You still laugh at a dark comedy

You know it's bad news when you get a call from someone you never hear from at a strange time.

For me, I was driving to work. I could see on the caller ID it was Pat, a cousin. (Names and relationships have been changed to protect the self-centered.) Pat immediately said that my grandmother was in the hospital. Weird. I talked to her the day before and she said she had the flu, but didn't seem too concerned about it. Apparently "flu" meant "stroke." This was a touch more serious. I asked why Pat was not at the hospital. Got to love when a question gets answered with a question, which was "why aren't you?" I was 1,200 miles away living in another state and Pat was in the same city as my grandmother, living with her and an uncle. I was unsure if this was a legitimate question or just rhetorical. It seemed unnecessary to point out the obvious. I realized I had gotten all the relevant information I was going to get out of this conversation.

I managed at some point to reach my dad. He said to wait to come home until we had some information on her condition. He had been there when she had the stroke and drove her to the local hospital, which then sent her in a helicopter to a hospital in a major city. I am pretty sure it was the only helicopter ride she ever took.

I got to the hospital the next day. This was during the pandemic and there were limits on how many people could be anywhere, except it seemed in the ICU of this hospital where we all piled in together. I said "hi" to my grandmother. She looked up at me and I think she knew it was me, but everyone had to wear masks at the time, so I can't be sure she recognized me or my voice.

We reviewed the brain scans as a family. I'm not a doctor, but it didn't look good. Yet, the doctors always say something like "but it could improve with physical therapy. Or it may not. We can't give you any guarantees." OK. I understand. Can you give me any actual useful information?

We had to make a decision about doing brain surgery. The tricky part was her age. She often said she was no spring chicken. Doctors couldn't say if she would survive the surgery. It was a tough decision, but, in the end, we agreed it was best to take her off life support. It didn't seem likely she'd live through the surgery. If she did, she would be bedridden, unable to move or talk. We weren't set up as a family for round-the-clock care at home and didn't feel right putting her in a long-term nursing facility when she couldn't talk and tell us if there were issues. It seemed to me that she'd be a prisoner in her body where as she had been completely mobile before walking, driving, gardening. That seemed like a fate worse than death to me.

You see all these end-of-life scenes in the movies where the families come together and hug and support each other. I don't know what I was expecting since this was a surprise scenario, but I sure as hell didn't get that. That became clear after we made the decision to take my grandmother off life support and Pat said: "But who's going to make my oatmeal in the mornings? Did she know how much time she saved me every day?" I don't know if Pat ever considered making the oatmeal Pat's self. I knew my uncle was not the type to volunteer.

My uncle used to love new gadgets when he was younger. He was really excited to get a microwave. I remember how he convinced my grandmother that we should spend the money: He promised this new invention would make it, wait for it, easy for HIM to cook. I think my grandmother was happy for the help in the kitchen. He even bought a microwave cookbook. The microwave finally arrived. My uncle carefully put all the ingredients of a full meal, including both meat and veggies, into it. He pressed the ON button. Our faces glowed as we stood directly in front of it and watched as the carousel turned. I have no idea what he cooked that night. It didn't look edible when it came out. Yet, it was put on a plate before only me to "try." I, sadly, was not the tester my uncle hoped to have. After one bit I said: "Ewww. Do I have to eat it?" My grandmother said yes, but I noticed no one else ate that night, at least not what came out of the microwave. That was the day my uncle retired from cooking. The microwave going forward was only used to reheat leftovers. I thought maybe Pat could learn to microwave the oatmeal.

Doctors couldn't say how long my grandmother had. Relatives rotated in and out of her hospital room that day. I knew my grandmother wanted to die at home. Various relatives had all died, at different times of course, in the family home. We used to joke if we ever sold the house we could use "haunted" as a sales feature. We made arrangements for hospice to bring her home the next day.

We said goodbye for the night. Pat, never one to be emotional, made a big scene about my grandmother being the best, most loving relative. This was from someone who often would say: "Don't take this personally, but..." Fill in the blank with a minor flaw, a tiny lapse in memory or another small infraction. Her eyes were open, so I knew she was hearing this nonsense. I said to her: "I bet you've never heard that before." The stroke had paralyzed the right side of her body, but I saw her lips on the left side lift up slightly into a twisted half-smile. We were jokers until the end.

We went to the parking lot where we approached the car. My parents had an SUV, yet my dad chose to drive the compact car to fit five people, including him, me, my siblings and various partners. We all mushed into the car. I got squished in middle of the back seat between my brothers because I was the smallest person. I asked my day why he brought the small car. Answer: I didn't know you were coming home with us. Really? I belong to you. Where did you think I was going?

An ambulance delivered my grandmother home the next day. Hospice came in to show us how to care for her. What you may not know about hospice is someone comes in maybe an hour a day to check on your loved one and you're responsible for all the other hours. I figured with five of us, we'd manage. The nurse went over how to empty various fluids, when to give medication and how to give her water. It wasn't complicated, but there were a lot of moving parts to be aware of, especially when the person can't speak and let you know if they are in pain. I made the mistake of asking Pat to take the first shift. I was shattered from all the travel, making arrangements both current and near future (a.k.a calling a priest for last rights, calling the funeral home, etc.). The response was: "You're tired? I'm tired. I lifted heavy at the gym. Plus, I didn't really pay attention to the nurse. I was just pretending to be interested." I immediately thought "Holy hell, please don't ever let me be incapacitated with you to depend on." Never mind. I got this.

My grandmother decided not to hang out too much longer with us. Thankfully, everyone got a chance to say goodbye and most of us were there holding her hand as she transitioned. It just so happened that hospice sent a minister in training to our door at that moment. I tried to explain we were good as she had just died. We were all literally still around the bed crying and this stranger joined us around the bed. Not wanting to be rude I asked if he wanted something to drink. He said he was O.K. and that he was going to pray silently with us. So awkward silence followed. After what I felt was a more than sufficient time to pray an entire Rosary, I thought he'd leave. But no. I said, well, this has got to be strange meeting people in this situation. He said, nope. Not really sure what protocol was in this situation, I kept talking to him because it seemed rude not to include him. He somehow ended up offering to have his wife sing at the funeral. I'm not sure when he left, but he eventually disappeared.

The funeral was delayed because the funeral home was backed up because of everyone else dying of COVID. I figured that gave us some time to get it together as a family. Turns out no amount of time was going to be enough to make that happen.

After the funeral, we were all waiting at the door ready to put my grandmother's coffin in the hearse and move our group to the cemetery for burial when no one could locate Pat. It was COVID, so there was just a small number of us and we needed Pat's help to get the coffin into the hearse. So, I did what all close relatives do when they are in a small building and can't locate someone. It's what you do when you're all at home together but in separate rooms. I yelled out: "Pat, where are you?" No answer. Hmmm...this is suspicious now. There was not that much space to disappear into. Afraid now that something may have happened to Pat, I started checking bathrooms. Bingo. The door was locked and Pat was the only person unaccounted for. I started hammering on the door to open up or I was coming in. No response. Now, I'm certain something is seriously wrong. I have my phone in hand ready to dial 911 when someone comes with the key to unlock the bathroom door. Pat walks out a few seconds later.

Me: "Did you hear me calling for you?"

Pat: "No."

Me: "Did you hear us knocking on the door?"

Pat: "No."

Me: "What were you doing in there?"

Pat just walked on by to the coffin.

I realized it was not the time or place to make a scene, or at least more of one than already had already been made as we tried to extricate Pat from the bathroom.

I knew somehow my grandmother wasn't really going to miss this sort of nonsense or making oatmeal. She probably saw more nonsense than she ever let on. Instead, I felt as if she was now the one laughing at it as we all had to deal with the crazy of our family on our own.