My beloved Grandpa Cooper died on Monday. I'm still waterworks when I think of him and of course, there is the guilt of not coming the weekend before, when I had planned to. But, it didnt matter because he didnt make it. My sweet Grandpa.
I was in Austin on Sunday past when I got a call from my Mom saying that my grandpa had been taken by ambulance form the rehabilitation home after having low blood pressure, really low blood pressure. My mom told me he was being taken and that she would call with news. I prepared to leave Austin and head to Dallas at 7am, not returning for the last week of summer school. Up at 6:30 while packing, my mom called and said he had died at about 5:30, with my grandma at his side, holding his hand. She never left the hospital. Evidently, when he arrived at the emergency room he was struggling to breathe. They had him sitting up and 5 doctors working on him. My grandma and mom were denied entrance into the room. Somewhat stable, they brought him to his room and told my mom and gma that unless they intebated him, he was not going to be able to breathe on his own. Through sobs, they decided not to do any harsh measures; he had been struggling for so long. The doctors explained that if they didn't put the tube in, he would die. Asking if there was any chance he would ever get the tube out if they put it in, the doctor's all but said, "Probably not." My grandma and mom, both there at his side, said he wouldn't want it. They chose not to put it in. Instead, they placed a souped-up cpap machine on him that would force air in his lungs. It was so strong his lips quivered and his chest heaved. In addition to the adrenaline they were shooting him with to get his heart to pump, he was tense and uncomfortable. The doctor went in to him and asked him to raise his right hand. He did. Then, he was told to raise a foot and another and he did. The doctor then told him what was happening, that his family had decided not to put a tube down his throat and that he probably wasn't going to get better. I suppose he knew. He had been telling my gma a long time he was "really sick." The doctors then stopped the adrenaline and gave him morphine so he could relax. Slowly, he just fell asleep as my grandma held his hand. I wanted to make it there, to say goodbye, to hug him. I didnt make it. Sweet grandpa. I love him so.
He was buried on Thursday. I made a slide show of his life, graduation, my grandma, my aunt, my mom, me. The slide show played to 12th Street Rag and In My Life...It was horribly sad. Neither my gma nor me wanted to go. We were the last two to show up. While refreshments were served and people hugged my grandma, my aunt realized his hat had not been taken with his body to the mausoleum. I ran. Making it there, the director told me I could put it in. He raised the lid, and inside was my dear grandpa in his sleep pants and collared shirt, with his blanket at his feet, just like the last time I saw him...just like every time for the last 2 years. I put the hat in and an orange rose with a blue ribbon I brought for him. It seemed to symbolize the walks with him, the growth I had with him, the school I completed with his care and admiration. I laid both inside and put my hand on his head. "Bye Grandpa, I love you," I told him as I stroked his head once. His head felt so cool. The tears rolled in big belly cries as I walked back to the memorial service. No one knew I went. It was between me and my gpa, like much of our time together.
Ive never seen a body, the vessel left after the spirit. I don't understand the cultural practice of funerals and makeup and viewings. At the mausoleum, his flag was folded and taps played. I spent my childhood over at their house. We only live about 2 miles away. I can't tell you the hours I spent with him. Ive been sleeping in his space next to my grandma since then. I hate to leave. She is so distraught. 70 years they were married. I cant even imagine her sadness if mine is this bad. at 90, she had been feeding him by tube every three hours for 2 years. Amazing love.
