Waiting Is The Hardest Part

As I write this, my grandmother is deciding how she wants to die. The doctors want to put her on life support but that would place her in a coma. (This I don't understand but I'm receiving the information second hand from my father, a man unfamiliar with details.) Or, she could continue consciously until her heart gives out from lack of oxygen from her old lungs. To summarize, she's never leaving the hospital alive. At least that's how the story sounds now. Having been thorougly irritated by the lack of details, I call her myself. I could hear my mother in the background as I spoke with my grandmother (my father's mother).
"How are you?" I asked.
"I have bad news," she said.
"I know, I heard from my father. But how are you? What are you going to do?"
"I don't know. What would you do?" She asked.
"I don't know. I'm a fighter I guess. I wouldn't do it." I answered referring to spending my last days on life support and possibly comatose.
"I'm a fighter, too," she said. "I'm not going to let them do it. You're mother's here now, can I call you back?"

That was 7 hours ago. I'm 600 miles away, and I'm wondering what's going on. I'm trying to go about my day as normally as I can. But in the back of my mind I'm preparing myself for a 12-hour road trip that will end sadly.

My grandmother and I made quite a pair when I was younger. Getting lost on back roads while trying to find my grandfather's gravesite. Teasing me about having to wash dishes in a Chinese restaurant because she wasn't sure she had enough money on her to pay for lunch. She bought me my first computer, and then my first word processor. She's the one who called the Haverhill Gazette and told them they had a writer in town. As stated in the dedication of Darker..., she's been my guardian angel.

Never an emotional woman (unless she was angry, then watch out!) I know she loves me. And I love her. And who knows ... she's been in tight spots before and managed to come out of them okay. The Death Bell has struck for her before and she refused to heed it's call. Maybe that will happen again. My grandmother's a tough lady and if I have half as much fight in me at half her age, I'll consider myself to be doing pretty well. But I know as well as every human being, that no matter how tough you are, you can't avoid the tolling of the bell forever.

But for now I wait. I wait for the call informing me of her decision. Then I'll wait for another call. One that will most likely come in the wee hours of the morning, because it seems that bad news travels quicker at night. I'll wait to be told of the passing of a woman who fought her whole life, and fought right up to the moment when there was no fight left. And then fought a little more. Because that's my grandmother through and through. And I hope I do her half as much justice when my time comes due.

Still, I wait...

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