When my grandmother lay on her deathbed alone I came into her room and asked her if she wanted or needed anything.  She took a long time to answer.  The cancer in her liver was inoperable, she was 85 years old and she was aware soon she would die.  She smiled as she thought of an answer for me.  I repeated it thinking that she didn't hear me and looked in her eyes intently trying to give her part of my life so she would live a bit longer

Very slowly and laboriously she spoke while her sweet eyes looked into mine.  She only said: "My family"  She tried to smile again but I could tell the pain was getting the best of her.  I was puzzled and confused.  I didn't understand what she meant by that.  We came and visited her at the clinic every day, all her children stopped over every day after work or chores and visited.  Ok so sometimes we didn't pay that much attention to her because we got involved in our own family discussions, but this had the been the norm growing up.  I thought she loved to have her family around, even if for a few minutes each day.   What did she mean by wanting and needing her family?

I spoke with my mother that evening at the dinner table.  We were visiting my aunt and uncle in Wisconsin.  We came to see my grandmother from California before she died, to be with her, to see what we could do.  She was being attended perfectly.  There was 24 hour care with nurses and full time doctors at the clinic.  Her medication was dispensed on time, the instructions were to keep her comfortable.

My mother and I discussed this for a while and when I went to bed that night I was troubled by my grandmother's wishes.  What more did she want? She had five children, twelve grandchildren and one great grandchild.  Every single one of them stopped at the clinic at different times during the day to see her, some visited weekly and some daily, but  every afternoon she spent a couple of hours with a member of her family.

Was this not enough?  I tried to put myself in my grandmother's body.  What if I was dying? What if I had only one or two wishes before leaving this body? What would I want?  The answer dawned on me and everything made perfect sense.  I would want my family with me, the people I cared for most in the world, the ones I gave birth to, the ones I lived with, talked with, fought with and cried with all my life.  I understood what my grandmother wanted and needed in her last days on earth.

She didn't  want nurses, doctors or well cared clinics.  She wanted her family with her, attending her, feeding her, waiting on her every need.  The nurses did this constantly, but her family only came a few hours every day.  What she needed was the attention and communication of her family, at least for the last few days of her life.  This is what gave her so much joy, to watch her family, to be with them at all hours.  She so much looked forward to the few minutes each day when they arrived.  She so much longed for those minutes to extend to her every waking hour.  She couldn't get enough of us, no matter what we were doing.  She wanted to experience us just one more time before she died.  She had all the medical care she needed, but she wanted to die with her family.

I brought this to my mother's attention and she agreed.  My father arranged for me to stay in her room 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  I had taken a leave at college, I could afford to miss a few weeks then catch up in the summer.  My grandmother's wishes were more important than any college credit I could get.  I asked permission and fought with nurses and the establishment at the clinic to stay with my her.

Two days later her roommate was moved to another area and I was given the bed in her room.  It was she and I and whoever we could fit in that room at any time during the day.  I did everything she needed, I was there her every waking moment..  She never had to push the button to summon a nurse, I knew when she needed her pain medication, I could see it in her eyes.  She never had to verbalize that she wanted food, because I kept time of her schedule and fed her whatever she wanted whenever she wanted.  I helped put her in a wheel chair and took her for a walk outside so she could feel the sun in her face that she loved so much.  I gave her water, even if it took 30 minutes to drink a couple of ounces.

Those were the things that no one can pay for at a clinic.  There is no care in the world than the care of a relative, a loved one.  Someone who can read the person just by looking in her eyes, by the slight movement of the eyelids or lips.  I learned how to read what she needed, without having to ask, I became so close to her that she and I became one.

One morning late in October I looked out the window and saw the first snow.  I was overjoyed and turned to grandma and said:  "Look grandma!, the first snow, your favorite.  Look at the huge snowflakes falling softly on the ground.  Look!"  She didn't answer, but I could tell she was happy she got to see her favorite time of the year.  Three hours later she left us.  I wasn't sad and I never cried.  All her children and grandchildren were by her side, I had time to call them and see her in her last few minutes.  We held hands in a circle as a tear fell from her eye and sat at the tip of her nose until it dried out. 

We knew she was happy to leave, she had her family with her.