It seems weird that I was watching Grey’s Anatomy, because I dislike the show with a passion; but, I was watching it. The most recent show that premiered on the 5th (of January) made me think of her. On their way to a birthday celebration, a family that consisted of a grandfather, father, mother, son, and two daughters were in a car crash, a fatal crash for most of them. The eldest daughter watched her grandfather die on sight and her mother die in the hospital while gasping for air, blood dripping from her body. The daughter, both the other siblings safe and secure in a nearby room, went to see her father; he was not doing well. Hours passed as she watched his heartbeat move from irregular back to regular, back to irregular. He could not breathe on his own, and was constantly revived by the doctors as he began to lose the battle between life and death. She watched as he received defibrillation on two occasions after they had tried to move the breathing tube from his body. Finally, on the third defibrillation, she asked what they could do, what extraordinary measures they could take to fix him, to heal him from this near-death life. His doctor replied that they have taken all of those measures already; he will not live without the breathing tube. She repeated the doctor’s words aloud and paused.
“We will take off his breathing tube,” was her reply. The doctor looked taken back, not sure what this child was thinking. The doctor started to say that as a child to her father, the girl could not make that kind of a decision only to be interrupted by, “I am not a child anymore. I am an adult. I am 18 and have been for the last 4 hours; for the last 6 hours, I have seen my father suffer. I have seen him on the edge of death and I will not let him live like this. You will take the breathing tube off and if he lives, he lives. If he dies, at least he isn’t suffering anymore.” The doctor nods.
The next scene consists of a signing of papers, movement of the body to a more private area, and a silent interaction where the sister hugs her siblings while crying. Then, it flashes to the doctor, standing over the father’s body, unplugging chords, the daughter behind, her arms crossed. She asks what will happen next.
“His heart rate will slow as will his breathing. At some point, an alarm will start to beep, but I will turn it off, and then his breathing will completely stop and his heart rate will flatten on the screen here.” The girl glances quickly at the doctor and then back down to her father. She is left alone in the room with her father, waiting. In the background, Skin by Zola Jesus plays as the soundtrack. The song starts with pure instrumental; a piano, pounding chords. It is raw sounding as if it has been recorded by amateurs. A woman’s voice begins to sing with an ethereal background of singers harmonize.
“Safety net, don’t hold me now. In this love, I’ve fallen down. Secret home, I made and found. And you wait to breathe.” The daughter begins to shake with sobs as the song continues. “I’ve had enough. And in the sickness, you have faith. And in the thickness, you find me. Finally.” This is my new favorite song.
The girl stares at her father. You can see the heart rate going down in number. I found myself counting down. I thought of my grandmother. Unfortunately, I was not present for her last moments. I still wish I had been there. On that day, I had listened to an unexpected voicemail after my volleyball practice. I missed saying goodbye by 2 hours. I missed saying goodbye to this enchanting woman who is now remembered so dearly in my heart.
As the beeping gets louder for a dramatic ending, my attention reverts back to the screen. Part of me wants him to wake up, to look at her, to breathe. I want some miracle to occur. But, his eyes remain closed, his breath still numbered. I have heard that when the breathing tube was first removed from grandma’s mouth, that she had a disappointed and surprised look for a moment. No miracle of sudden breath was happening. This was the end of her earthly journey.
I am so thankful that my grandma was surrounded by friends and family at the end. She was surrounded by singing and smiles and tears and laughter. I miss laughing with her. I miss her tight hugs. I miss her organization. I miss her disorganization. I miss her muddled words passed 8 o’clock. I miss her quoting the scriptures. I miss her crackly, morning soprano. I miss her scolding. I miss her forgiveness. I feel such a closeness to her while the scene darkens.
Sending kisses up to you. I hope you get them soon. Maybe you got them now. I am surrounded in your love.
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