Inevitable Grace

In the last two years of her life, my Polish grandmother Helen had been hospitalized many times for congestive heart failure. Each time meant inserting a central line to administer her meds. The last time my grandmother was back in the hospital, however, she refused to have the lines inserted to deliver the much-needed medication.

She was brought back to my aunt’s home, where a hospital bed was set up in the living room. It was here that she finally acquiesced to be taken care of in her last days. I loved holding her hand and asking her to squeeze back. My mother sat close to her and sang Polish Christmas carols, and we wiped her brow with a cool washcloth. We leaned in close whenever she had something to say. We gathered around her, not shielding her from the pain, but simply bearing witness, and doing the little things that brought her a modicum of comfort.