Life & Death Situation

... that's what I've been living for the past week.

One week ago today, I got the call from my Dad that my Mama Jo (my paternal grandmother) was being admitted to the hospital in the step-down ICU for some kind of stomach blockage.

It's been a long week without many clear answers as to why the blockage happened except that when you're immobile, you can have blockages. There was an ultrasound and a CT scan and a few different x-rays, but long story short, on Friday, they called in Hospice.

And we all know what that means.

Her body is shutting down. Like my step-mom said, not everyone's death is the same, but a lot of times when the body starts shutting down, the digestive tract is usually the first thing to go, and hers did.

My Mama Jo is the Mohammad Ali of fighting back against every negative hand life has dealt her. The "decline of her health" began in 2000 when she had a stroke (I use the term "decline of her health" very roughly because a lot of times since 2000, she has been very, very healthy and even since this moment, she lived a very productive and happy life). Since that, she lost her speech center which hindered her ability to verbally express what she wanted to say, she's battled dementia, Parkinson's disease, she suffered a few falls, she even eventually lost her ability to drive, but she never, ever lost her will to fight. Through it all, she got back up, put her hands up, and fought back, just as hard as she could.

She always had a smile for us when we went to visit, even as the dementia took away her ability to always recognize us, she would smile, and call us "Honey!" and tell us she loved us when we left. She was one of the first people at the hospital to wait for her first great-grandbaby to be born, waiting into the night with the huge cluster of family there. Then, when our Little C was born, she was at the hospital visiting him too. She always wanted to hold him. That couldn't have been easy for her (Little C is a pretty big and wiggly kid) but she didn't care. She wanted to hold him anyway and she always looked at him in amazement- she just couldn't believe she was holding the third generation of her genes!

It's been a tough week. When I went to the hospital on Sunday, things seemed optimistic, but by Wednesday, it became pretty evident that the inevitable was going to happen. Everyone dies, no matter who you are. It happens. Death is as natural as birth, although it's not usually as exciting and happily anticipated... but why? Why shouldn't death be a celebration? After all, my Mama Jo was at church every Sunday that she was able to be there, and I know she has accepted Jesus and believes in God. I'm not at all worried where she is going to go.

I'm trying to change my perspective on death through watching hers happen. My father-in-law passed away in 2010, and I saw him in his last weeks, but I wasn't there when it happened. I'm seeing Mama Jo's first-hand, and while it's hard for me to let her go, it's okay. As soon as she leaves here, SHE GETS TO GO HANG OUT WITH JESUS. FOREVER. And that's pretty cool. Someday, I just hope I've lived half the life she has and with half of the grace she has so I can see her again on the other side.

I'll always carry her everywhere I go. Every outfit I wear, I'm reminded I get my sense of style from her (all the way down to my funky and fun jewelry). When I get teared up at a toilet paper commercial because I'm so sensitive, I remember that Mama Jo was the same way, always tearing up and thinking everything was so sweet. Every time I sing, I'll remember where I got my voice from. Whenever I look in the mirror, or look at my child, I'll see her beautiful shade of blue eyes. When she goes, it will be weird to know I'll never hear her voice say "Love you, love you!" again, but I've been lucky enough to build a lifetime of memories with her that I will be able to tell Little C all about. And I am so lucky to have had her as MY Mama Jo. She's been my angel on Earth, and I know nothing about that is going to chance when she crosses over to the other side. It will just mean we'll have one more person watching out for us over there.

I love you, love you, Honey. Forever!