This is the result of an assignment given in my Aging, Death and Dying Psychology class. Since school started, I’ve had no time to write here, but thought this was appropriate to post since it seems to be the theme of my life these days. The grandmother I write about is my natural maternal grandmother. I was not raised with her, but she is so loveable, it almost doesn’t matter. It breaks my heart to have to say goodbye when we have just said hello. Coincidentally, my adoptive maternal grandmother was a lot like this one. She died many, many years ago and I still miss her terribly. It almost feels like I’m losing her again. Here’s my psych assignment submission:
On this assignment we are to be writing a “reaction” paper. At this time in writing, I know the author, the title and who the article is about. My initial reaction was slight disappointment because, although I enjoy Dr. Mannino’s We the People articles, I was hoping for some variety. My next reaction was elation when in the second paragraph I read the name Linda Bacci! I can’t wait to get back to the article, but just wanted to get this down while the reaction was strong.
At this writing I am returning home to Santa Rosa from North Bend, Oregon. My brother driving and I in the passenger seat with laptop open. We are finishing a quick roundtrip to visit our ailing 91-year-old grandmother. It will be the last time we see her. I always thought that when someone reached that age, there shouldn’t be much to be sad about. They’ve had a full life and it’s their time to go, right? Their bodies are tired and worn, full of aches and pains, their hearing and eyesight are failing or gone and their minds are forgetful and slow. Their life is winding down like an antique clock whose springs are stretched and gears worn. I looked into my grandmother’s face and I saw sadness and resolution in her gentle and otherwise always smiling eyes. Sadness has never been a part of her vocabulary. I wanted to cry,not because she’s dying, but because she’s sad. We sat for awhile and talked. Other visitors talk around the elephant in the room. When they left and we were alone I asked her how she felt about her doctor visit that day. I knew the news wasn’t good. My aunts had already told me. But I wanted to hear how my grandmother felt about it. There wasn’t anything that could be done and her heart was weakening faster than expected. Then she explained to me from her recliner, with her feet propped up and an oxygen tube wrapped around her face pumping oxygen through her nose, that she had no pain whatsoever. None, she said. Her eyesight is good. In fact she was driving herself up until a month ago. Her hearing is good with the use of one hearing aide, her mind sharp and quick. It dawned on me that, if it weren’t for a couple of faulty heart valves refusing to pump blood through her body and osteoporosis crippling her shrinking frame, she’d be out scaling mountains and whitewater rafting. My grandmother is not ready to die—she probably never would be, she still has so much life she wants to live.
So, seeing Linda Bacci’s name brings comfort to me, just as the article says she has done for so many. I’ve learned so much from her including how to just be with a dying person, how to leave my own agenda at the door and how to be “other centered.” Linda is definitely that, other centered. I’ve always wanted to me more like her.
I think I must have forgotten that she was a Chaplain because I only saw her in her capacity as volunteer coordinator at Face to Face. I would be interested to know when this article was written. Is she still making guest appearances in this course’s night class?
What a perfect career. In my current job as a litigation paralegal it is all about how much you can do in the shortest amount of time. “Time is money.” Time is what we sell. As a Chaplain, less is more and actions are often subtle yet more important than words. The simple act of sitting close to the dying person or asking the family to tell about their loved one. As Linda mentioned, we’re not responsible for other’s death or dying, but we can be there to hold their hand.
