Friday, November 28, 2014

Eva's Goodbye

Last night, Brenda's Gramma Eva passed away.  She had been fighting pneumonia for the past few months off and on, and this very hardy woman, a product of the Oklahoma Dust Bowl, said goodbye on this Thanksgiving night, November 27, 2014. 

The last time I saw her was just a few days ago at the hospital she was in.  Brenda's aunt had driven up to Tulare and picked up another aunt to bring her down to see her.  We all met first at Brenda's mother's house, currently vacant since Brenda's mother, Letha, is still in the hospital.  We then proceeded to take the visiting aunt, along with Brenda's step-father, to the hospital to see Gramma Eva.  When we arrived, there were lots of people in the room.  I stroked Eva's hand and told her that I loved her and that I missed her being at home with her family. 

She then did something that was so, "Eva."  The room somehow got into a discussion about how someone would arrive or get home or the like, and I, still close in proximity to Eva, saw her lift her tired head, crane her neck to each side of the room's visitors, and ask,"What is everyone talking about now?"  Eva always wanted to know what was going on around her and had to know the latest bit of news all the time.  I swear, if it was humanly possible for a person to live forever, Eva would have been the first to do it.  I will miss her greatly.  And so will Brenda and her family.  Brenda had a very special relationship with her Gramma Eva; something I wrote about here a few years ago in, "The Gramma Phenomenon." 

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Tender Moments

We had literally just stepped into the parking lot from the lovely wedding of my cousin’s daughter we were attending in San Diego, a night of good food, dancing and great cheer, when all hell broke loose.

It was 9:25pm, and I unlocked the doors of my Jeep with my remote and Brenda and I sat down and turned on our phones.  Just then, a call came in from her oldest brother’s girlfriend.  “Letha is being rushed to the hospital.  They think she had a massive heart attack.”  I could tell by the way that Brenda hesitated for a second, and then said, “No,” softly because the breath had been punched right out of her that something was very wrong.  Letha is Brenda's mother.  She is the closest person on this earth to Brenda.  Brenda takes care of her daily through phone calls and monthly in person. Then, after another hesitation of hearing a bit more from the girlfriend on the phone, Brenda repeated to me what she had just been told.  My heart sank.  We just went from one of the most joyous occasions that a person can experience to complete horror. 

At this moment, they were taking her mother out of her home and onto an ambulance with her older brother inside as well.  Letha lives in a rural area about a half hour north of Bakersfield, and getting her to the hospital as soon as possible was vital. The girlfriend would follow them to the hospital.  Brenda finished up the quick conversation with her brother’s girlfriend, which included some additional information about how the girlfriend had found Letha, incoherent and lips blue, half way off of her bed, and had called 911 and administered CPR per the emergency operator.  At that point in reviewing the account Brenda, the girlfriend had to hang up with Brenda since they were involved in the complete chaos of getting the mother on the move.