Tomorrow, May 5th is the 1st anniversary of my grandmothers (Quatrochi) death and lately its been on my mind. She was 97 years old, OK I lied she was "really 96 year old" she had this crazy story about how when she was 14 (in 1927) she wanted to work, her dad had died (he was an alcoholic) and they were very very poor. She was one of 9 kids and they needed money but you had to be 15 to work. She went to the church to get her birth certificate (why,no clue she was only 14) and the church burned down so they told her they would make her a new one "So when is your birthday?" she said "October 4, 1912" when she was really born in 1913. Crack security back then, huh?? So now that she was 15 she could work, her mother at the time used to make Rye in the bathtub (it was during prohibition) to make money but now she could help her mother and siblings. That 1912 birthday stuck with her forever and anytime you asked her "how old are you?" the answer was "I am 82, but really 81", it always made us laugh.
Let me first say that I loved my grandmother but she was not one of my favorite people, in her final weeks I saw a different person, I think maybe the caring grandmother I always longed for. She had a VERY difficult relationship with my father, he was an only child and he felt she always treated him terrible, now clearly I was not there in his childhood years but my father struggled with this for years and I believe what he tells me. He left home at 17 years old for the navy and never looked back, he admittedly said he went just to get out of his home. Now understand, my grandfather, who passed away in 1988 (I was 20) was the most wonderful man ever, so it was fine with me that she basically did not deal with me or that I felt she could not have cared less about me sometimes. Now Glenn (my brother) that was a whole different story, she loved him and would admit that to the end. See, I am my fathers daughter we are very alike and Glenn is much different, very much like my grandfather.
In her later years, after my grandfather died, my father always took care of her, he offered for her to live with us and she wanted no part of it, but she did move into a senior apartment close to our house. Trust me she drove him nuts and continued (in my eyes) to not treat him so well but she was his mother and he took the best care of her he could, I respect my dad more than ever for that.
In the last 2 or so years before she died she became more and more demented and because of it a bit more caring and oh my she loved Ryan, although she called him everything but Ryan, I am not sure she remembered his name actually. All of a sudden April 2010 she stopped eating and drinking, it got so bad she was admitted in the hospital and to make a long story short no matter what was done she would not eat or drink. At this time, I would go to the hospital and sit with her and my father and most of the time she did not know me, and when my dad would say "This is Jill" she would say things like "Oh you grew up so big" or when I bought her Ryan's picture she was shocked that I (her young grandchild) had a baby. This went on and on for a long time, a longer time then you could imagine any 97, really 96 year old could live without water and she had an advance directive stating she wanted no feeding tube or IV for nutrition so her wishes were followed. Then it became worse and that went to really bad and we bought in hospice. Hospice explained to us the stages of death and not eating was something that many people do during the last weeks of life.
In these weeks I saw a different person, a person who no longer was uncaring but a person who now acted like she loved you and wanted to see you. A person who was funny and told things about her past that we had no idea about. This person that would never ever pick up a phone and call me no matter how sick I was or how many days I was in the hospital because she was MY elder, suddenly was wanting to chat with me. I found myself wishing for this person all along and wondered if this is who she was all those years and for some reason never expressed that.
In her final days when she basically was comatose she spoke few words but the words she did speak made you think she was talking to my grandfather. She would say things like "No Joe, I am scared" which made me wonder if her final openness to us was him getting her to do that and make a sort of closure to us and finally show her love for us. After too many days of really the most horrible ending ever, she passed away and I think all of it made me feel differently about her.
I know she loved me as she did my father, I think she was a strong personality who was not expressive with her feeling and frankly just had some personality clashes with us, as me and my father are strong personalities as well. I do now remember as a kid all the things she did do for me when I was convinced she could not care less that I was there. I sadly think I needed the way she died to understand her more and strangely I am happy that she was clarified for me.
RIP Grandma, I know you are with Grandpa, your love, again which is what you waited 22 years for.
Until we meet again XOXO
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