My Mom and I walked into the hospital to visit my grandmother in intensive care. As we approached the private doors, the doctor walked out and casually said, “She’s gone, she died a few minutes ago.” Looking startled my Mom asked, “What did she die from?” The doctor replied, “from a lack of will to live.”
The words of the doctor stayed in my head. At 16, I wondered how you die from a lack of will to live. She stood just a bit more than five feet. She wasn’t a typical grandmother by any stretch of the imagination. I don’t ever recall playing with her or being tended to by her.
She smelled of cigarettes and Channel #5. Her face frowned downward from years of sadness. I sensed in her the mystery of pain. It both attracted and repulsed me
People wondered if I was sad she died and I did not know. I realized I had not known her.
I see her fingerprints on my life. I was born with an ability to feel and sense the pain of others. I can recall from a very young age feeling her pain, wanting to run from it.
Years later I found myself running a suicide prevention center. I was leading training on suicide and someone asked me what led me to this work. Much to my surprise, I said my grandmother. No one ever talked about my grandmother attempting suicide, but somewhere within me, it registered.
I’d love to speak with her now, to know her story. I sense she was a deeply spiritual woman. I recall sitting at the kitchen table when I was 5 confiding that I had never believed in Santa Claus. Her eyes widened in horror, she felt sorry for my inability to believe.
Before we left the hospital, my Mom called my Dad to tell him the news. My Dad calmly said, “I already know, she died. She’s in heaven.” Needless to say I was a bit weirded out by this. Through the years, I have asked my Dad how he knew. I now “know” he knew. I find some comfort in the fact that my grandmother’s pain is gone and she is resting in a place where all who suffer find ultimate peace.
Perhaps Santa Claus does really exist. I actually did know my grandmother.
