Antoinette’s Legacy

Antoinette’s Legacy

As I page through “Star”, “People”, and “Elle” sitting in the hospital waiting room I begin to ponder what kind of role models my children will have?  I see the popular faces we all know all too well, Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, Lindsey Lohan and so on.  The thought that these girls are the kind of people today’s teens look up to and emulate scares me.  What kind of messages do they send?  If you have enough money morals are optional.  Drinking and drugs are actually socially acceptable, and if you get caught pay a fine and go to rehab.  You need to be a size 4 to be considered beautiful and intellect doesn’t matter. 

Then my mind wanders to why I am actually paging through these magazines in the ICU waiting room, my grandmother.  I think of the kind of woman she is and the life she has led.  It is evident in the people waiting to see her.  The waiting room is filled with over 20 members of her immediate family, all of whom are hoping to hear that she will be ok.  I see my grandfather, 91 turn into a child and weep uncontrollably.  The heart wrenching sorrow in his eyes is overwhelming and I feel a tear slide down my own cheek.  When he’s in the room with her he tells her how beautiful she is, even though she has 2 tubes down her throat, her hair is all matted, her arms are bloated and filled with IVs and there are countless machines buzzing around her.  He professes his love for her and how he can’t go on if she doesn’t come home. 

She is the kind of wife that I can only hope to be one day.  When she made her vows they were for ever, divorce was not even a fleeting thought.  Her husband and home were cherished.  She cooked, cleaned, did laundry and all those seemingly mundane daily chores with love and made a small house a home.  Starting off they didn’t have much, but their love and devotion some how made it enough.  Over the last 67 years their lives inner twined so tightly you can truly say the two became one, one heart, one mind, one spirit.  Yet she never lost her sense of self and who she truly was.  Amazingly she was able to create what so many people long for, but so seldom find.

I un-cross then re-cross my legs and see my Father and Aunt talking across the room.  They are a testament to my grandmother’s strength, and to what kind of mother she was.  She entered the hospital for a fractured pelvis from a fall and some where along the line developed MRSA with septicemia while in the hospital.  It’s so hard to see a once vibrant and strong woman reduced to the condition she is in, lying in a hospital bed hooked up to all these machines and not able to communicate with us.  Never the less, both my father and aunt are there every day to see their mother.  They ask her questions hoping to get even the smallest response, to revive some hope that things may get better.  They ask her if she is in pain or if she is feeling better, and there are nods here and blinking at times, but all the medication makes it hard to qualify the responses.  The frustration from not being able to know what my grandmother needs is overwhelming, but it doesn’t keep her children from trying to make her comfortable. 

My aunt lovingly applies chap stick to my grandmother’s lips to help the dryness, and my father leans over and speaks softly to tell her how much he loves her, soothing her.  Both are things my grandmother probably did for them many times as children.  It’s kind of ironic yet touching at the same time.  I think back to stories my Father has told me about growing up and I can’t remember him ever saying one negative word about his mother.  All the stories were filled with how she sacrificed to make sure they had everything, putting herself last at all times.  She is the epitome of what a mother should be.  I think to the future to the day I will be a mother, and I pray that my children will see me the way I know my father and aunt see my grandmother.

I snap back into reality as my brother and his girlfriend walk back into the waiting room allowing two more a short visit with grandma.  My eyes sweep the waiting room and take inventory of her grandchildren.  Out of her 9 grandchildren 8 are present.  The only reason on is absent because he is in Iraq fighting for our country, if it was at all possible for him to fly back he would be here.  That in and of it’s self is impressive but there are 6 more “grandchildren” waiting as well. These “grandchildren” are ones that married into the family, or will be marrying into the family soon.  If you asked them who they are there to see you won’t hear “Michael’s grandmother” or “Cheryl’s grandmother”, they will tell you they are there to see grandma.  She makes everyone at ease that no matter how long you’ve been a part of our family 8 years or 8 months.  They feel like she is their grandmother as well. 

Growing up she was at every dance recital, football game, baseball game, award assembly, graduation, and the list goes on.  I remember that even though we moved almost two hours away when I turned one, she and my grandfather made every effort to see us.  They would come and stay with us for a week or two at a time, just to visit.  They were a retired couple, still very much in love and could do anything with their time.  They could travel the world, and they did travel here and there, but what they lived for was their children and grandchildren.  They made time for us above all else.  Not a one of us ever felt neglected or left out.  We only felt loved.

It’s eight days later, and I am once again at the hospital.  I have taken up to going to work, coming home, packing dinner and riding up to the hospital with my parents.  Today is a little different.  I left work at noon and got to the hospital early because my father and my aunt are discussing my grandmother’s condition with a team of doctors.  The blood infection seems to be gone so of course I hope for the best.  Unfortunately that is not come into fruition.  There are so many things still wrong with her, and her organs are beginning to shut down.  The best we can hope for is that she will get well enough to go into a nursing home with a respirator and a feeding tube.  From there the chances of her getting any better are slim, and amount of pain she is in will most likely remain unknown because of her lack of ability to communicate.  Options are discussed, and the one that seems the most humane is the last one I want to hear. 

I go in to see her with my father, aunt and grandfather.  We talk to her and hope for a response, and she tries her best to appease us.  It’s amazing, her body has taken such a beating in the last few weeks, she is exhausted and in pain, yet she still tries to make us feel better with a blink or a nod.  It has to take all her strength, but I’m sure she doesn’t even think about that.  My aunt tells her “Mom we love you and want you here with us, but if you have to go, it’s ok to go”.  Tears begin to slide down my cheek knowing how much it took for my aunt to say that.  I look around and everyone is softly crying, trying to suppress it, yet not able to.  It is then that the most gut wrenching thing happens.  Looking at my grandmother it appears that she is crying with us.  There are many reasons for why she could be crying.  She could sense that her life is coming to an end and is afraid.  Sorrow at the possibility of not seeing any of us again may be overwhelming her, or it could be pain.  In my opinion a different reason all together comes to mind.  I truly believe she hears us crying and does not want us to be in pain.  She hates that her condition is bringing us any sorrow, because as her life has shown, she is always thinking of others welfare above her own.  I realize in that one moment what an amazing woman my grandmother is, and what a wonderful role model she has become.

Tomorrow her respirator will be removed, she will be given pain medication with something for anxiety, and most likely fall asleep to never wake up.  I am saddened because I will not get to share my wedding day with her.  I am glad I was able to share the details of my engagement with her before she became ill.  In my heart I know she will still be there in spirit, she wouldn’t have it any other way.  I am even more grief stricken over the fact that my children will never have the privilege of knowing this amazing woman. 

She was not a CEO, a movie star, a platinum artist, or anyone you would find on the cover of a magazine.  No, she was a wife, a mother and a grandmother.  She found happiness in the simple things in life, and made every one around her feel loved and accepted.  Her needs always came after the needs of others, and her legacy is her family.  She is the kind of role model I pray my children will be able to look up to.  It is what I hope they will one day find in me. 

Artist: Martina McBride
Album: Martina
Title: She’s a Butterfly

She remembers when she first got her wings
And how she opened up that day
she learned to sing
Then the colors came, erased the
black and white
And her whole world changed
when she realized

She’s a butterfly, pretty as the crimson sky
Nothing’s ever gonna bring her down
And everywhere she goes
Everybody knows she’s so glad to be alive
She’s a butterfly

Like the purest light in a darkened world
So much hope inside such a lovely girl
You should see her fly, it’s almost magical
It makes you wanna cry, she’s so beautiful

She’s a butterfly, pretty as the crimson sky
Nothing’s ever gonna bring her down
And everywhere she goes
Everybody knows she’s so glad to be alive
She’s a butterfly

God bless the butterfly,
give her the strength to fly
Never let her wings touch the ground
God bless the butterfly,
give her strength to fly
Never let her wings touch the ground