I never knew my grandfathers. One died before I was born, the other died shortly after. Luckily I had good relationships with my grandmothers, who lived into their 90s. But I was only 12 when my mom's mom died and 26 when my dad's mom died, so although I was lucky to have them in my life at all, I still feel like I didn't get enough time with them.
About 7 years ago, which was about 7 years after my last grandparent died, I received an unexpected gift: another grandmother. When my girlfriend Amy was sure enough about me to introduce me to the family, her own last grandparent, Pauline--Nani, immediately accepted me and loved me like only a grandmother can. I met her when she was in her late 80s, but with her short, grayish-white hair always perfectly permed, and a mind as sharp as her outfits, she looked and functioned like she was in her 60s. Whenever I saw her, she'd tell Amy and I how much she loved us and our relationship. It was always great to sit and chat with her, talking about her life growing up or about the trips Amy and I went on. Sometimes she'd complain about getting older but always with a wry sense of humor. Like many strong willed people, she seemed to resent the aging process, with the constant pain and not being able to function as she once did. Still, at 96, she was in incredible shape mentally and physically. But with that health came a sad irony: she outlived most of her family and friends. She never wallowed in despair, but she often acknowledged the loneliness she felt.
Despite the pain and loneliness of living for nearly an entire century, she seemed to relish her role as the family matriarch and she did her best to make it to every family function, where she'd always be the most highly revered guest, reminiscing with her kids and grandkids and playing with the greatgrandkids.
Recently she was diagnosed with lymphedema. Her time had come, and she was ready. Last week she began the process of entering hospice care, and early this week she passed away.
I was able to visit her a few days before she died. She was still herself, but her health was beginning to decline, and she becoming tired and a little confused. Morphine was also starting to have an effect on her capabilities, but at least it was taking her pain away. As she sat and talked with Amy and I, along with Amy's parents, we asked if she wanted lunch, knowing that it very well could be her last real meal. She looked at me and said, "You know what I want? A McDonald's cheeseburger."
So the 96 year old daughter of immigrants who grew up in Hell's Kitchen ate a McDonald's burger and fries for her last meal. I have never seen anything so American. I wanted to salute her and sing the National Anthem.
In all honesty, it was a perfect meal for the situation. Although I haven't eaten McDonald's in a while, it still reminds me of childhood, when a visit to McDonald's with the family was a special treat. McDonald's has gotten a bad rap over the years, and rightfully so. People eat it because it's quick and cheap, and it's undoubtedly contributed to the obesity epidemic, but it's an undeniable cultural marker and a part of most Americans' lives (maybe even most humans in general now). The meals can be very tasty, but I think we taste nostalgia more than the food itself. Food has the ability to bring us back to a specific time and place and emotion. The burger or chicken nugget is just a delivery system for joyful memories and feeling like a kid again. Nani didn't necessarily want a cheap burger, she wanted the memories of eating McDonald's with her family and friends throughout her life. It's called comfort food for a reason, and at this point, comfort was her number one priority.
I have many positive memories involving McDonald's, and now I can add one more very special memory to the list.
After eating, Nani made sure to tell us how much she loved Amy and I. She had also become somewhat close with my mom over the last few years, a bond formed by their battles with deteriorating health. She told me to give my mom her love and reminded me to always speak to my mom from my heart, a line so perfect it felt like dialogue from a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel.
She cried a bit, and it was clear she was afraid, but more than anything she was ready. I have never been so close to someone who knew they were dying soon. I know how emotional it was for me, so I can only imagine how it was for her. I don't think everyone has her strength in their final days. Having lived a good life helps with accepting death, I suppose. She had previously said that she was ready to die, but it was now an impending reality, and death is still the great unknown. Her mental capacities were working enough to know that death is scary regardless how prepared she was. But she was ready, and I only hope I can ever be as brave.
It's said that people often wait for "permission" from loved ones to finally let go; maybe that's the case, but she was not exactly the type to ask "permission." It felt more like she was satisfied with her life and ready for death, and she wanted her family to be ready as well. She waited for Christmas and the New Year (she made it 11 decades!). She waited until most family members saw her one last time, then she went on her own terms, surrounded by family. That's the best anyone can ask for, and it's what she deserved.
I only knew her for a few years, but I'm so grateful to have had her in my life. Everyone should get the opportunity to spend more time with a grandparent, especially one like her.
Goodbye, Nani, my last grandmother. You will be missed.
I Love You All...Class Dismissed.
About 7 years ago, which was about 7 years after my last grandparent died, I received an unexpected gift: another grandmother. When my girlfriend Amy was sure enough about me to introduce me to the family, her own last grandparent, Pauline--Nani, immediately accepted me and loved me like only a grandmother can. I met her when she was in her late 80s, but with her short, grayish-white hair always perfectly permed, and a mind as sharp as her outfits, she looked and functioned like she was in her 60s. Whenever I saw her, she'd tell Amy and I how much she loved us and our relationship. It was always great to sit and chat with her, talking about her life growing up or about the trips Amy and I went on. Sometimes she'd complain about getting older but always with a wry sense of humor. Like many strong willed people, she seemed to resent the aging process, with the constant pain and not being able to function as she once did. Still, at 96, she was in incredible shape mentally and physically. But with that health came a sad irony: she outlived most of her family and friends. She never wallowed in despair, but she often acknowledged the loneliness she felt.
Despite the pain and loneliness of living for nearly an entire century, she seemed to relish her role as the family matriarch and she did her best to make it to every family function, where she'd always be the most highly revered guest, reminiscing with her kids and grandkids and playing with the greatgrandkids.
Recently she was diagnosed with lymphedema. Her time had come, and she was ready. Last week she began the process of entering hospice care, and early this week she passed away.
I was able to visit her a few days before she died. She was still herself, but her health was beginning to decline, and she becoming tired and a little confused. Morphine was also starting to have an effect on her capabilities, but at least it was taking her pain away. As she sat and talked with Amy and I, along with Amy's parents, we asked if she wanted lunch, knowing that it very well could be her last real meal. She looked at me and said, "You know what I want? A McDonald's cheeseburger."
So the 96 year old daughter of immigrants who grew up in Hell's Kitchen ate a McDonald's burger and fries for her last meal. I have never seen anything so American. I wanted to salute her and sing the National Anthem.
In all honesty, it was a perfect meal for the situation. Although I haven't eaten McDonald's in a while, it still reminds me of childhood, when a visit to McDonald's with the family was a special treat. McDonald's has gotten a bad rap over the years, and rightfully so. People eat it because it's quick and cheap, and it's undoubtedly contributed to the obesity epidemic, but it's an undeniable cultural marker and a part of most Americans' lives (maybe even most humans in general now). The meals can be very tasty, but I think we taste nostalgia more than the food itself. Food has the ability to bring us back to a specific time and place and emotion. The burger or chicken nugget is just a delivery system for joyful memories and feeling like a kid again. Nani didn't necessarily want a cheap burger, she wanted the memories of eating McDonald's with her family and friends throughout her life. It's called comfort food for a reason, and at this point, comfort was her number one priority.
I have many positive memories involving McDonald's, and now I can add one more very special memory to the list.
After eating, Nani made sure to tell us how much she loved Amy and I. She had also become somewhat close with my mom over the last few years, a bond formed by their battles with deteriorating health. She told me to give my mom her love and reminded me to always speak to my mom from my heart, a line so perfect it felt like dialogue from a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel.
She cried a bit, and it was clear she was afraid, but more than anything she was ready. I have never been so close to someone who knew they were dying soon. I know how emotional it was for me, so I can only imagine how it was for her. I don't think everyone has her strength in their final days. Having lived a good life helps with accepting death, I suppose. She had previously said that she was ready to die, but it was now an impending reality, and death is still the great unknown. Her mental capacities were working enough to know that death is scary regardless how prepared she was. But she was ready, and I only hope I can ever be as brave.
It's said that people often wait for "permission" from loved ones to finally let go; maybe that's the case, but she was not exactly the type to ask "permission." It felt more like she was satisfied with her life and ready for death, and she wanted her family to be ready as well. She waited for Christmas and the New Year (she made it 11 decades!). She waited until most family members saw her one last time, then she went on her own terms, surrounded by family. That's the best anyone can ask for, and it's what she deserved.
I only knew her for a few years, but I'm so grateful to have had her in my life. Everyone should get the opportunity to spend more time with a grandparent, especially one like her.
Goodbye, Nani, my last grandmother. You will be missed.
I Love You All...Class Dismissed.
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