My mom’s mom, María del Refugio, a.k.a Doña Cuca, is my last grandparent. She’s 92 years old, and her health has declined for the past few years. Right after Mother's Day, she started saying food tasted bitter and lost her appetite. Because she stopped eating, she got weak and ended up in the hospital. After several tests, a tumor was found around her stomach. Even worse, this tumor had spread over to her pancreas, liver, and the bottom part of her lungs. The doctors said it wouldn’t make much sense to figure out the kind of cancer she has, so they suggested palliative care.
My mom broke the news to my sisters and me on Tuesday, May 20th. I talked to Mrs. Cantú about the situation. About how the day my grandfather died, my mom had told me to call him and ask him to stay inside because it was snowing (extremely rare for Monterrey weather), but 14-year-old Walther thought that wouldn’t be necessary since he was going to see grandpa the next day. I’ve since let go of the “what if I had called my grandpa” regret; however, after videocalling my aunt, who was caring for Grandma that day, I saw the reality of the situation, and its weight sank to the bottom of my being. I booked a flight to Monterrey for Thursday night.
Grandma was the first devout person I met. She prepared my cousins and me for our first communion, teaching us our prayers and catechism. Grandma dedicated half of a room to the nativity scene every Christmas. A whole village would materialize under the tree, and the tree was taken down after Candlemass and not a day sooner. She would organize the families on her block and lead the rosary at their homes for the posadas, the novena right before Christmas. She always had a pot of beans on the stove, crumbly cheese, and tortillas ready for anyone hungry. When mangoes were in season, she would blend them with lime juice and sugar and make gallons of this drink for everyone to drink with breakfast. She also loved karaoke. Grandma would get in trouble for uprooting plants from national parks to bring to her garden. And for the longest time, she had birds at her home; she trained a parrot to say her grandchildren's names. For someone who seemed to be living their best life, she would rarely smile in pictures.
I went to confession on Wednesday night, and Mrs. Cantú and I took the kids to daily Mass on Thursday morning. I was trying to accumulate as much grace as possible for the trip. I got antsy after lunch, and Mrs. Cantú and the kids took me to the airport early. I checked in to my flight and passed through security in the amount of time it took Mrs. Cantú to return home. I distracted myself by reading and playing chess online. Around the time I got to the airport, Mom got an ambulance to bring Grandma to my folks’ home. A few years ago, they built a bedroom on the ground floor; my mom stayed here after her knee surgeries.
It was time to board. I took my seat toward the back, and the seats around me were empty. I like sitting toward the back of the plane. The only downside is that when a flight isn’t full, like this one, the flight attendants sit in the last row, and some of them might be chatty; these were. It was nice to travel with just a backpack. I flew through passport control and customs and met with my dad. I gave him a big bear hug. We got in the car and headed home. Well, we stopped to get tacos and then went home.
Knowing that my grandma hadn’t worsened since Tuesday put me at ease. She’s not improving, but now I was standing beside her, seeing her with my own eyes. She was asleep, so I whispered, “Hi Grandma,” and kissed her forehead. She swung her right hand at me. I figured the feeling on my beard on her face felt weird, and that’s why she reacted that way. If she has the energy to do that, it can’t be that bad, I thought. I had dinner with my parents and called it a night.
My baby sister was flying in on Friday morning. My dad and I went to daily Mass (hoarding graces) and then to the airport to pick her up. On the way back, we bought gorditas because “when in Rome.” One of my uncles brought one of those adjustable bed frames. I helped move Grandma to it, and that was a game changer. Now we could stand her up so she could drink water with ease. Grandma had eleven children, one of whom passed when he was eleven. I saw most of my aunts and uncles who swung by to check in on her. Some of my cousins, too. The younger ones were born after I moved to the US, so I met them for the first time.
I went out to dinner with my sister and Dad, since Mom had a bunch of her siblings with her. While we were at the restaurant, Mom called us saying one of Grandma’s sisters came from Houston and that she, her daughter, and her son-in-law would stay there for the night. I was supposed to watch Grandma that night, but Mom and her aunt stayed with her, and everyone else occupied the three bedrooms upstairs. I shared a bedroom with my dad for a few nights.
When I woke up on Saturday, our house guests were gone; I heard they were going to San Luis Potosi to see more family. I had coffee and hung out with Mom and Grandma until it was time for me to leave. I had plans to meet an old friend for breakfast. I got to visit with him for a couple of hours. It was such a balm to spend time with him. I picked up some groceries on the way home and found out another one of Grandma’s sisters had arrived with three of her daughters. One of them had very interesting takes about several issues, which made for hours of awkward conversation. I figured I’d offer those little discomforts for Grandma.
More cousins showed up later that day, and it was nice to catch up with most of them. I ended the day debriefing with Mom and my sister. A doctor saw Grandma on Saturday afternoon; her oxygen levels and heart seemed fine. Miraculously, she wasn’t dehydrated, so they didn’t recommend taking her to the hospital yet. I offered to watch Grandma through the night again, but Mom turned my offer down. I was mainly trying to get Mom to sleep through the night; I could tell she was tired.
I went to Mass with my dad on Sunday morning. I’m so used to Gregorian chant at Mass that hearing the guitars and off-pitch, but very devout, singing of the choir made me miss my home parish in Phoenix. I got over my liturgical preferences and focused on the fact that Jesus was there, I got to receive Him and the gift of tears while praying after Mass. Back at my folks’, Mom was sleeping while my sister watched Grandma. I took over and started reading the book of Psalms to Grandma. She started raising her hand in praise and clapping while I was reading. I started bawling my eyes out with Psalm 25. I made it to Psalm 50 before people started dropping in.
I gave Grandma some water. She looked at me and said, “How are you?” I told her I was okay, and she went back to sleep. This was the last thing she said to me. That afternoon, as Dad and I were heading out for lunch and dropping off my sister at the airport, I could see Grandma opening her eyes but not seeing me or recognizing me as I told her I would be back later. While we were out, Mom called the doctor again. This time, they said she should be admitted and took her to the hospital. I thought of going to the hospital for a bit, but decided to keep the memory of me reading the book of Psalms to Grandma as my last memory of her.
I helped Dad clean, and we watched football before bed. I had an early flight to Phoenix the next day. Grandma lost consciousness that night, and it seems like she’s experiencing some pain. Grandma’s now at her home, with a nurse and her children caring for her. Now we wait and see when God calls her to His presence.
I’m grateful for the gift of faith and God’s grace, which helped me remain calm throughout this trip. I thought of how situations like this bring out people’s true character. It was a good reminder that everyone will fail you at some point or another, but not God. How non-believers deal with death is beyond me. Having the hope of the resurrection is a great consolation, as is knowing that Grandma went to confession, got anointed, and received the viaticum. I’m also grateful for the Church’s teaching on end-of-life issues, and how palliative care is seen as the last bit of charity we can have toward our loved ones.
Finally, I would ask your prayers for my grandma and our family.
I wrote about death and loss about two years ago. Here’s the link if you want to check it out.
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Sobremesa
The poll from the previous Smorgasbord revealed you like open-ended questions better, so here we go.
Has the death of a loved one changed how you think about your own life or death?
Do you think it's possible to find beauty or meaning in the experience of loss? Why or why not?
Are there any cultural or family traditions related to death that have shaped your views?
I’m praying for all of you. The Blessed Virgin is very close to your grandmother and will not leave her. I don’t know how I know this but I feel compelled to let you know.
What a beautiful tribute to your family, particularly your grandmother. Do you mind saying which parish you attend? Is it Saint Benedict by chance? I live in Phoenix also and attend St Thomas The Apostle.