for you to have known and cherished your grandmother.
Be glad that you have happy memories of your time with her, for life is but a blink in the endless seas of time.
~Crystalline Electrostatic~
I'm sorry for your loss... I can't say much else, I'm more or less a random user on this site, who'll only appear as a number of pixels on your computer, phone or IPad.
But thank you, for your wise words, for giving us the chance to gain some of it as well, and for giving us a better insight on life.
We can grieve and cry for our loses, but we can also cheerish and smile at our memories, and like you said, we shouldn't take them for granted, because they may be gone sooner than we think.
Again, thank you.
Beautifully said. It makes me happy to know that I'm not the only one who lingers on would-be inconsequential moments. You never know when they might be significant. When they might be last times, or best times, or no times at all. Make the most of every moment you can.
Very sorry for your loss. I'm sure your grandmother was an astounding woman, if you're any reflection.
Okay, this is an interesting coincidence, but I just reread one of your stories earlier today (The Living is Easy) so I can definitely see this.
. . .
. . .
You've certainly given me reason to start thinking about some stuff. There have been quite a few things I've taken for granted up to this point...
Thanks for sharing this with us.
As others have stated, I am very sorry for your loss. However, I would like to inject some more hope as well, as you have so brilliantly and beautifully done, and I hope you do take comfort in my words. As much as it hurts to lose your grandmother, and believe me, I know what it is like, now you can celebrate the memories of her and share the stories, both the ones that she shared with you and the ones you have of her. She will never be truly gone as long as she is remembered, and I have no doubt that she will be by you.
Thank you again for your wonderful words, and they have certainly made an impact on this fan of yours. I tip my hat to you, and know that you have my support.
Sorry to hear that, TD.
My condolences to you, for your loss.
Secondly, this is very well said. Stay strong, and never stop appreciating the moments. I would hug you if I could.
3104637
Well, you could always keep a bookmarks folder.
TD, I'm terribly sorry to hear about your loss. It is not something that one gets over easily. I've buried three of my grandparents so far, and I honestly dread burying my Grandmother.
Condolences for your loss.
It gets tough, every time you lose someone...
I have one grandparent still alive... My 102 year old grandmother. Still living at home. We have a large family that helps her every day. I saw her last month, on her birthday, and am grateful she is still alive. I never even knew either of my grandfather's. My father's father died before I was born, and my other grandfather died when I was a baby. He got to see me though. Damned cigarettes took his lungs from him... I never knew him in person, but I admire him through stories passed to me by my mother and my other grandmother.
I still occasionally think about my other grandmother though. She passed away at 76, and I missed the chance to see her in 1998, because of entrance at college. To this day, I wish I had skipped it. It's not like I couldn't have made other arrangements or something... She lived in Mississippi, and I in Minnesota. The last time I saw her in person, was in 1992. Sure, there's the phone... But it ain't the same. She was a wonderful person. Absolutely kind, and a shining example of decency in the middle of what was a horrendous state, when she raised my mother... She was 1/4 native american (a mix of Cheyenne and Cherokee), and you could certainly see that distinctive look in her face... I don't keep many pictures on my wall... I have a VERY limited number of pre-existing nails my landlord permits to be in the walls!
Her portrait is the only family I have hanging up, though I have other family photos on shelves. She was a beautiful woman, in both heart, and even just simply as a lady. I swear, she was one of those people who just looked wiser and more dignified with age. She had the wisdom to back it too! 
She raised a family in the deep south, in a time when everyone else hated. She was kind, and taught her family right. She followed my grandfather wherever there was work for him. Through stories passed on to me, I learned that he was illiterate. Never went to school. He was a technical genius though, and always willing to do honest labor for a wage. He could figure out and fix practically anything though (I know where I got that trait from!
) He rarely owned a car for longer than a few months. He was always trading and bartering. He'd get something, fix it up, drive it a bit, then trade it for something else, often some cash and something that needed work (I know where my youngest brother got THAT trait... Kid had a 1968 Dodge Charger when he was 15, and 21 cars registered to his name by the time he turned 21. Now he drives my dad's 1970 Dodge Dart Swinger that he restored, and a custom built deuce and a half that he built from military surplus! Converted it from a three axle to a two axle and built an extended cab and box for it in a month, while working 7 day weeks! 
). Yeah, I have a unique family! 
I think it's sad that I never got to know him personally, but I have had wonderful storytellers in my family that have let me know him by proxy. The same is true of my passed grandmother. I knew her, and met her several times, but living on the other side of the nation makes it hard. Again, what I didn't learn from her directly, I gained through my mother. I am grateful for what time and what knowledge I did get.
I don't have a traditional photo of my grandmother (on my mother's side) online, but I do have a picture of her portrait carved into an emu egg. My mother used to carve and decorate eggs as a hobby. This is my mother's own work, depicting her own mother. I'll always have a fond place in my heart for her. She was such a wonderful woman. She was the grandmother I never saw enough, though.
richfiles.solarbotics.net/models/MamasPortraitFront.jpg
My condolences for your loss. The feeling's sorely known.
Though the last moment's passed, at least the memories of all the moments before remain to take comfort in.
I was pondering over a trip to Chicago with my family to see both sets of grandparents and several aunts.
Now, I think I'll make that trip. Thank you that, D.
I don't think there's such a thing as a moment that isn't precious, only a sliding scale of preciousness. There's one playing in my head right now - I don't know if you recall me, but I sat across from you at Tir Na Nog at Bronycon 2013. We exchanged a few words, and I remember you scribbling away in a notebook, no doubt fleshing out some story ideas or recording the thoughts of the moment.
I only know you as an author, but you're still special to me, because you've lived fully as a sentient human, who's endured loss, who's reflected on life, who has cherished passions and worrying anxieties, who has his favorite flavor of tea and all the other little quirks that make up a person. And it's paramount not to overlook the importance of the myriad minutiae just because they're all around us. Water is pretty damn important, most of us don't give indoor plumbing a second thought, yet you can bet we'd be missing it if it were gone.
Thank you for these twilight thoughts, and please, continue to live fully.
The last time I saw my friend Emily was back when I was 9. She was always in and out of the hospital for Cystic Fibrosis. She'd gone through two double lung transplants and it just wasn't enough, she died at 14. When I moved from the elementary school we'd gone to, I hadn't said bye to her on my last day. The few plans we'd made to hang out ended up falling through so I never really got to even say good bye.
I did the same thing you did in your apartment when me and my mother moved into separate houses.I was moving out on my own and my mom wanted to get a cheaper apartment for herself. I remember getting back in the the complex after a long night shift. I walked around the empty place, save a few boxes mind you, and just let all the memories of the place just sink into my mind. I'm not going to lie, I was only there for about two years, but I still had so many good times at that place. I imagine the same will happen once I move out of this apartment. The first place I've been on my own with just my roommate.
There's something about that bit of closure that makes it so much easier to deal with. I don't know if it's a mental preparation, or just remembering the good times that makes it easier, but it certainly helps. I'm lucky that at the age of twenty one I still have three grandparents and three great grandparents, they're getting pretty old though, and it's been about two years since I've gone to visit them. Thanks for the reminder. Guess I'll have to throw some gas in my car and head on up north to pay them a visit.
I am sorry.
I haven't got time to post a longer response, but you have my deepest sympathies, having gone through that last year with my maternal grandfather.
As a matter of fact, part of the reason I have no time is because I am off to go with my Mum to take my grandmother out for dinner, something we do every week, as she can't otherwise go out now: making the most of the time we have (though with luck she's got a fair few years left in her.)
Sorry to hear. It sounded like she was loved.
It's easy to forget how the important and irreplaceable moments happen when you aren't ready for them. The surprising and the truly unique leave the greatest, most lasting impressions, and they do often are not even remotely planned.
My condolences, TD.
You poor thing, but we have to remember that as life goes on, things will change. As a very wise and meaningful song once said: "things may come and things may go, some go fast, some go slow. Few things last that's all I know" I hope you know we're here for you, if you need us
...That's rough.
I wan't to say something but I also don't wan't to snap one of your strings, so I would like to say: wow, you really opened my eyes. I and this community will always be there to help you out, we have your back ;) But I agree with every word you said, I can find myself in your shoes one day. So Thank you for sharing your story, I hope that everything will be OK for you
I'm so sorry for your loss. Perhaps it was best that she couldn't speak, and her last words to you were, "I love you, too." My grandmother had dementia. She developed internal bleeding and was hospitalized for a week before her death. She couldn't understand where she was or why, and she was afraid. After babbling about whales and twins on TV because of her dementia, she looked me in the eyes with fear in her own and gasped, "I want to go home! Please, can I go home?" I told her, "Tomorrow, Grandma," knowing that it was a lie. She died the next morning, those words being her last to me.
Your last moments with your grandmother, even though she could not speak, even though they were fleeting, were still filled with love. Cherish those moments. Like you said, they're so important.
Even though I'm Muslim, I will send up a prayer for you and your loss. May God give you comfort and grant your grandmother peace.
I'm really sorry to hear of your loss, TD. Thinking of you and your family at this time.
My condolences buddy. Thank you for sharing your story and your philosophy, I also can relate that feeling. Big Internet hugs and stay cool.
You poor thing! You must have been crying and crying!