In May of 1992, my husband’s 86 year old grandmother suffered a massive stroke.  One day she was up and going and keeping great-grandkids and the next she was in a hospital room in Memphis, and the family was gathering to have the end of life discussion.  Initially I had believed there was hope.  When we first visited her we didn’t take our two children, simply because we didn’t know if the hospital would allow them on the floor.  I remember the kids telling me they were going the next time, even if Kathryne had to get on Joseph’s shoulders so they could put on the stereotypical trench coat, hat, and mustache, and amble into the hospital as though they belonged.  I relayed that conversation to “Miss” Emma and she threw her head back and silently laughed, much as she had done for as long as I had known her, but with the mute button pressed.

As the days passed, her condition deteriorated.  From the beginning, my in-laws had taken shifts at the hospital, making sure someone was with her around the clock.  But one day my father-in-law had to leave about an hour before my mother-in-law could arrive.  And during that one hour, that only time “Miss” Emma had been left alone, she died.

At the time I believed she did it intentionally.  I still do.  I believe she waited until she was alone so no one who loved her had to witness her death.  In the years since her passing I’ve had others tell me they feel the same, based on family members who seemed to do exactly what “Miss” Emma did—find the only opportune time to depart when no one else was present.

One such story involved three children, all of whom were present at their mother’s home, all of whom vacated the room while the home health nurse attended to business.  Once she finished, the nurse found them to report and say good-bye and the grandchildren who had just arrived walked in . . . only to find that their grandmother had slipped away while no one was watching.

It happens more times than you might realize—and each time it does there is an enormous feeling of guilt on the part of those who have continually been at the bedside but left, just for a few minutes.  In their minds that absence meant someone they loved dearly died alone.  It can be a terrible burden to bear until you realize that perhaps . . . just perhaps . . . that person who had always taken care of you, took the opportunity to do so one last time.

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