Grandma Violet

My great-grandma is 96 years-old.  She is made of the stuff that settled the wild west in days gone by.  She has dabbled in every imaginable craft, held numerous jobs, a difficult first marriage followed by a good second and third (my grandpa was adopted by her second husband, Barney).  She has buried all three of her children, two tragically.  She is incredibly stable, always optimistic, has an incredible memory, and is deeply interested in every aspect of our lives.  She lives alone in Campo, a small town, down a dirt road, alone.

Three weeks ago she fell.

My grandma calls her every evening.  Grandma Violet fell at 10:00.  No one knew until the next afternoon at around 3:00.  Well, grandma Violet says that she didn't fall but that she was changing and didn't have the strength to keep standing, so she sat down.  On the floor.  She couldn't get back up.  That must be what happened because Grandma and Aunt Laura rushed her to the hospital and there were no broken bones, she was only dehydrated.  The doctor's wanted her to stay a few days to watch her.  She insisted on leaving.  She "needed to get home". 

She had to go to Grandma's until she could walk well enough to live on her own.A few days later a terrible cough set in.  Doctor's confirmed that it was a strain of "hospital induced pneumonia". I sat with her and she chaffed about not getting to go home.  Small complaints about "Barb, (my Grandma), doesn't know all that needs to happen at her house.  The propane will run out.  Who will water the plants? etc. etc..."  She had so much color and zest.  Only she couldn't really walk because of the fall.  So many thoughts about the children.  "How is Thomas?  He is so serious.  He will be a judge someday."  "Jonathan looks like he has so much mischief in him..."

Now Grandma Violet is on hospice, in a hospital bed, on oxygen.  She is still as sharp as a tack and as interested as ever in our family.  Only now she can't move one leg at all.  I sat with her last night for and hour and a half and she told me stories about her growing up, things about my grandpa as a boy. She wanted to know about Joe and the children.  She played peek-a-boo with Elizabeth and laughed about Tommy playing with Grandma.  So interested and loving. 

Every so often when we'd be talking she would try to get comfortable.  She said the bed had a hole beneath where she was sitting.  It is a movable mattress so the legs can lift and the back can recline or sit up.  She is only sitting up because she can't breath while she is laying down.  She only spoke once about going home.  She said "My propane will run out and the Wet-backs will steal my water..."  They will too.  Once my Aunt took Grandma Violet home and two illegals ran out of the water shed and water was pouring out of the tank.  I told her Rosie would take care of it.  She said that she didn't think Rosie could see very well. My dear Grandma Violet, she won't take care of the place like you always did.  You, who always loved a beautiful garden, roses, geraniums, bulbs.  You have fought the gophers, the rattlers, and the woodpeckers.  Your garden always glowed and bloomed because of your care. 

I wish I could change positions for her.  I wish I could cough that deep cough she doesn't have the strength for.  Praise God for a woman of strength, perseverence and love.  A woman who can remember her ba-zillion grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren's birthdays--and their spouses!  A woman who is in need of our deepest care and love at this time.