I;m back to Taiwan after returning home to Oregon for my grandmother's funeral. I was her favorite grandchild -- my mother was her only child and I was the baby of our family with two older brothers and an older sister, although she loved us all pretty much the same. I was always the one who was pulling pranks and cracking up.
She was 98 in January. She graduated from college in the '30's and worked in a cannery because of the lack of work in schools at the time. My grandfather died when my mother was 12 years old -- had a tooth pulled and died from a blood clot that that entered his brain -- so she had to return to work once again. She went to welding in the shipyards of portland, Oregon. Welded in the double hulls of the liberty boats. Ventilation wasn't what it would be today and she developed a cough that she had until her dying day. After the war was over she went back to teaching and raising my mother. Put her through college and law school. She slammed the door in my father's face when he asked for permission to marry my mother. My father had only completed 8th grade and had then gone to work in the woods. But she grew to love him. And then there were my brothers, my sister and me. Used to walk to her house after school, do our homework, have dinner and watch TV until our mom would come and pick us up around seven or eight o'clock every evening. I lived with her in town starting in junior high. Mom always got us to school late in the morning and my first period band director started locking me out of the windowless band room. Gaga -- that's what we all called her, it's a long story -- never got me to anything late. Usually half an hour early. After I completed high school and went to university, she moved in with my father and mother in the country. Made lunch for my father and dinner for whoever was at home at the time for many years. Made blackberry jam for as many years as I can remember until she had a stroke in 1998.
She was taking care of my niece, my sister's daughter at the time. My father had been home for lunch that day, and when he returned home at about 5:00 in the evening he found my niece tied into the high chair, and my grandmother sitting in a rocking chair nearby with a puddle of blood around her feet. My father later concluded from the trail of blood around the kitchen and dining room that after a blood vessel in her ankle had burst, she went tied my niece into the high chair, went to the phone to call for help but must have been beeding too profusely, went to get a towel and then to a rocking chair to try to staunch the bleeding. That's where he found her in a coma. At the hospital she had most of her large intestine removed. Apparently, the large intestine is the first organ to go with a lack of blood. My wife and I rushed back from Taiwan, my brother and his wife from Pennsylvania. The whole family met in the ICU. She recovered to an extent, but was never the same woman. Walked with a walker, had very little control over her bowels. didn't talk much except in one or two word phrases, unless I was the one talking to her. But my mother kept her walking and involved in whatever was going on in the family and community. Hauled her and the wheel chair and the walker all over. Brought her to see me, and my family here in Taiwan a year and a half ago. She was 97 then and had broken her hip in a fall two months before. Got onto the airplane using the wheelchair, and hadn't started walking when she arrived. My mother and I got her walking again during her two-week stay here.
So one Monday in mid July my mother called and said that Gaga was in the hospital again, probably another infection of some kind. No big deal. Two days later her left lung collapse. I got to talk to her on the phone, but all she could manage was a faint croak. My wife set about frantically trying to get airline tickets. 12 hours later she died while my sister sat at her bedside painting her fingernails. (My mother said she must not have liked the color.) Two days later we flew home for the funeral -- getting the tickets on such short notice is a story in itself. but we made it home in time for the Saturday funeral.
About 150 people went to the funeral, family and friends of the family of course. At one point, the priest asked us how many of those present actually knew the deceased. Every hand in the place went up. He must have been the only one who hadn't known her. It was a beautiful ceremony -- the best I have ever seen.
After the mass, nearly everyone went to the graveyard for the final prayers and blessings. Only problem was that the gravedigger had been given incorrect information about where to dig and the hole was in the wrong spot. As I walked up to the tent, artificial turf, and coffin, I had the feeling that something was wrong. My sister was the first to voice our mutual concern, and when my mother arrived it was confirmed and an awkward period followed while we tried to sort things out. We had a short graveside service and then put Gaga back into the hearse and sent her back to the funeral home until Monday to get the proper records such as they were and confirm what my sister, my mother, and I already knew. The hole had, in fact been dug in the wrong spot. As my mother's law partner said, "first time I ever went to a funeral that was a failure."
By Monday morning the gravedigger with his backhoe and dump truck were on hand and we got the hole dug moved the vault which had been put in the wrong place. We then had yet another, but this time very personal, graveside service for the family and very close friends that had come. This was a _real_ graveside service, after which we put the coffin in the vault, the vault into the grave and each placed a shovelful of earth onto the vault, just like the old western movies. It might have been a bit of a cliche, but it sure made it more complete. After we had helped the grave digger with filling _both_ holes and putting the best sod onto the grave that had been dug up by accident, all was complete.
Sorry for the length.I don't know why I wrote all that. It was not my intention. I had only intended to ask for prayers for my grandmother. I only wish I could have gotten home before she died. She was an amazing woman. We loved her dearly and miss her sorely. My mother could use some prayers, too.
Thanks.
James
She was 98 in January. She graduated from college in the '30's and worked in a cannery because of the lack of work in schools at the time. My grandfather died when my mother was 12 years old -- had a tooth pulled and died from a blood clot that that entered his brain -- so she had to return to work once again. She went to welding in the shipyards of portland, Oregon. Welded in the double hulls of the liberty boats. Ventilation wasn't what it would be today and she developed a cough that she had until her dying day. After the war was over she went back to teaching and raising my mother. Put her through college and law school. She slammed the door in my father's face when he asked for permission to marry my mother. My father had only completed 8th grade and had then gone to work in the woods. But she grew to love him. And then there were my brothers, my sister and me. Used to walk to her house after school, do our homework, have dinner and watch TV until our mom would come and pick us up around seven or eight o'clock every evening. I lived with her in town starting in junior high. Mom always got us to school late in the morning and my first period band director started locking me out of the windowless band room. Gaga -- that's what we all called her, it's a long story -- never got me to anything late. Usually half an hour early. After I completed high school and went to university, she moved in with my father and mother in the country. Made lunch for my father and dinner for whoever was at home at the time for many years. Made blackberry jam for as many years as I can remember until she had a stroke in 1998.
She was taking care of my niece, my sister's daughter at the time. My father had been home for lunch that day, and when he returned home at about 5:00 in the evening he found my niece tied into the high chair, and my grandmother sitting in a rocking chair nearby with a puddle of blood around her feet. My father later concluded from the trail of blood around the kitchen and dining room that after a blood vessel in her ankle had burst, she went tied my niece into the high chair, went to the phone to call for help but must have been beeding too profusely, went to get a towel and then to a rocking chair to try to staunch the bleeding. That's where he found her in a coma. At the hospital she had most of her large intestine removed. Apparently, the large intestine is the first organ to go with a lack of blood. My wife and I rushed back from Taiwan, my brother and his wife from Pennsylvania. The whole family met in the ICU. She recovered to an extent, but was never the same woman. Walked with a walker, had very little control over her bowels. didn't talk much except in one or two word phrases, unless I was the one talking to her. But my mother kept her walking and involved in whatever was going on in the family and community. Hauled her and the wheel chair and the walker all over. Brought her to see me, and my family here in Taiwan a year and a half ago. She was 97 then and had broken her hip in a fall two months before. Got onto the airplane using the wheelchair, and hadn't started walking when she arrived. My mother and I got her walking again during her two-week stay here.
So one Monday in mid July my mother called and said that Gaga was in the hospital again, probably another infection of some kind. No big deal. Two days later her left lung collapse. I got to talk to her on the phone, but all she could manage was a faint croak. My wife set about frantically trying to get airline tickets. 12 hours later she died while my sister sat at her bedside painting her fingernails. (My mother said she must not have liked the color.) Two days later we flew home for the funeral -- getting the tickets on such short notice is a story in itself. but we made it home in time for the Saturday funeral.
About 150 people went to the funeral, family and friends of the family of course. At one point, the priest asked us how many of those present actually knew the deceased. Every hand in the place went up. He must have been the only one who hadn't known her. It was a beautiful ceremony -- the best I have ever seen.
After the mass, nearly everyone went to the graveyard for the final prayers and blessings. Only problem was that the gravedigger had been given incorrect information about where to dig and the hole was in the wrong spot. As I walked up to the tent, artificial turf, and coffin, I had the feeling that something was wrong. My sister was the first to voice our mutual concern, and when my mother arrived it was confirmed and an awkward period followed while we tried to sort things out. We had a short graveside service and then put Gaga back into the hearse and sent her back to the funeral home until Monday to get the proper records such as they were and confirm what my sister, my mother, and I already knew. The hole had, in fact been dug in the wrong spot. As my mother's law partner said, "first time I ever went to a funeral that was a failure."
By Monday morning the gravedigger with his backhoe and dump truck were on hand and we got the hole dug moved the vault which had been put in the wrong place. We then had yet another, but this time very personal, graveside service for the family and very close friends that had come. This was a _real_ graveside service, after which we put the coffin in the vault, the vault into the grave and each placed a shovelful of earth onto the vault, just like the old western movies. It might have been a bit of a cliche, but it sure made it more complete. After we had helped the grave digger with filling _both_ holes and putting the best sod onto the grave that had been dug up by accident, all was complete.
Sorry for the length.I don't know why I wrote all that. It was not my intention. I had only intended to ask for prayers for my grandmother. I only wish I could have gotten home before she died. She was an amazing woman. We loved her dearly and miss her sorely. My mother could use some prayers, too.
Thanks.
James
