ripples

Since my last grandparent died on May 31st, I've been thinking about the ways that death creates ripples in the lives of the living, how an unplanned event impacts all the planned events. 

When I got the message from Pete, my uncle, I was standing with Sofia in a coffee shop decorated to look like the French countryside in DC's Navy Yard. We had just had lunch with Ted, my cousin, where we had talked about Gram and her health, that I had just been to see her, that he planned to see her soon. The moment before I looked at my phone, Sofia and I had been commenting to each other about all the sweet details in the coffee shop--paint colors, indoor pergolas with silk wisteria vines, blue on white china-style patterns on both stay and go mugs, a lush pastry case, and decadent coffee and tea options. Then I looked at my phone. 

I felt sadness and then relief. Relief for her that a life of near-total hearing loss, near-total blindness and congestive heart failure edema is finally over. She had, I think, been ready to be done for a while. Relief for Pete that he no longer has to bear the load of being next of kin and caregiver, no longer managing doctors, nurses, and medications, no longer planning his life around her health. Relief for myself that I had seen her recently and that now I could stop thinking about the logistics of travel to a funeral from halfway around the world in the middle of a semester.

I will miss her, of course, but I had already been missing her. She had not been able to be present in my life for years. In the last couple of years, her degree of hearing loss and her refusal to wear her imperfect hearing aids (or to seek help from an audiologist to fix them) made every conversation a guessing game for her. I suspect that she was hearing a small proportion of each sentence and filling in the missing words from context. The challenge is that new topics or unexpected words cannot be guessed in this way, even by someone as sharp as Gram was. When Anna and I went to see her in 2022, we wanted Gram to notice the hand-knit sweater Anna was wearing. She was able to see the contrasting green and white bands of color, to understand the unusual circular construction of the cardigan, and to feel some of the textures in different parts of the sweater. Then Gram asked what the yarn was, when I answered that it was bamboo, she could not guess that word. She thought I was saying shampoo, which made no sense, but then she got stuck there and then frustrated when I tried to move on to a different topic. She didn't like knowing that she didn't know something or having her limits made noticeable. 

When I visited her in 2021, when she was still living alone and kicking our asses at dominoes, she was able to understand that I was moving to Russia for a job and that the job market for me in the US is grim. That is the last update of my life she was able to incorporate into her reality. On my last visit, Pete told her I had come to see her from Armenia, but like bamboo, that was not a word she could hear+guess and understand. I jumped in to say, "Russia!," and she said, "oh, yes." 

Sadness and then relief and then logistics. When would Pete plan the funeral for and how much of my travel plans would I have to cancel or rearrange to be present for it? I no longer own property in the US, so when I'm here, I itinerate from house to house, treading on the hospitality of friends and family, remembering how Gram used to say that both fish and family start to smell after three days. This trip also included some international travel to Banff for tourism and to Limerick for a professional conference. My itineration requires careful planning and many tickets and reservations in a cluster of airline and lodging apps, some--but not all--of which are changeable or refundable.

As Sofia drove us back across the river to Arlington, my mind was spinning with interactions of variables in the Travel App cluster on my phone. Then Pete sent another message with the date for the wake set for Thursday, June 13th, and I realized that I would have to withdraw my paper from the conference in Limerick and also that I could wait until Monday to actually make any changes to tickets and reservations. 

When Adam died, my world ground to a halt. I did nothing but grief and death logistics for a solid week. With this death, though, I have not stepped out of the world of the living. That afternoon, Sofia and I put on our black clothes and comfy shoes and went to work backstage at dress rehearsal for Chris & Kendra's dance studio recital. We spent the weekend making magic for 800 students with the family business of our found family. Sequins, feathers, and sparkle motion are an excellent distraction from grief. 

This week, I'm in Banff with Chris & Kendra and Jim. I'm supporting Pete from afar and helping with family travel and lodging logistics. I'm thinking more and remembering stories, more writing and less compartmentalizing. These friends are graciously listening to my stories about Gram, our weird family, and its petty dramas. 

At one point yesterday, I thought, "What am I doing here? I should have gone straight to Buffalo." But then, I thought, "The plans have been made. Gram prepared for this." This kind of travel to new places with good friends is exactly the kind of thing she made a priority in her life before her body started to betray her. She would love it here. I wish I could send her a postcard. 

Because I had been living so far away from Gram for years, this death will change my day to day reality very little. It will mean that when I do come to the States in future, I won't have such an urgency to include Buffalo in my iteration. It will mean that I'm unlikely to see my extended family gathered together as we will be this week until the next funeral for the next of us who dies. It will mean all the small moments of grief when I want to share a piece of my life or tell her something and remember again that I can't.  

Next week, instead of being in Limerick networking with colleagues as planned, I'll be in Buffalo with my family. I'm looking forward to seeing them, despite the sad reason for the gathering. Withdrawing from the conference is a professional loss that will have ripples in my career, and I can't predict them. I've already submitted the paper to another conference for the fall, but that will be different people and different networking and a different path than I had planned for and expected.