Aunt Dot passed away today. She was 84.
I received a call from one of my aunts this morning, telling me that Aunt Dot wasn’t able to tolerate being off the respirator this morning, and so the decision had been made to remove it entirely and let her pass. They were waiting to notify all of the family and give people the chance to come to the hospital before pulling the tube.
I joined much of the family at her bedside in the hospital, all of us saying our goodbyes and sharing a few funny stories. My aunts told me they found a bunch of garden hoses in Aunt Dot’s apartment, and we laughed that we were probably all getting garden hoses for Christmas. Her guest bedroom contained bags of junk that she had purchased when the downtown Lazarus department store closed years ago. Those trinkets were still being used to provide gifts, and the beginnings of the Christmas gift bags were sitting in the room, too, with names already on the bags.
The time came, and the tube was removed around 2pm. Some of the family thought this would be a longer process, and they had gone downstairs to get coffee. The nurse poked her head out of the room and told me, “She’s not making much effort to breathe. You’d better get everyone up here quickly, because this won’t take long.” Frantic cell phone calls were made, but only one aunt, a friend, and myself were present when the monitor displaying all of her vital signs showed nothing but zeros. The others rushed in, and the nurse followed behind them. After over a minute of no life signs on the monitor, it was turned off and the nurse left us. All was still, and she was gone.
I had never seen death before. I watched her skin take on a pale blue tint. After a few minutes, it sounded like she took a big gasp. Involuntary reflexes, we were told. Another followed about 30 seconds later, and the family began discussing funeral plans. One of my aunts smiled and said, “She’s probably up at the pearly gates right now, banging on the door and demanding to know when she gets her lunch.”
After several minutes, and a particularly loud gasping sound, I looked back at Aunt Dot. Those involuntary reflexes sure were coming regularly, I thought, and she didn’t look so blue. I placed my fingers on her wrist, and I thought I felt a pulse. The doctor then came in to officially pronounce her dead, but after listening for heart sounds, she said, “She has a heartbeat. Turn the monitor back on.” Even the nurse was surprised.
Somehow Aunt Dot was back from the dead. Normal heart rhythm, normal respirations – our eyes went wide and laughter erupted in the room. One of my second cousins, wiping away tears and with a big smile, said “Of course! She wasn’t leaving without tricking us all one more time! She knew we’d scramble up here, spilling our coffee and looking like fools.”
Everyone in the room smiled and felt so much more relaxed. The heavy weight of her death was removed, and now we again waited for her to leave us. Somehow, it was OK now. It’s like she knew we were there, and she got her last say, without saying a word.
I had to leave to feed Mira, so I wasn’t there when she died at 4:20. For real this time. She never regained consciousness, and she was made as comfortable as possible for an easy passing. This was really the best possible outcome. She didn’t have to go to a nursing home (which she would have hated), and she didn’t have to languish in pain while the lung cancer slowly devoured her. If there is any such thing as a good death, hers would probably qualify.
I didn’t get along with her. She enjoyed teasing me as a child, and I resented it. She did the same thing to Cordy, and I still resented it. But as an adult, I at least understood part of her gruff exterior. She had two children of her own – one was stillborn, and one died shortly after birth due to massive congenital deformities. She will soon be buried next to those children she never got to raise. She loved children, but she had trouble showing love. Even though she made me so angry at times, I will miss her.
And even though she’s gone now, I think we’ll still be passing out her incomplete gift bags to everyone this Christmas. I wonder if I’ll get a garden hose?
1982 – Aunt Dot giving me some weirdly painted ceramic piggy bank
Oh, this is a fantastic tribute to her…whether you got along with her or not…actually, it’s a fantastic portrayal of life AND death. The whole thing has always seemed SO scary to me, having never witnessed it myself. Your description of it shows the strength of having family near to share the experience, and reads like a scene from a fabulous movie about women…and the strength we all have…whether we know it or not.
Oh what a wonderful and sad story, but with so much hope and love coming through your words. How nice you wrote about the Aunt Dotti. I just was so impressed how you gave her one of the most dearest good byes in your story. She really will be well remembered, even by me. May she find a nice and cozy space with a window, so she can always have a loving eye on you all! As she loved you all so much, just think of the christmas bags getting ready already now in October! How sweet and thoughtful! I am sending you my thoughts!
I’m sorry for your loss, but I hope it was peaceful and quick for her. ((HUGS))
I’m sorry for your family’s loss, Christina. Hugs to you 🙂
This was a great tribute. Very touching and real and honest about your aunt.
I can’t wait to hear about the Christmas gifts.
So very sorry to hear about your family’s loss. Losing a family member, even one who doesn’t always inspire loving memories, is hard.
*hugs*
*HUGS*
Glad she went in peace. And that you were all able to be with her at the end. I think passing out the final Dot Xmas gifts is a good idea. She’ll be with you in spirit…
Christina,
I really enjoyed this post. I was laughing out loud and wiping the tears from my eyes at the same time.
Your aunt sounds like she was a real hoot.You did her memory well with this story.
I am so sorry for your loss.
I’m so sorry to hear about Aunt Dot. In so many ways, she reminds me of my Aunt Judy who used to give me funny gifts that she often bought at rummage sales. Judy is still alive, but I imagine the day she passes I’ll feel sad, too.
I’m sure Aunt Dot is having a grand time in Heaven. She’s probably driving everyone a little nuts with her quirky ways. 🙂
I agree that this is a wonderful tribute to Aunt Dot. Perhaps she will find my grandma Dixie in heaven. My grandma and she were cut from the same cloth. One Christmas, Grandma bought one pack of underwear for all of her son-in-laws. Of course, they were all of different sizes, but she bought a larger size and split the package amongst them.
My thoughts are with you and your family today.
What a story. And she died amist laughter in the end. What more could any of us ask for?
Seems like a very fitting post for your Aunt Dot. I’m sorry for your loss.
I’m very sorry to hear about Aunt Dot. I think she is one of the most entertaining ‘characters’ in the blog world.
Perhaps a little memorial shrine with all the weirdness she bestowed is in order?
I couldn’t ask for a better way to go, surrounded by crazy and loving and normal and silly folks like you.
Sorry to hear about Aunt Dot.
But as you said, it’s not really a bad away to go, and it’s pretty funny that she come back to trick everyone, and have the last word.
It’s always hard to lose a family member, please accept my condolences.
Laughing and crying all in one post. Interesting how she came back.
I hope she got her lunch up in heaven! May she find peace.
What a great blog – glad I was able to be a part of this in your life – the prayers will not stop now!
What a perfect tribute – she really did give you that final twist which will be stamped in your memory forever.
Sorry to hear about your loss. It was a nice tribute to her
I love that picture of the two of you. And I love your honesty in telling this story and your feelings for your aunt.
What a wonderful tribute to your aunt. I love that you talked about being frustrated with her at times too, and yet being able to understand her better as you yourself matured. It’s a very real dichotomy.
Don’t have time to sit and read through the previous 24 comments so forgive me if I’m being lame and repeating what somebody else said – but in tribute to your aunt I must retract my comment from yesterday in favor of a more appropriate sentiment – again, forgive me, I don’t remember right now who wrote this but it came quickly to mind upon reading your post…
“Do not go gentle into that good night –
Rage, rage against the dying of the light!”
Thoughts and prayers with you and yours.
I’m sorry for your loss, Christina. She sounds like a true character. Every family should have one, for better or worse.
I’m sorry about Aunt Dot sweetie…but you are taking it so well and I love what you shared with us. xoxoxoxo
Oh, and I think you should keep up the tradition and pick one relative to whom you will give a TERRIBLE gift each year!
I’m sorry Christina – we don’t get to choose our family. Only what we do with those relationships and it seems like you got something good from it.
I was just catching up on blogs today and saw this very late…I’m so sorry she passed away. You handled it in such a wonderful way, especially since you didn’t get along.