the season of the dying grandmothers

moon + venus. norridgewock, maine.
Hanna and I are back in Michigan.

My grandmother had a stroke on Tuesday afternoon and at first they thought it was minor, but internal bleeding developed at the hospital and she slipped into a coma on Tuesday night. My family was able to bring her home Wednesday evening, so that she can die in the home she and my grandfather shared during the majority of their marriage, until his death in 2007. It is a space that has been the hub in the wheel of the paternal side of my family for my entire life.

As I type this, I am sitting next to her bed in the living room. All the children and grandchildren and their spouses have gathered, along with a few close friends,  and my grandmother's golden retriever who circles around everyone, keeping track.

It is cold here, with ice still on the lake that we can see out the front windows. Snow banks are deep alongside the steep drive that leads from the road to my grandmother's house, which stands on a small rise. Out behind the house is a once-landscaped gulch with a creek running through it that, in the spring, will become carpeted with daffodils.

We are entangled with our own watchful waiting right now, but I know others among you are also wrestling with life transitions and trauma. My thoughts are also with all of you, whatever your life-changes and stressors may be.

It is good to be here, and I am grateful to all of those in my life who made it possible for Hanna and I to travel on such short notice. Thank you all.

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