The Final Goodbye

(Contains themes of death/dying)

“Ma'am you can step through the metal detector now” the guard said gesturing towards the barricade. I was half listening when he greeted me at the door. “Oh sorry” I stammered back. I had been through this process many times before, but today was the day. It would be the last time I crossed the threshold into this dreaded place. An ache slowly formed in my chest over the last few days as I anticipated what was to come. That ache was an overwhelming heaviness now. Some of the family still had hope early on, but I always knew the only possible outcome. It was a choice mom and I made together, made in a moments notice. It was a rushed decision that I remained conflicted about. Mema was struggling to breathe, she would not have survived the hour. The ER physician approached and asked us if they could intubate. We couldn’t let her go in that moment, so, through sobs we agreed. Today was the day. We were stopping all measures, taking out the breathing tube, and standing at her bedside as a family to usher her into the next life.

“Have a great afternoon!” The guard piped behind me. It stung a little knowing today would be the opposite of a great afternoon. How are you supposed to greet people on the worst day of their lives? Very rarely are people glad to be in the hospital, but I suppose a friendly face eases that discomfort far better than indifference.

I made it to the hospice waiting room on autopilot. Mom was in the corner with Devin, giving her the speech about how things were going to play out. She explained what the doctors said a dozen times, but I think it helped her process her emotions to say it over and over. She had barely slept this week and was beginning to slip into a bit of a manic episode. Dad sat next to Sammy and Andrew, he remained as stoic as ever. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder as she buried her face into Andrew’s chest. The cousins sat at the table with aunt Ryan talking softly amongst themselves. I found a spot next to uncle JD. You could see the pain in everyone’s eyes, but he hid his behind the many walls he’d put up over the years. Any emotion he felt remained shrouded in sarcasm and a false sense of superiority. I didn’t know if I could reach him in this moment but I’d try. We were waiting for great aunt Joanie to arrive from the airport. That poor woman had lost her mother, husband, and son in the last 5 years. Now she was departing a flight to watch her only remaining sister pass on. She was a tiny little woman, less than 5 feet tall and weighing under 100 pounds. Despite her size, she had a strength and resilience that you only find in a deeply southern woman. Her and Mema grew up in severe poverty, but they both made something of themselves and remained the matriarchs of their respective families.

Mema was our matriarch. She was the foundation for everything. She wrangled us all together for the holidays, prepping for weeks in advance. She put aside money for every grandchild to go to college. She took my mom in with four kids and helped to raise us. She taught me to read, ride a bike, and bargain at the flea market. She loved movies, and could tell you the life story of any celebrity starring in a film. She was an avid tennis player. She was a one of kind woman, and this wasn’t supposed to happen like this. This wasn’t supposed to be her final day. I had so much life left for her to be a part of. I knew she wouldn’t be here forever, but I didn’t want to accept that she was leaving me already.

Aunt Joanie finally arrived, pushed in a wheelchair by her daughter. She didn’t speak, looking down at the floor with her hands neatly folded in her lap. The door to the other side of the waiting room slowly opened and nurse Jackie paused in the entryway. “We’re ready for you” she said calmly. Jackie had been Mema's nurse since she was admitted from the emergency department. Her demeanor was kind and reassuring. She explained how a terminal extubation worked. The doctors would remove the tube, which was often a difficult process for the family to witness. We decided to wait until it was removed and they made Mema comfortable and sedated before we entered the room. Jackie said it could take minutes, hours, or maybe even a day for her to pass. One by one everyone stepped through the doorway. Like a procession of empty ghosts floating silently down the hall to Mema’s room. Our faces somber, sniffling quietly, holding onto each other to keep from falling. This was it. Today was the day. The final time I’d see my grandmother. The memory that would be etched in my brain, the prevailing image in my mind through those first stages of grief. The color slowly leaving her skin. The warmth gone from her face. The slack in her open jaw. The sound of her breath slowing. The light gone behind her eyes. The stillness as I placed my finger along her neck, confirming her heart had stopped beating.

Witnessing the soul leaving the body stays with you. It is surreal and final. The juxtaposition of its certainty and mystery. One day, when the waves of grief feel less like a storm in the open sea and more like the water kissing the shore, I will remember her for who she was. The trauma of this final day will fade, and I will be able to think of her without falling apart. I won’t have to push the thoughts of her down and away from my consciousness. I will arrive at a new doorway, and I will step into a time where the magnitude of her loss is replaced with a love for the vastness of her life. One day, but not today.