The Best Superbowl Shuffler Ever

Tonight, on the way home from visiting my grandma, I said a brief prayer. I don't ask for much from God these days, as I find myself fairly blessed and healthy, with a healthy husband and marriage, and a healthy and wonderful son. I have a flourishing business, a nice house, good friends, and well, I don't have much right to be asking God for anything other than asking Him to protect my loved ones so it can stay that way. But tonight, for the first time in my life, I prayed for death.

My grandma is a woman of great strength and stubborness, whose eyes sparkled with the greatest mischievous glint and she was always ready for whatever life threw at her. She was ahead of her time, ahead of her peers, ahead of the game for the majority of her life. She's survived a spine-crushing fall, a broken pelvis, heart attacks, and several strokes since I've known her, yet she still managed to get right back up again. She's the grandma who was always flying to Hawaii, vacationing at her summer cottage, and spoiling her grandkids every chance she got. We'd brush our teeth and she'd say "let me see those pearly whites" or if we did something silly or bad, she'd just say "You just watch- I'll remember!" She's the grandma who would skinny dip in the dark of night, show up at the house with bags of candy, give us money for random chores, sneak cheetos to the dog when she thought no one was looking, and would do the Superbowl Shuffle with us until she was out of breath. My greatest memory is her shuffling on down with me and my brother to a floppy square 45 record we had gotten as a prize from somewhere with "The Superbowl Shuffle" on one side and "Bear Down Chicago Bears" on the other. We stomped and shuffled until we couldn't anymore, and then she wanted to do it again. She was the epitome of Grandma, and she deserved that title.

5 months ago, Grandma suffered another stroke. She's 82 years old, so it wasn't a surprise, but still a blow. The stroke was massive, encroaching on her brainstem and robbing her of mobility, of her ability to swallow or talk, and of some of her vision. Yet she would crack a smile when you joked with her and attempt to talk even when her brain wasn't supposed to let her. She would squeeze your hand to let you know she heard you and tear up when you talked about her only great-grandson. The doctors gave her 9 months for a healing period- when we would know the true extent of the damage and what skills she could gain back. Ironic how they gave her the exact amount of time it takes to produce a new life to gain back her old one. But there was hopeful talk of speech and eating with a spoon instead of a feeding tube.

As the months wear on, instead of winning the fight, she's losing it. I can only imagine how all that time being locked in your head can make you want to quit. Because she is in there, but she can't eat, can't drink, can't talk, can't see, can't move. But she's in there. Oh, is she in there. And every time I visit, I am tortured by that thought. She's in there. And there's not a damn thing she can do to get out. Is she suffering? Is she in pain? Does she want to tell us anything? Can she see me? Understand me? Can we comfort her? Are we making it worse? I am tortured by the thought that she is living a tortured life inside her head.

I can only hope the brain has a mechanism that allows it to escape inside itself. I hope she thinks she's at a ballgame in the summer, or sitting on a beach in Hawaii, or eating the best damn pizza she's ever had. I hope her brain is doing that for her- a type of shock to numb the reality of what has happened. But if no such mechanism exists...

As I watched her tonight, smoothing back her hair that is now showing it's true grey color that she had bleached blonde for my entire life, she gasped for air as the pneumonia takes over. She can't breathe deeply, she doesn't have the ability to make herself cough, so when she does, it's torture for her. I watched her struggle to breathe, struggle to stay calm, and struggle to sleep. For the first time, she didn't turn her eyes to us when we talked to her, didn't seem to acknowledge that we were there, and didn't seem to have any will to live. I cannot blame her. I cannot believe that this is the way it's going to end for the greatest woman I've ever known. Not with a bang nor a whimper. She cannot tell us how bad it is.

Tonight, I said a prayer. It was simple and completely sad. God, please take her home.

I love you, Grandma. You are the best Superbowl Shuffler to ever live. And you just watch- I'll remember.