Grief. A small, one-syllable word that packs a formidable
punch. No one escapes its grips; some are tortured their entire
lives. How do I cope? Why the ebb and flow? How do I
recognize it? Why did it resurface now? Will it ever stop
aching? How do I recapture joy with this massive hole in my
soul?
most important people, my grandmother.
She was no ordinary grandmother, she raised me, and we all
lived together our entire lives. She and my mother grew up in
Romania, under the insufferable communist regime. They both escaped and were able to build an
amazing life in the U.S. I was blessed to grow up bilingual and proud of my Romanian heritage.
It was an unbreakable bond that I have never shared with
another person, not even my mother. Yes, my
mother and I have a special relationship, but my
grandmother was my rock and my world. I watched her
take her last breath over FaceTime, not the way I had
envisioned, but was thankful for technology
allowing me to see her one last time.
I was sheltered from death, never having anyone close to
me pass away. Here I am,
staring at our matriarch, watching her transition into another form. In some ways, it was the most
peaceful experience, especially in lieu of her suffering, but I felt as if I had died right beside
her. I remember hanging up the phone and feeling as if I
was having an out-of-body experience. I had
never felt anything like that in my life and I had no
idea how to process the information. I sobbed and
sobbed, not fully understanding or processing what I had
just watched. That's it? She is gone. Why?
What do I do now? I was attempting to process my
thoughts, but I could not, I was frozen, I could
not move, and although I knew I was grieving, I still did
not understand the reactions and what I was
feeling.
So now I am just supposed to go on living without her? How did this happen so fast? More questions
entered my mind as more time elapsed. I felt as if I did
not have a right to breathe air anymore because
my beloved grandmother could not either. I battled with
my faith in God and was cursing him for taking
her away from me. How could you? Why her and why now? I
then realized that my thoughts and
actions sounded a bit selfish. I needed to stop and ask
myself what was best for my grandmother and
not my selfish need to keep her here on Earth. I couldn’t
help myself, grief makes you inadvertently
selfish.
She endured eight years of torture in a nursing home in Northern Virginia. In the beginning I was going
to see her every single day, ensuring she was never alone, always having a familiar face, and bringing
all the drinks and foods that reminded her of home. My mother and I were a team that ensured no harm
or neglect would come to her. Unfortunately, in those few
times we were not able to go every single
day, the maladies began.
Patients with dementia can never fully recall what has
happened to them, their reality is fragmented.
There was also the issue of the language barrier. She is
Romanian and speaks no English. All
communications happened through me or my mother. If I had
to pinpoint the beginning of my grief, at
the time, unbeknownst to me, it would be in 2014, feeling
helpless and relying on the hands of strangers
to love and protect my grandmother. At the time, I didn’t
realize I was grieving, that little chips of my
existence and my soul were being taken at the sight of so
much suffering and pain, not only of my
grandmother, but those around her as well.
I am what they call an Empath, I feel energies everywhere
and absorb it, whether good or bad. Over
time, I have learned how to shield myself from negative
energies, but when surrounded by so much
sorrow and pain, it can take over your mind and body quickly, yet I could not forsake my grandmother
and leave her without me and my close care. I knew which people were good and which were bad,
therefore, keeping
a keen eye and establishing the right relationships to ensure great treatment.
As time
progressed, I channeled my grief into attempting to help
those in her nursing home who had no families.
I grieved for them and the wonderful lives they had
lived. They were now emaciated, shrouded in
horrible rheumatoid arthritis, withering away as if their
lives were never important. When my
grandmother would nap, have a bath, or eating, I would
mosey down the hall to visit some of her
wonderful neighbors. I was able to provide comfort to
their inevitable deterioration, sometimes not
knowing how impactful it was to their lives or how
important it was to my reconciliation with grief and
death.
I would have dreams, flashing forward 40 years, when I
would need the help and assistance of others.
Could I live in a tiny room like this and be forgotten by
everyone? Why does our culture do this to the
elderly? Why is it so expensive to take care of ourselves
in the twilight of our lives? Although I knew I
could not predict my own future, I knew I could impact
lives in the present.
As I was unknowingly grieving for my grandmother’s
natural deterioration, I was slowly finding joy in
spending quality time with others who were being forgotten. I wanted them to be remembered, even if I
was the only person on the planet that cared. I listened to countless stories, some about war, others about
exquisite trips, fashion, happiness, raising families, and the light it brought to their lives was priceless. I
never knew if the stories were true or not, but
in that moment, they were real to them.
In my mind, it was a race against time: I could somehow
prevent her from dying if I lived and breathed
that nursing home. How silly of me, right? My selfish
grief and attitude convinced me that I
could prolong death. I was on pins and needles every day
for 8 years. Every time my mother and I
received a call we would jump and were ready to battle
for her life! It was exhausting, but again, I never
realized that was all part of grieving. Your mind cannot
reconcile anyone being gone from existence, so
therefore, you try to perform these grandiose feats to prolong
their lives.
Of course, in the end, nature won the fight, at the hands
of irresponsible humans, and we lost her.
Even at 90, she had an amazing will to live. It did not
matter what pain or condition was plaguing her,
she always chose life and smiled. She was my hero, and I
aspire to be happy like her each day. At the
end, she died due to negligence; from an ordinary UTI
that was not treated. The devastation was
insurmountable. I could not wrap my head around this
ridiculously simple ailment taking her life. Here I
entered the next stage of grief - anger.
I felt a rage that I had never experienced before. I was
obsessed with destroying the nursing home and
the staff that neglected her to the point of death. How
many more people had their lives end so
tragically and abruptly at the hands of massive
incompetency? How could medical professionals let that
happen? Isn’t their oath to “do no harm”?
I continually grieved for my grandmother and for others
who lost their lives in that nursing
home due to medical neglect, but also lamented the future. Is this what we all have to look forward to?
Being isolated in a cement room and being treated like someone who does not matter? Someone
neglecting a urine sample for six months and me dying of a simple UTI, meeting the same fate as my
grandmother? This simply cannot be! How can I go through this torture again with my mother and
stepfather?
The simplest answer to all my questions is that nature
will always win the race no matter how well you
pace your existence. Grief does not happen to people, it
is innately engrained in our psyche. It is the
vessel in which we can keep our sanity and continue to
live our lives, working through complex
emotions, helping others, and continuing to be good
people. I often saw grieving as a weakness, yet.
after experiencing the worst grief of my life, I realize
the immense strength it provides in times of
struggle.
Now, slightly over a year later, my grief is ever present
in each day of my life. I look forward to
experiencing the tears; ironically, it is when I feel
most alive! I continually look for signs that my
grandmother is with me, and she never lets me down! She
is present in every facet of my life.
Nature and time are the ultimate grim reapers, but only in the physical form. Energy lasts forever. And
her energy glows in our hearts, in birds, butterflies, and the sunshine bathing her favorite flowers, roses
and geraniums.
Beautiful, yet sad story. Glad she helped the other residents when visiting her own grandmother. A touch of humanity that is lacking in today's world.
ReplyDeleteAmen, Marijane! Love overcomes all.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much, Mimi Eileen, for sharing your personal story of grief. Thank you, Ileana, for publishing your daughter's moving and touching tribute. Today, I reread the articles of June 12 and 14, 2022, about Niculina Apostolescu (3/17/1932 - 6/9/2022), your beloved matriarch.
ReplyDeleteGrief is a hard punch. As articles on my website mention, in late 1999, my Mom became ill, unexpectedly, just less than three months after my wife and I had returned from our five-year mission work in Russia. Mom “went to see Jesus” (as her stated desire, before she left us) in late 2000. It took about 20 years, for me to get past the hardest stages of grief, as they came and went. Over time, the everlasting mindset, as I call it, continued to strengthen me. Manageable moments of grief will stay with me, until it's my time to join Mom at Home. Thankfully, Mom had good professional medical care, in general, when she needed it the most. There were instances, however, when it was lacking. As family, we fought those instances and overcame them.
Comfort often comes from scripture. I have read 1 Corinthians Chapter 15 many times, especially since late 2000. One segment is: “When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: 'Death has been swallowed up in victory.' 'Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?'” (1 Cor. 15:54-55, NIV).
By evidence-based faith, I know that I will see Mom again. May you be comforted, by faith, in knowing that you will see Niculina Apostolescu, beloved mother and grandmother, again. The grief of the temporal separation will then be swallowed up in the everlasting joy of the heavenly family reunion. That is my written prayer to God, “the God of all comfort” (2 Cor. 1:3, NIV). The spirit of your beloved matriarch lives in each of you, as you honor her legacy.
Thank you so much, M. Fearghail, for your comforting words! I will pass them on to my daughter Mimi Eileen.
ReplyDelete