Still They Ride

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When I was a kid, I lived just outside of Portland, Oregon with my parents and my older brother. My grandma, our nearest relative, lived in Southern California, and would visit us often because my mom was her only child and Steve and I, her only grandchildren.

I clearly remember my brother and I sitting on the back of our green plaid sofa perched under the living room window, excitedly waiting for our dad to pull into the driveway after picking up our grandma from the airport. She would always visit for a week, spending time with us as a family and individually. In 1980, she married and moved with her husband just north of Medford, Oregon and since this was only a few hours away from us, we visited often. Unfortunately, a couple of years later my dad got a job transfer and we moved to Southern California, so the visits weren’t as frequent. Grandma and I would write letters to each other and talk on the phone in between visits, which I loved.

Eight years ago, following the death of her third husband, my grandma went into a nursing home. She had early signs of dementia and was getting frail and needed the help. She also had a guardian who would check in with her weekly and go with her to doctor appointments which my grandma really appreciated. My brother and I went together to visit her when she first moved in to the nursing home, but he had a hard time going back. The place brought up too many memories of our great-grandmother for him. Great-grandma was in a nursing home when we were little because it had become too difficult for our grandma to care for her on her own. My grandma purchased a duplex nearby to live in and would visit her mom daily, bringing us there to visit when we were in town. When we were little, my memory of my great-grandma is riding around in her lap in her wheelchair while we chatted and I loved it. My brother, being a couple of years older than me, only remembers the smell and the noises (residents yelling or moaning, heart monitors beeping) and it seemed to traumatize him. When we visited our grandma in this nursing home, he was happy to see she was safe and well cared for, but he looked like a deer in the headlights at the sounds and smells coming from the hallway. I visited her several times a year, he just wrote letters and cards because he couldn’t bring himself to be in a nursing home again.

I had seen the decline in my grandma’s body and memory over the years and knew she wouldn’t be around much longer. When I visited this past May, I had a feeling it was the last time I’d be making this trip. Although my grandma was in Medford, I always stayed a few miles south in Ashland, a tiny town that felt like home away from home when I visited.  I had known for years that there was a bike path you could take from Ashland to Medford, so I decided on this trip that I was going to rent a bike and make the journey to the nursing home to see her.

It was a beautiful, warm, sunny Spring day with blue skies, chirping birds, and new blossoms on every plant. I grabbed my cell phone and a water bottle, rented a 3 speed cruiser bicycle and set out for my adventure. If this was my last visit with my grandma, I wanted it to be an experience to remember.

As soon as I started pedaling, I was flooded with memories of riding bikes EVERYWHERE when I was a kid in Oregon. I could clearly see myself riding my green Schwinn bicycle with a white banana seat, U-shaped handle bars with green and white plastic string pompoms attached to the end of the white rubber handle grips. I learned how to ride a bike on that thing when I was 5 years old, with my dad running behind it, holding me up. I remembered that one day when I looked back and he wasn’t holding on anymore, just standing up the street, happy and clapping. Realizing my dad wasn’t holding on anymore, I crashed into a curb. I didn’t get back on that bike for a week but when I did, I didn’t need help.

I rode along a stream and over a bridge on my rental bike and was flooded with vivid memories of living next to the Willamette River. I would ride my green Schwinn down to the dock with friends, transistor radio adhered to my handlebars with black electrical tape, constantly adjusting the antenna for reception so we could listen to music. We would just wear swimsuits and flip-flops so we could jump in to cool off, then ride around the neighborhood to get dry so our parents wouldn’t know we swam without permission.  I remembered taking walks down to the river with my grandma when she visited, holding her hand and talking about fishing in that river, catching salamanders and crawdads, riding bikes with friends, and totally lying that we didn’t go swimming in it without parent supervision when she asked.

As I continued my ride under a bridge and through a valley along the pathway, I saw plants that I only see in Oregon. I remembered going to Outdoor School in 6th grade where we learned all about plants that lived in our region, wildlife and the environment, and how I worked had really hard so I could earn awards in Outdoor School at the end of the week, which I did.

As I neared the nursing home, I was starving and looked at my watch. I had been riding for close to an hour and a half and didn’t even know it. My ride down memory lane made me lose all track of time and just how far this ride really was. I stopped at a local market, grabbed a coconut water and a Clif bar and as I stood outside eating, put the addresses in Google Maps on my phone to see just how far I had ridden. TWENTY MILES.  That’s when it hit me just how exhausted I was, both physically and emotionally, and I still hadn’t seen my grandma yet. I rode up to the nursing home door, locked my rental bike on a nearby pole, and went in to visit.

That visit didn’t go as well as I hoped. My grandma had lost most of her memory, and was fading in and out of sleep. I stayed for over an hour, looking at this sleeping woman who had found love and lost it three times (The first husband died while riding a horse who bucked, his loose saddle flipping him underneath the horse who then kicked him in the head when my grandma was 6 months pregnant with my mom. The second husband to brain cancer, the third to severe anemia from a bleeding ulcer.) I sat there looking at the woman who outlived her only child who died in a car accident 20 years earlier, caused by my mom who had been drinking 10 days out of her third rehab center. This woman had tried so hard as a mother and a wife, and had carried on after losing them all. This was also a woman who had earned a Master’s Degree in Education from Occidental College, yet had been unable to write me a letter for several years. Her memory of love, life and education had all left her. The end was near and I was heartbroken. I kissed her on the forehead and went back out to my rented bicycle.

With the memory of taping a radio to my old bike still fresh in my mind, I decided to listen to music on my ride back to Ashland. I hit the play button in the music library on my phone and figured I’d listen to whatever was on it. I turned up the volume (no headphones while riding bikes, kids.) as Journey’s “Escape” album started up. I tucked my phone into my pocket, singing along to every song as I rode the 20 miles back to my hotel.

Three weeks ago, I got a call that my grandma was refusing medication, had stopped eating and was sleeping all the time, meaning she didn’t have much longer. My brother and I immediately booked a trip to go see her. Over the years, I had figured out the fastest way to get to Ashland was to fly from Burbank to Sacramento, rent a car and drive the rest of the way up. I’ve made this trip countless times with Wil, by myself, or with a friend. I knew where every rest stop, every Starbucks, every funky burger stand and every cool sight-seeing spot was along the way. I knew we wouldn’t be making this trip again so we took our time. I showed my brother all of the things I had seen and done when I’d go to see our grandma, never saying anything to him about not making the trip up himself all those years. He had his own reasons and I knew that.

We turned a 5 hour drive into 7 with all of our stops. Steve loved every minute of it, taking pictures along the way. I felt sad for him seeing these things for the first time, while I was seeing them for the last time, but he was cherishing the experience and that’s all that mattered.

Our visit went surprisingly well. Grandma remembered me (after I reminded her who I was) but I had to keep reminding her who my brother was. We talked about our kids (reminding her they are her great-grandkids because she couldn’t remember) and updating her on our lives and how much our spouses wished they could be there as well. She thanked us over and over for coming to visit while exchanging hugs and kisses and telling us she loved us. It was the only time I didn’t look back at her as I walked out of the room, because I didn’t want her to see me crying.

Yesterday afternoon, I got the call I knew would eventually come. My 94 year old grandma had died in her sleep early that morning. She wasn’t suffering, she wasn’t in pain, she just stopped breathing in her sleep, just has her own mother did so long ago at nearly 98 years old. I know death is part of life and honestly, she went in the best way possible. Although it’s sad, I am grateful that I had her in my life as long as I did. The final chapter in her life story is a peaceful one and I couldn’t have asked for a better ending.

 

 

 

52 thoughts on “Still They Ride”

  1. My sympathies; I am happy you got to see her again and that she remembered you (everyone needs a reminder sometimes…).
    She sounds like an incredible human being – seems like you got a lot from her 🙂
    Hugs from over here in England xx

  4. While it is never easy to let a loved one go, it’s great to see that you have such fun memories of your grandma, even towards the very end of her (physical) existence!

    Use those memories to give you strength in these hard times!

  5. That was lovely, Anne. I am tearing up thinking of the last time I saw my grandmother. She had been in and out of lucidity for a while but was happy to see us. My cousin brought in his infant daughter and my grandma touched her foot and said “So beautiful”. It was the last thing I ever heard my grandma say. I am so glad I went to see her. I’m so glad I got to tell her I loved her one last time. Thank you for sharing this very personal piece of yourself with us.

  6. I am sorry for your loss. Cherish the memories, remember the laughter, the strength, and most of all the love.

  9. So sorry to hear of your loss! Sending good thoughts for you and your family! ((HUGS)) from Oregon!

  10. I fully understand. My Mom has been in hospice for over a year. She is getting to the point where your gram was (mom is 90). She is starting to go back in time in her mind, but still has sharp moments.

  11. Your grandmother sounds like a fantastic lady, who lived a great and full life. I’m glad you and your brother had a chance to say goodbye and have those moments with her. I’m sorry for your loss.

    And as someone who has seen multiple family relationships become frayed due to similar issues like what your brother had, thank you for being patient with him. I had a tough time dealing with nursing homes when I was younger, but family helped me get through that and I have begun to realize now what I was missing then by being so afraid.

  12. Aw, I got a little teary at that and did not have that kind of relationship. My sweet grandma died when I was 17, and I didn’t get the chance to know her well. My other grandma… well, what’s the point. There are no tears for her.

  13. I am really glad you started this blog because you write really well.

    The last time I saw my paternal grandmother, I couldn’t talk to her because she wasn’t conscious. I’d come back to Germany from the UK for my regular summer visit and my first stop was the hospital where my gran had been for the last six months after a heavy stroke. A few weeks earlier my mum had called me and told me that my gran had lost her faith and I knew then that it wouldn’t be long. So while she wasn’t conscious, I stayed with her for a good hour, holding her hand and telling her about all the things that had happened since my last visit, just as I would have had she been able to talk to me. I said good-bye, kissed her cheek and promised to be back the next day. She died early the following morning. Despite usually being a cynic when it comes to things like this I strongly believe that my gran had registered subconsciously that I had been there and that she had held on just enough so I could see her one last time.

  15. I’m so happy that you have such wonderful memories of your grandma as you grew up. She will always live in your heart

  16. Beautifully written. I am sorry to hear of your loss but glad that your grandmother is at peace.

    My father passed away this May. It was sooner than we expected and, unfortunately, my final time seeing him wasn’t what I hoped it would be. I am very grateful to you and Wil for helping me through the grief. You provided some levity at a time I needed it the most. Thank you very much for that. I am happy that your final visit with your grandmother was wonderful and provided some closure.

  18. Grandmothers are the best. Lost my Grandma earlier this year, and I’m still heartbroken. I wish you peace during this difficult time. Thank you for sharing this beautiful post and your time and thoughts with us.

  20. Anne, An earlier comment that you made, ” I am not a writer.” you have just proved yourself wrong. I am a professional reader and college professor and have been reading your husbands work and many others for many years. When I read, the first thing I desire is to be able to look through the authors eyes and see what thay are describing, taste their thoughts and feel with them. The hardest part most writers need to overcome is the ability to be able to be confortable in projecting their vision to their audience. Five sentences into your story and I could SMELL Oregon, and I have never been there.

    Keep talkin’ lady, we’re listening.
    Dave

  22. I am so sorry for your loss.

    You wrote about Oregon beautifully. I grew up in Southern Oregon (Talent) and have been very homesick recently (living in LA/San Diego the last 13 years). Your description of growing up in Oregon brought tears to my eyes, I miss it so much. I can picture you peddling along that bike path, as I’ve also done so many times. <3

  23. One of the things I have really loved about starting a blog is everyone sharing their own stories in the comments. Your kindness and input in this post as well as the others has been wonderful. Thank you!

  25. That was beautiful Anne, you write so well and so movingly, a gift that all the Wheaton clan seem to share! My Mum died last December of dementia, so I appreciate how difficult it is, it’s like you’ve already lost them long before they actually go. Much love to you and your family. xx

  28. I’m so sorry for your loss, but also so happy for you that you have such wonderful memories of your grandmother. Peace and love to you and yours, especially now.

  29. Anne, I am sorry for your loss but glad that you recognize years of good memories, too. You have a great “voice” in your writing and I look forward to following this blog.

  31. Wow, all the feels. My last words to my paternal Grandparents were, “I love you”. They passed away 10 years apart from from each other, neither suddenly. What a blessing to have the opportunity to say goodbye. And wow, 94?! Amazing!

  32. So Wil is not the only talented writer in the family…

    My condolences to you and your family, I’m glad you got to see her one last time and were able to make it an unforgettable experience for you and your brother.

    The healing process will take time, and I’m sure this blog is going to be a useful conduit for that. Although the subject is sad, it’s good that you’re focussing on all the positives from this event.

    Sending best wishes from the UK

  33. I am so sorry for your loss. I think you are really lucky to have had her in your life for so long. My Grandparents were all gone by the time I was 10. I have some good memories, but I wish I had more.

  34. Sweet Anne – thank you so much for your beautiful post. My heart aches for you and I remember losing my own grandparents on my dad’s side – so heartbreaking. But it is these wonderful memories like these that make it easier.

  37. Anne, I am so sorry for your loss, but so happy that you have so many great memories with your grandma. Thinking of you.

  38. I grew up with only one nana, and I loved her to bits! She passed away 4 years ago, and never got to meet my husband as I married in Canada. I was not with her when she passed, I was back living my life in Canada after spending 3 months with my mum in Australia after my dad passed. During that time nana & I had lots of time together. Wedding photos, old family photos, we looked at them all.. in the end the last thing she said to me was hurry back and bring your handsome husband 🙂
    Thanks for sharing your memories Anne, my healing process is prolonged and difficult, but there are people, like yourself, who though I do not know, are helping me learn to share my own memories .

  39. This is a beautiful post for some many reasons. Thank you for sharing it, Anne, and you have my deepest sympathies for the loss of a life well-lived.

  40. Thank you for sharing, your writing is beautiful and I’m so glad you started a blog! I’m so sorry for your loss, losing someone to dementia is always difficult. Even when you think you are prepared, it’s never easy. We went through it with both of my grandmothers, and I thought I knew what to expect.

    But now I’m facing it with my mom. She’s got Alzheimer’s and is only 66 but already starting to forget words when she’s talking, and then forgets entire conversations minutes after having them. It’s devastating some days to talk to her on the phone, because she’s not the same person she was before. I don’t know how else to describe it, but it’s as if I’m losing her one day at a time, every day a little more of her is gone.

    I talk to her every day on the phone, I have for years, since I moved out on my own. It used to feel a little like a chore, and I would sometimes be completely distracted while she told me about her day. Now I regret every one of those times when I didn’t pay all the attention I should have.

    Dementia and Alzheimer’s suck, they are horrible diseases that steal away the memories of those we love most.

  41. My deepest sympathies on your loss! I’m glad that you have such happy memories of your visits with your grandmother to hold on to. Thank you for sharing this story, and for sharing your life through this blog!

  42. Anne, you have such a beautiful heart. Thank you for this portrait of your grandmother’s connection to you and your childhood memories, seeing those you love in these sort of final life stages where they are losing hold of who they have always been to you is hard, but you’ve inspired me to connect with these people in a whole different light that brings out the significance of their life in my own, meaningful way.

  45. Anne, I’m so sorry for your loss. I was lucky enough to be loved by two grandmothers who taught me so much and suffered so much by watching many they cared about complete their circle of life. How blessed she was to have you, and how wonder it is that you carry her with you. Your post reminded me how grateful I am to have the memories of them both. Thank you.

  46. I just wanted to offer my condolences on your loss. My grandma is failing in health and reading your story has helped me remember some things I had forgotten about our times together. Your writing is amazing and I hope you keep at it. I can feel a book of some sort in your future.

  47. Condolences for your loss.
    My great-grandma (MamawGG) had to spend time in a nursing home…I was miserable visiting her…she was a shell of the spunky lady that I knew in my life. At her funeral, I didn’t have tears; I’d shed them all, after a nursing home visit, when I realized that the woman I’d known was gone. That day she ‘died’ was just the body…her spunk and spitfire ways had gone before. For that I’d mourned.

    Years later, I found myself, as I still do, working in a nursing home. It is vitally important that loved ones make that difficult (as for your brother, it is for MANY) trek through those frightening, lonely halls to visit their loved one.
    The amount of life that can be offered, even when you aren’t recognized or known, is immeasurable. It puts a bit of pep in their step, a sparkle in their eye, and even can do amazing things, like increase their appetite or get them to take their medication. Those visits are so helpful to the vitality of the loved one, I cannot, fully describe it.

    I will tell you this, however….I KNOW each and every patient of mine who has loving, attentive family and those who don’t. Your affection, your attention and your touch will NOT go unnoticed.

    Keep strong and know that your strength to face that long walk and to say that long good-bye is one that is surely rewarded, be it karma, heaven, whatever your beliefs.

    Good-bye and Good Journey to your Grandma, to mine, to Grammas and Grampas all over.

  48. What a beautiful woman she must have been. My deepest condolences and a very merry Christmas to you and your family

  49. Gah, water is pouring from my eyes. I went through the nursing home thing as a 9-10 year old with my grandmother and react to it like your brother. The smell and sounds just destroy me now. Sad that you lost an important person but glad that you all got to have a good last visit and that she had a well lived life.

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