A lot of you guys know that I have Obsessive-Compulsive disorder. Some of you may know that the disorder involves having intrusive, irrational, disturbing thoughts that produce varying levels of anxiety — thoughts the individual knows are irrational. The “solution” to the anxiety these thoughts create is to develop a compulsion — some activity or series of activities that, though it is equally irrational, relieves the anxiety.

I have a number of obsessions and the accompanying compulsions. One I’ve had for years — long before it was diagnosed — was the obsession that something awful was going to happen to my Grandma between the time I left and the next time I saw her. I had no idea what specifically was going to happen, but it was something awful, and it was imminent. Of course, I knew nothing awful was going to happen, but that didn’t change the obsession — it was there, it wasn’t going away, and it created a great deal of anxiety for me.

For years, every time I left, she would tell me she loved me and to be careful. Eventually it developed into the compulsion for my obsession. The ritual went like this:

Grandma: I love you.
Me: I love you too.
Grandma: Be careful.
Me: I will.

Now, I’m not stupid — I know that saying those lines in that order isn’t going to influence the Fates in the least. If something is going to happen, it’s going to happen, ritual or not. But, it relieved my anxiety, and we always went through it. I forgot until I was in the car on a couple of occasions (and nearly knocked the door off the hinges once to get back in). I forgot entirely once — only once — on a Monday. Grandma fell and broke her hip that Friday.

This past Monday, Grandma went into the hospital for pneumonia brought on by the cold everybody in the family has been fighting for weeks. I went to see her on Tuesday, and we had a long visit, with a lot of laughing and joking, just like always. She’s been housebound since she broke her hip (a couple of years ago), and has been unable to walk or stand at all for over a year. My dad and his brothers have stayed with her 24/7 (with the help of some hired ladies to sit with her during the day a couple of days per week).

I already knew, from previous conversations, that she wanted — desperately — to go. She’d spent several years staring at the wall with nothing to do but wait for Death and the next meal, whichever came first. She knew her sons were giving up most of their time — time with their families, time to do things they needed to do — to stay there with her, and were staring at the wall all day just like she was. Though she was grateful that they were, she didn’t want them to need to be there. Having had a long (87) and happy life, she was ready to go, to see again all the people who had already gone.

We talked about her wanting to go, about not being able to go until it’s your time, and about her hope that she would go peacefully, in her sleep, when nobody was there. We joked a bit, about her living to be ninety or more, outliving all of us, that sort of thing, as we always did. When I left, we did the ritual just like always, and we even joked that, although I had the cold like everybody else, I couldn’t have given it to her, because the last time I left we did the ritual, and so it couldn’t be my fault.

On Thursday, she took a turn for the worse, and was moved to the ICU. I didn’t really want to go back to the hospital, because we’d had such a good visit, and if something did happen, that’s what I wanted to remember. Still, about 11:30 Thursday night, I needed to go, even if it was just to sit there while she was asleep.

I got there about midnight, and she was awake because she was taking a breathing treatment. She knew who I was, and I gave her a hug, then went over to sit down. When her treatment was finished, she went back to sleep, which was fine with me — she needed her sleep, and I didn’t go to visit, I went because I needed to go. I stayed until about 2:00 (AM), when I had to leave because I was on the verge of being too tired to drive. (I’d gotten an hour’s sleep Wednesday night into Thursday morning.)

Before I left, I went over to her bed, and held her hand. She was still asleep, but that wasn’t really important. I told her that if she got the chance to go Home, that I love her, to be careful, and that I would see her when I got my chance.

This morning, at 1:23 AM, the hospital called to tell us she had taken a much more serious turn for the worse, and that it was probably time for the family to come in. I didn’t go, having said what I needed to say. I asked Mom & Dad not to call me to tell me, that I wanted to be told in person. About 3:30, they came home, and as soon as they came through the door, I knew. She went exactly as she wanted to: peacefully, in her sleep, before anyone could get there.

As expected, I’ve had plenty of people offer their condolences, thoughts, and prayers, and I appreciate it greatly. There have also been a few that have been confused that I’m not sad.

My Grandma was a wonderful lady, selfless, kind, caring, and full of love. For a lot of us, when we were young she was our mum, while our mothers were working. I learned more from her than I could ever convey, much of it about being a good person. To live up to her example is impossible, but if I manage even the tiniest fraction, I will have achieved more than I could ever hope.

I already miss her deeply, and will for the rest of my life. I’m not sad, though, because she got to go Home, where she wanted to be, to be with all the ones who had already gone. I’m happy for her — there is nothing else to be. Others are sorry for my loss, but I haven’t lost anything — all the things she taught me, all the fun we had, and all the love she gave are still here, and will be for as long as I choose to keep them. Even though she went Home, she is and will always be here — Death, disorders, not even the Fates themselves can take her away.

Welcome Home, Grandma. I love you too, and I’ll be careful.

1. Shawn Powers Says:
   November 28th, 2009 at 8:12 PM

   You have my condolences as well, Justin. You seem to have a very healthy outlook on the situation, which is great — but yes, it’s still a painful emptiness, I’m sure.

   You and your family will be in our prayers.

   -Shawn

2. Randy R, Noseworthy Says:
   November 29th, 2009 at 7:25 AM

   Cool, Justin.

   If I could convey myself half as well as you, when I write. AND have someone give me a send off from the planet like you did your GrandMa, I’d be tickled.

   God Bless, and This Thanksgiving sounds like a mile marker for you too.

   I lost my father when I was 20 to a traffic accident, just prior to Thanksgiving.

   As a fellow geek, if I can start a tradition with you, I’d like to say:

   Be Geekful, and I’ll see your pixels later…

3. Jennifer Says:
   November 29th, 2009 at 7:38 PM

   I’m glad she went out how she wanted and I am glad you were there to tell her it was okay to do so. My sympathies on losing what sounds like a simply marvelous woman.

4. Lisa Hoover Says:
   November 30th, 2009 at 10:45 AM

   I’m so torn between wanting to say how sorry I am for your loss and how happy I am that both of you are at peace in your own ways. It’s never easy to lose someone we’re close to but I’m so glad you two got to know each other, and she left this world with such grace and dignity.

   I don’t have to have ever talked to her to know she was proud of you. Her fingerprint will be on your heart forever. Love and hugs to you, my friend.

   Gramdma’s waiting for that orchid.

5. Sally_K Says:
   December 2nd, 2009 at 12:37 AM

   Thanks for sharing. Sounds like you had a wonderful relationship with your grandma. I’m glad you got to say goodbye to her. I was lucky enough to get to say goodbye to my grandma earlier this year. I just happened to be visiting my parents the weekend she went in to the hospital. I got to visit, give her my love and say goodbye before she went a few days later.

6. octopusgrabbus Says:
   December 4th, 2009 at 4:52 PM

   I am sorry your gram is gone. I think she would have loved your tweet about looting the pots and pans. I understand why you wanted to leave things with the last good conversation with her. I think your gram would have also liked your tweet about looting the pots and pans.

   The last time I saw my mom, I had convinced her to wear her red devil’s headband with ostrich feathers down for a bone scan. Her headband was so popular, she had visitors for the whole day from all over the hospital.

7. Justin Says:
   December 10th, 2009 at 6:02 PM

   She was a wonderful person, and I take great comfort knowing she’ll always be with us. Thanks to each of you for your kind words, thoughts, and prayers.