Trusting the Path

When I look back at everything that was happening with my grandmother, there was a definite shift in her on her 98th birthday—it was as if she’d decided it was time to go. She still ate, she still drank, but she wasn’t present in the same way. Most of the time when I visited her, she would ask right away if I minded if she went to sleep. I always said I didn’t mind.

So the majority of my visits became just sitting with her, rather than a real visit with conversation. I’d bring my book and read aloud to her sometimes. I’d hold her hand until I felt her grip loosen with sleep, and then I’d hold it a little longer. One afternoon she stirred at one point and asked, “Do you see me?”

The very next day her doctor called and said she’d stopped eating. I’d had my own ideas about how this stage of her life should be handled, but in the end, it came down to letting her take the lead. I followed her guidance. It was a wholly new and unfamiliar path to walk, and in its own way, it was both beautiful and humbling.