I figured out nothing could equal or top the medical adventure that my mother posed, but I was sadly mistaken. Even though Grandmother was transported to Good Samaritan Hospital, to prove to us, "I don't have a broken hip." We had to go to her secret area of money stash so she could take some money with her. We figured it was chump change and she also dressed up a bit.

When the doctor dropped the hammer, "You have a clean fracture at the neck of the femur," she was totally misbelieving and when she found out she was staying, she was totally pissed. The doctor told Cindy and I what they would need to do, but they have to figure out what the heart issue is first. Cindy and I stayed until she was put into a room.

The next day I received a call from the head nurse where Grandma was and she was very alarmed. I braced myself for the worst, but never expected to hear, "I need you to come to the hospital right away, to take your grandmother's valuables home! Do you know she has over $1,500 dollars in cash? We can't have that."

On our visit to Grandma, they gave us what they wanted us to take back; the money, other valuables and her check book. I didn't have a really good feeling about this. Once Cindy and I were back, we pretty much figured that we would be helping her out and it is best to get the ball rolling, so we put that money with the rest and counted it all.

There was slightly over $2,500.00 dollars and since we didn't know who would be using the funds, we started an informal ledger. We also organized what we thought we needed in order to help her. As soon as I got home, the phone was ringing. Cousin Emily said, "Mike, why did you take your grandmother's money? She said you stole it." I explained the whole thing.

Then there was a call from Uncle Vic, then Carol Ann. But the best one was a message on the answering machine from her friend, Mary Geeson, "Well Mike, I bet you couldn't wait to put your grandma in the hospital to get her money. You probably pushed her down too."

While I was livid, I still answered the phone when she called the next day, and she was in a sweet mood so she could get the information on where Grandma was. I held my tongue and gave it to her. But a day or so later, we had a problem; Grandma couldn't be located in the hospital.

My sister and I were busy working on figuring this gem out when Miss Mary called again and said we were incompetent and wasted her time as nobody knew where she was. I tried to assure her we were figuring this out and just to be patient and we would provide the new information.

Somehow, she must have gotten hold of my grandmother, but with her being in a confused and upset state, didn't know where she was and once again there was a answering machine message from Miss Mary, "OK Mike, what the hell are you and your sister trying to do to your grandmother?  You can't wait for her to die naturally, so you're getting them to push drugs on her to push her over the edge. I hope you burn in hell."

I immediately called back and got her answering machine and yelled, "Look you bitch, I told you if you were patient and worked with us, we'd give you any information as soon as we found it out. I know I am not going to hell, because we're not dating!"

The reply back was once again, hugs and kisses, but with an evil tinge of, "That's the true you Mike. Everybody thinks you're the nicest guy, but you are really just like your father. I hope both of you die before Em does." That would be my Grandmother.

I was pretty sure that she would be by the phone, but using the answering machine for the evidence to prove her point to all. I dialed her number and replied, "I have no idea why you old biddies think that comparing me to my father is an insult to me. While I have my own problems with him, he always does what is right and I look up to him."

"Ms. Geeson, you can thank modern phone technology for giving me a way to kill you off without going to jail." I then blocked her telephone number from my phone. I knew her and how that would drive her crazy. Her best friend then called me and confirmed that she is playing the phone messages to anyone that would listen. She also added that I made her laugh like hell and through her, arranged for a system to indirectly get any information to Miss Mary.

Slowly the information about my grandmother came to us, which both my sister and I relayed to people in a timely fashion. Her heart wasn't in the best shape as her heart valves were being destroyed by calcifications which were causing regurge of her blood back into the heart. Also her arteries and veins in her legs were blocked since they couldn't even pick up evidence of circulation using Doppler.

The medical opinion was, if they put her under anesthesia, she would die on the table, so they put a plate across the break in her femur's neck using local anesthesia. Then Grandma disappeared again and we found out she was at Mercy Hospital being evaluated for a vein stripping procedure for both of her legs. My sister found the doctor and called him, which brought him up to date on her heart condition.

Instead of striping her veins, he opted for a catheterization procedure; sort of a Roto-Rooter for the veins, but he couldn't get the catheter below her knees. My sister was livid with the doctor who was her physician at home and wanted to sue him for malpractice, as she felt he lied to Grandma.

"Cindy, I don't think this was overlooked by him, I just think that Grandma opted to lie to us about her condition. Think about it ... After every visit she was always telling us how fine she was and in what good shape she is in; making muscles and all that."

"Why would she do that?"

"Probably so we wouldn't go to him and check up on her. Perhaps she felt that open heart surgery is too much for her."

Grandma wasn't back at Good Samaritan for a day, when I was informed that the hospital was considering assault and attempted murder charges against my grandmother. I called them up and found out that she had pulled out her Heparin IV, threatened the doctor and tried to stab him with it.

Grandma was in her room, restrained, foisting her swollen and severely bruised arm and fist, demanding a second round. I very simply told the hospital, "Who am I to stop you from filing assault and attempted murder charges against my ninety-one year old grandmother, but you are going to look very foolish when the media will grab hold of that one!"

"You'll all look so incompetent, that people won't want to come here." I busted out laughing, but assured them I would be very serious about making that known.

She was well enough to be transferred to Stella Maris, which is a nursing home that also does rehabilitation. The hospital wasn't happy with us in the documentation department and Cindy and I knew with Grandma's situation, we had to get that straight.

What was of major concern was, Cindy and I didn't know who had power of attorney over my Grandmother, and no one stepped forward either. I knew Carol Ann's husband Tim had written the documents, but when I called him, he couldn't recall. After a search of her house yielded nothing, it was off to the safety deposit boxes so I made arrangements for Uncle Vic to meet me at the bank.

That was part of the deal with my grandmother, in addition to switching her bank accounts to other family members; the safety deposit box also was transferred. In general, we had a good extended family and the people that she picked were good and trusted people.

In the safety deposit box area, we opened it and the documents were there. Uncle Vic wanted to know if I wanted to read the will and I declined, when I read the powers of attorney, I exclaimed, "That son of a bitch! Tim's the power of attorney."

Not being amused in the slightest, I went home and immediately called him, "Guess where I was an hour ago? Looking at the documents in Grandma's safety deposit box."

"Well, I was going to call you, I checked the documents I did, in the office and found out that I was her representative." I figured that was pure BS since he would know he was her power of attorney. The least responsibility he had was to provide over sight; granted he lived a long ways, but his office was in the city and there is the existence of the telephone.

He continued. "To be honest, I never thought things would come to this and I don't really want to be the power of attorney. What I will do is talk to her to create new documents."

I got the documents in short order and all things considering, felt that they should be reviewed by my attorneys; the retired judge who had handled my mom's affairs. Since the judge was traveling, he deferred it to his son; who had the same personality and arrogance as his father.

"Mike, these new documents are ridiculous! I'm not exactly calling your cousin in-law incompetent, but he is way out of his field of expertise. You can't have two people as equal decision makers in a power of attorney, because if you differ on a treatment or decision, the only route would be through the courts." I asked him to rewrite the papers to make things right, which I would pay for personally.

Both the judge's son and I went to grandmother and she refused to sign them. The judge's son's disposition and short fuse didn't help matters any. I called Tim and he decided to come to the nursing center to look things over and all three of us tried to convince Grandma to sign the documents. This extended audience just gave Grandma more pleasure at refusing. Of course the judge's son had to levy a comment at Tim. Tim not being that type of person said his return comments to me in a private moment.

I was surprised that the Judge's son actually offered me a ride for the way home; it dashed my allure over Land Rovers forever. With each kidney punch of a bump, it reminded me that $325.00 of my dollars was shot to hell. I talked to Cousin Emily and she said that she would work on the matter and in the end; Grandma signed the papers that her lawyer prepared which was very close to the ones that I created. She also told me to take my paperwork expense out of Grandma's money.

I was surprised to be chosen for both Grandmas' legal and medical power of attorney and Uncle Vic was the alternate. Cindy was really put out about not being chosen, but I told her that I didn't see a problem as she is in on everything and I would no doubt, be consulting with her.

In fact, my sister Cindy tried to stop a problem before it started. Grandma came to the nursing facility with bed sores on the heels of her feet. It was at the nursing facility, they not only became ulcers, but ulcers were starting to occur between her toes as well. Since my sister was going through nursing school, she tried to make changes to prevent this.

She wasn't happy the nurses weren't really answering the call bell, or you had to constantly track a nurse or assistant down. Cindy took charge and forced them to put Grandma in the proper position and use these open booties that were filled with lambskin. But with each visit, Grandma's feet were getting worse. Then on a hunch, we returned a short while after we left from a visit and they had her back in the position that she was originally in.

On the next visit, Cindy took things into her own hands and fixed Grandma the way she was supposed to be. Grandma called the nurse and the nurse came in and ceded to her demands, took off the booties and put her in a position that put the maximum pressure back on her sores. They were messing with a law suit from us, which I think they figured out and quickly, and "rehabilitated" her so she could return home.

I knew we would need to be home with her to provide her care. Grandma suffered a lot of guilt over this, but assured us it would be a temporary thing. I had my feelings this wasn't going to be the case. We had pretty much everything that we needed to care for her, but the medical bed that Grandma refused to allow.

For the most part, she sat on the living room sofa and dictated orders like a queen. It was obvious that it was her house and we were going to be her subjects of her will. To her satisfaction, she was back in control of her money which she periodically inspected, be it cash or check book. The queen persona ebbed and she fell into a routine.

I would be spending the nights over there, which I found amazing at age thirty-two since whenever I was over there as a child, had trouble sleeping. Ever since I could remember, strange things happened there at night. Some was natural phenomena I didn't understand, such as the characteristics of low light vision, where the pillows would appear to breath and the chairs waved back and forth. Others were less explainable.

I made the mistake when I felt I was being watched, and smelled the pipe tobacco Grandma said she occasionally smelled, of saying, "Pop Pop E, if you're here, knock twice." I shot back down the steps because there were two distinct knocks right next to the chair where he used to smoke his pipe upstairs. To make things more comfortable for me so I would return, she put in a sofa bed right across from where she slept, in my mother's old room. That was where I would be staying at night.

I was amazed with my maturity, the house still had the same sort of creepiness about it, but it had a pleasant familiarity about it all. What wasn't very pleasant was my grandmother, she wasn't comfortable in bed at all and was constantly calling me. After three nights of this, I hadn't gotten a moments rest.

I tried every which way to handle it, but nothing was working, and Grandma would constantly call out for me to come, complain how much pain she was in and in short order, I was turned into a madman. "Look Grandma, it's been three days and I haven't had any sleep. You have got to stop calling me every five to ten minutes at night."

"I don't care!"

"Well you better!" I then noticed that she would watch me from her room and when I became motionless, drifting off into sleep, she would yell for me." I shut the door and that led to her angrily calling me, now added with bitter crying and statements that I don't care for her, want her to die, or anything else that would pluck my nerves.

"Look, this is the last time I am coming in tonight, what do you want?" I got her, her water and said, "It is doing neither of us any good for me to be here at night. I'll be honest, you're not only intolerable, you are totally rude. I can't stay here with you at night, so I am going back home. I will be here early next morning to be at your beckoned call."

"I don't care!"

"Fuck you! Good night!" I put on my clothes and walked out; it was obvious she was disrespectful and didn't care about my situation, but more in heaping upon me the misery she felt. In a fit of total frustration I let out a yell and punched her refrigerator with all of my might. 

Damn! You put your knuckle marks in a 1950's refrigerator. Nope, you're hands not broken, that's a miracle! The outburst was a result in the anger generated from my Grandmother's treatment of me, the frustration that I wasn't able to manage any more, and the effects of a lack of sleep under severe stress.

Unlike the care situation with my mother, where I didn't know what was going to happen from one minute to the next, I was relieved to see things going into a fairly decent routine. I would wake up around 4:30am and go to Grandma's. Do a few chores until she awoke and gave her breakfast. At around 8:30am it was off to work. I would come back around lunch time to give her lunch as well. Then somewhat late, go back to work. I was happy the bosses understood, but they still expressed that they weren't happy when I refused to do overtime.

At the end of the workday around 5:30pm, it was back to Grandma's and dinner, and I remained there until 11:30pm - 12:00am and headed home for a little shut eye. During the day I left the door open so a variety of people could come and go, such as her friends, the doctor, nurses, and therapists. She had me constantly going around the house to turn out every light possible as she hated Baltimore Gas and Electric.

Her husband worked there and shortly before he was to retire, he suffered a cardiac arrest and she was denied any pension, and had to live life with Social Security and the interest from the assets that she was left with. This didn't extend to the gas portion of usage as she maintained her house at stuffy, stifling temperatures. She knew if I turned down the thermostat even a half a degree.

Twice each week, the lunchtime routine for me was broken by both Cousin Emily and Uncle Vic, who spent a day a week each there during that time. It was a relief, but only meant that I would be at work. Granma's routine was, watching TV, going to the bathroom, and eating. She really couldn't do much else. While her hip was healing fine, the ulcers on her feet were getting worse.

Her wound care nurse was upset at the condition she came home in and advised us to photographically catalog her injuries and sue Stella Maris. I had a bad feeling that she was also vocal with her employ, as it was an independent contractor for Stella Maris and she was instantly replaced with another wound care nurse who somehow seemed to know to advise us of the opposite. We decided against pursuing a suit as it was enough to take care of Grandma.

Now the entire balls of her feet, not only between her toes, but the actual toes now were covered in leathery black ulcers. What was bothering me was the fact that the pain medication wasn't working one lick and they seemed to want to avoid prescribing her anything stronger.

The medical people felt that the ulcers on her heel could heal, but they wanted to debride her toes, which basically meant amputating them. She was slightly diabetic and especially at her age, she would be facing the death of inches at a time. Toes, ankles, mid calf, knee, and so on, which I didn't think she could handle because of the underlying heart problems.

I knew she was fighting to live and I made sure she knew we would support her either way. I broached another possibility the medical people thought was too extreme, amputating her leg above the knee since there wasn't any circulation anyway. Sure, why do one procedure when you could bilk everybody for six?

While my grandmother was unable to talk about the realities, I think she knew as she decided against any amputations. It was pretty much now set in stone, she was going to perish by gangrene, which would develop into sepsis and finally lead to death. She slowly lost her ability to walk, and then barely stand.

I couldn't believe how much I had to fight to get more powerful drugs to control the pain. It drove me crazy, especially when I heard, "We can't give her anything else, because that is hospice and Medicare only pays for that for six months.

"God damn it! Have you ever heard of anybody surviving gangrene for more than a few months?"

"Ok, I'll get the ball rolling." Well they weren't moving fast enough, with the pain she was in, it only took another week before I called them up and said:

"Don't worry, I have come up with a plan to control my grandmother's pain and fix it so she won't impose on hospice. I am going to buy heroine on the streets and give her that. Oh, I am also bringing in the media to expose the flaws in the system that I found. I'm sure your spokespeople will love that one."

Funny, she was accepted into hospice the next day, and it took another day to get more powerful medication. They first gave us MS Contin, which was considerably better, but wasn't really doing the job. We were told to make do so I ended up in another round of threats and finally secured Morphine; finally this worked pretty well for her.

It was Christmas time and we took her to Carol's house and everyone there pretty much figured this was Grandma's last one. Grandma herself was pretty touched and we all had a good time, until late evening when she got confused and started to demand that all of the lights be turned off.

This led to an argument, frustration from several people as she wasn't excepting any logic, and that led an outright fight with Uncle Vic. She threw a jab to his face that was so powerful, when he caught her fist in his hands; she pushed herself out of the wheel chair and it took four people to get things under control.

Once back home, just before I left I couldn't resist saying, "Damn Grandma, you're ninety-one and you can still kick ass!" She gave me a big ear to ear grin.

I got the kick of my life when one of Grandmother's friends said Mary Geeson wanted to know when I am not there so that she could visit, so I told her. You should have seen the look on Miss Mary's face when she walked in and found me there. She was even more shocked when I actually welcomed her in and then got out of the way so she could visit.

Miss Mary was one of my grandmother's best friends, and the instructor in the art class that Grandma loved so much. I first met her at the Fell's Point Festival as my grandmother put her paintings on display there. She was a short, very heavyset lady who was chairman of the festival, and ran around in a construction hat, yelling at everybody. She also chaired the Parkville festival that was held on Harford Road, which she quit because a rift with other co-chairs.

She never apologized for her phone calls, and I never did for my response. She was totally shocked that I could put minced words behind me. Grandmother enjoyed her friends coming to visit, but slowly those visits dropped off. It was obvious the direction that she was going, but with the increasing infection, Pseudomonas set in.

Pseudomonas is actually the precursor to gangrene and produces that noxious, floury smell. Strangely enough, I never noticed it in the house, but people would walk in the door and seemingly get knocked off of their feet. I didn't notice the smell until I walked out of the house and the fresh air hit my nose, it was then the last vestige of scent registered and hit me.

There was one aspect that was annoying the hell out of me, almost maddening at times. Every sound outside of her house was registering about as loud inside. My sister picked up on it as well. What made it all the more perplexing was, I could take a radio and place it in the room, close the door and it would produce the usual muffled and quieter sound. Or if I walked away, the volume would descend. But every car door closing, car going through the street or ally, person walking, or talking, would register inside as about the same volume as out. Background noises included.

There were other sub adventures as well, one morning I arrived at Grandma's house and couldn't find her anywhere. I asked out loud if she escaped and I heard a breath. She wasn't answering so I told her to breathe. I found that she had fallen into the bath tub. I had long since found that if you don't make a big deal about it, there won't be a commotion.

Though I was highly upset to find her in the tub, I pretended to laugh and said, "Grandma, do you want a bath? You could have waited for me." She said that she didn't, so I picked her up and took her back into the living room. "Why would you try to take a bath with your clothes on?"

She laughed and said, "I slipped into the tub stupid."

When we switched over to hospice, there was paperwork to sign and my guess was, for the pain medication, she gleefully signed all of the documents, but angrily refused to sign the Do Not Resuscitate form (DNR). The hospice nurse pleaded with her to sign it and Grandma bitterly refused. I believe there were two reasons for this, one was, and she was against it when my father and I tried to secure one for my mother; and quite possibly, she thought it would mean that we would actually kill her, like putting a dog to sleep. I talked sense to the nurse and we avoided that aspect of the paperwork with the promise that we wouldn't call 911.

A neighbor informed me that one day Grandma did dial 911, and apparently requested medical assistance. The neighbor was alerted when the fire engine pulled up and the firefighters walked through her front door. My grandmother became pissed off they were there and told them to leave, the neighbor ran over and explained the situation to them and convinced them not to bring in the police to investigate for neglect. I walked to the fire station and introduced myself and thanked them, explaining the situation and seeing if they could denote that address as hospice.

It was great to have a person to explain that she is being cared for and she is left alone for any more than a couple of hours. We glued the "9" button as none of her phone numbers had a "9" in it. When people were there, an alternate phone was available for use.

Grandmother's dining routine was about the same every day, prepackaged breakfasts, lunch and dinner. We would wheel her into the kitchen, park her at the table and she would zestfully eat, almost in a defiant fashion. But after the holidays, I noticed that it her eating was taking longer and longer. In addition she was getting very anal about it.

Then one day, I heated her tray and gave it to her and she just looked at it. After a half hour, I heated it and once again; she looked at it. I asked her if she wanted to leave and she angrily stated, "I just want to get this down."

I heated another tray and she simply looked at it, and then reheated it. It was shocking to see Grandmother's eye burning through the plate. With every ounce of energy, she raised both hands and slammed them on the table as hard as she could and yelled as loud as she could, "Damn it!"

"Mike, will you take me away." I did and several times a day after that; I offered her food, but she never accepted. Grandmother was always defiant and never acknowledged her situation that was progressing to her passing. But I knew that was when she truly understood that she was preparing to die and accepted it. I informed my sister.

A lot of my friends were very angry at my sister Cindy, as they felt that she was hardly around. They openly wanted me to put my foot down and demand that she do her fair share. Personally not having Cindy around more was very irritating to me, but I understood things and also had the feeling that things were going as they should.

Cindy had her own family to care for, which had its problems. She also worked several jobs and was going to nursing school. With my situation, I didn't have a lot going on and it was much easier for me to cover the bases, something I believed was my responsibility. While I would have liked her there more, I considered her a Godsend as she always managed to relieve me when I needed it the most.

About this time another problem cropped up, and it didn't help that she had exposed hardwood floors and a dining room with very heavy, hand carved furniture. We were starting to hear footsteps about the house, and occasionally conversations. Usually it seemed that one person was walking around, sometimes several. I couldn't figure this out and understood that the best explanation was that being so fatigued, I was hallucinating. Something I actually found comfort in if it were not for my sister talking about the footsteps as well.

Nearing her death, it got even crazier as it seemed the whole house changed complexions and feels. I walked through the kitchen door and was immediately hit with a totally different scent; which reminded me immediately of Aunt Millie's house. It also had that exact same warmth and charm. Cindy visited that day and called me up, "Mike you won't believe Grandma's house. It feels like I was in Aunt Millie's. Warm, fuzzy and cheery."

A short time later, I was home sleeping and just before awaking, I dreamt that I was in the living room taking care of my grandmother's feet and was distracted by the chairs in the dining room sliding around the table. I walked into the dining room and watched the chairs sliding around the table in total disbelief.  Then suddenly they all stopped and the one closest to me spun around as if to look at me. I damn near pissed myself.

But Grandma was calling me, so I had to go back to the matter at hand and dress her feet. When I looked at the arched threshold of the dining room, there was a dark shadow standing of a tall woman. That was the image that was still in my sight when I woke up and I said aloud, "Aunt Marie!" Under my breath I uttered, "You scared the living hell out of me."

At Grandma's that morning, the house had the exact same feel that Aunt Marie's had. What I wasn't expecting was the telephone call at work from my sister who was over there at the time. "Oh my God, Mike. I'm at Grandma's and her house feels exactly like Aunt Maries; her house creeped me out then, and it sure creeps me out now. I'm leaving."

I was once again spending the nights at Grandma's out of necessity. To me these footsteps represented a comfort to me, but the outside noises were driving me crazy so I wore earplugs. Grandma wasn't the slightest bothered because her pain medication was allowing her to sleep, which were much longer periods now. Also, Cindy knowing the inevitable was approaching spent much more time visiting. It was great to cross paths and chat.

When Cousin Emily, Uncle Vic, Cindy and I were present in a pleasant gathering, Grandma expressed her funeral desires, or more accurately, demands. She wanted to be buried next to her husband, have a light metal coffin with flowers on it, be placed in a Monticello vault and have an Ump-pa band play as she is lowered. That got Cindy and I to look at each other.

The next day I walked in Grandma's house and felt that I entered into the turn of the century. Seriously it had a Victorian feel about it, and in this case I sensed spirits moving about and when I entered the dining room, I sensed them stopping to look at me. I had one feeling before, when I met my Grandma's frail and elderly mother who was being cared for upstairs and who was heartily Czechoslovakian, and an ingrained toughness and an attitude she impressed upon me.

I also felt another person who immediately reminded me of the pictures of my great grandfather, Czechoslovakian as well, a dedicated laborer and master wood carver, as well a businessman who sat on the boards of Slavie and Madison & Bradford banks. Just in case, I replied, "Hello! You're all welcome here."

I was not to be comforted, for as I walked in to the living room to say, "Hi," to my grandmother; she looked at me and started crying.

"Mike, I don't know what is wrong with me! I can only think of the people who have already died. I can hardly think of June anymore."

"Grandma, I understand and you shouldn't be upset at that. I hate to say it, but I think this is all natural."

In fact, what was a trauma to my grandmother after her fall was that she knew she wouldn't be able to visit my mother who was now in a new nursing home that accepted her which was closer to home. Dad joked to me that Grandma lived as long as she did because she wanted to see him in the coffin first. In the beginning she did rally and tried to get herself in a state to where she could visit my mother, but not in being able to do that, she was constantly calling the nursing home to check up on her.

Then little by little, she called less. After she stopped eating she didn't call at all and simply asked me how she was doing, then it slipped her mind completely. Just after she fell, in the couple of visits Mom inquired about, "My Mom," but soon stopped asking. I felt that she accepted Grandma as her mother; on a more associative basis, since Grandma was the first person there after she was weaned off the respirator. Still I kept her informed.

In caring for my grandmother that day, I sensed one spirit in the door watching me and the other next to me. Walking out to go to work I had the thought, "Horseshit!" No really, as if it wafted through the window. It wouldn't have surprised me in the least if I heard a horse trotting down a cobblestone street pulling a wagon. I was amazed at the psychological associations I made and how real it all seemed to be.

I knew Cindy was visiting her, and expected a call at work, but I didn't expect her to say, "Mike, it's crazy in here. I swear to God that her parents are here visiting her, it feels very strict, 'Hi Hitler!'" I told her my experience and she continued, "It figures, Grandma's fine; I took care of her, did a couple of chores, and I'm getting the hell out of here."

That night I was woken up with the extremely loud sounds of heavy footsteps and immediately checked my ear plugs and tried to doze off. Not being able to for a half hour, I got up and went into the dining room. I spent ten minutes watching air walk back and forth. Those footsteps were so unique; I figured they could only be made with Victorian style high heeled boots with metal spikes.

I blew up and screamed, "You know what, I've done a great job at tolerating all of this, but you wore out my tolerance. The least you can do is take a break! Fuck you, I'm going home to sleep!" I went home and took an hour cat nap, then returned to the sound of those high heeled boots.

Going to work, this type of phenomena was so strong; I pretty much figured that I was hallucinating. But then why would all of the footsteps change in sound and stride? What mental trigger was activated? Still I found not only comfort, but pleasure at my mental demise, at least it was an explanation. I knew Cindy wasn't going to be able to top this one.

That was until 10:00 am when I received this call from Cindy, and she was livid. "Mike, everything's OK, Grandma's fine. I got my chores done and I am getting the fuck out of here! There's some bitch spirit in high heeled boots who's walking around in the dining room pissing me the fuck off!" That call freaked the hell out of me!

Luckily when I went back for lunch things quieted down. While Grandma bristled at us having to care for her, what really upset her was when her bladder stopped working and she became incontinent. She immediately started crying and profusely apologized.

"Grandma, I don't know why you're so upset. You found a perfect way for us to take care of you. We just lift you up and drain you." To me the potty portion was a pleasure because unlike my mom, she wasn't tossing me across the room, or kicking me in the face.

What really bothered me was her refusal not only to get off the couch, but to change her position. Now her bedsore on her bottom was ulcerated and infected, I tried to logically explain things, barter with her, and with no recourse left; I screamed my head off, "God damn it, Grandma! What in the hell is wrong with you? You have a bad bed sore on your ass. If we don't change your position soon, it will get infected and you will die!"

My grandmother looked at me, like the fool that I was, and simply said, "Right Mike."

"I just made a complete ass out of myself?" My grandmother simply smiled. But something new was happening, her body would become animated and her arms would wave about. It was a shock at first, but I realized it was the sepsis going through her body. This freaked the last of her visitors out, and they respectfully declined to visit anymore. Grandma was over on the other side more than here.

I couldn't resist asking her also, "Grandma, do you forgive my father?"

She became very angry and yelled, "There's no why in hell that I will forgive that man for what he did to June. I wished I saw him in the coffin!" It broke my heart and I was thankful for not being God. On all accounts my Grandmother was such a wonderful person, and not only gave us all the love that she could, she was revered in the community. I just wished that community had a better mind to separate out the hatred she had, from the facts about my mother to make life easier on my father and myself.

The hospice nurse was driving me crazy, as she suspected that I was giving her more sublingual morphine then the dosage required and reminded me it is illegal to give more the than the prescribed amount. Her dosage was 10 milliliters, but it wasn't stopping the pain.

I made the personal decision that I would not let my grandmother suffer in agony and if it ultimately meant a lethal dose, then so be it. It was something not only for my conscience to bear alone, but also something I was willing to pay any price for. The bureaucracy of it all stymied my intelligence.

My sister was starting to spend the nights there as well and one evening, Grandma collapsed when we stood her up. Cindy and I shared the same thought, "Grandma, this sitting on the couch is not working, and we have got to put you in your bed. We're sorry."

After we did, we discussed it and felt that Grandma knew that once she couldn't fight us about getting her in her bed, she was going to pass. That lasted about a week, and now in addition to the outside noise inside of the house and the footsteps, Grandma's breathing was very loud and had that tell tale death rattle to it. We also got permission to administer up to 25 milliliters of morhine, but didn't see any sense in that as 15 were doing the trick.

It was barely a week later when we were changing her and blood poured from her anus and she went into immediate shock. I threw a towel under her bottom and laid her back down; Cindy was in more of a panic and called the hospice. I knew the hospice was very insentative towards her as Cindy yelled back at the phone, "What do you mean if I can't handle it? Fuck you all, she's staying here!"

To my surprise a nurse came by and took a look. Her and Cindy went in and cleaned her up, and later informed me that the blood most likely came from her ulcer, but I know what I saw. Grandma had dilated pupils and a fixed stare, yet still hung on.

The next day I went to work; Cindy and the nurse cleaned grandma up for the last time. I honestly expected a phone call, but when I arrived there found her alive. My sister also called her old boyfriend to offer him a chance to see her before she passed. Grandma always loved him and thought Cindy made a big mistake when she left him for Wayne and got married.

There was still that pronounced death rattle in her breathing, so I walked in and simply said, "Grandma, you're hanging on too long. I just want you to know how much I love you and thank you for being in my life. While neither of us is happy about Mom's care, it is OK and you shouldn't worry. Please don't fear about passing on, I think it will be much better for you on the other side." With a last kiss I gave Grandma, I walked out of her room, and Cindy and I went outside, so I could smoke a cigar.

When we walked back in, we were stunned with total silence; even the outside noises were quiet. We immediately went to her room and found her dead. We both hugged each other and cried for a minute and then it hit us, we didn't know what she wanted us to do for her funeral so we started looking around. Cindy opened the drawer and I believe found the poem, "On Eagle's Wings," with a note, "I want this to be read at my funeral!" We busted out laughing.

At the next drawer was a linen handkerchief, and another note, "This was my mother's. I want it in the coffin with me when I am buried." At the question of what dress, we opened her closet and found another note. Outside, Gary showed up and we apologized, "Gary, We're sorry we didn't think of this earlier. You can still see her, but she's dead."

In a short while the nurse came and all three of us cleaned Grandma up, applied lotion and we placed the call for the funeral home to pick her up. As soon as the hearse arrived, the next door neighbor bolted past all of us and yelled, "Your Grandma died!"

In Grandma's bedroom I held back on my impulse of decking the neighbor and opted to simply say, "Are you satisfied now?"

We held the funeral and what was amazing, despite the fact that there were no calls for snow; from the time we opened the doors to the hearse to the ending of the internment ceremony, it snowed like a blizzard. Cindy and I joked it was because she was angry we didn't get the Ump-Pa band.

Her ending was just as haunting to me as anything that occurred in her house. From time to time throughout my grandmother's illness, I also had to periodically care for Nancy's and my father's dog, which required walks at Double Rock Park. I started having imaginary conversations with my long departed Jean. I figured what the hell, I'll indulge myself.

She gave me a series of dates on when grandma was supposed to die. But they came and went so I pressed her, "Why aren't these dates working out?"

She laughed and said, "What do you think death is? Rocket science? No one knows what the body is going to do before it dies." It was funny how it worked out because the dates she gave me always had a pivotal moment in the progression of things; when Grandma came home, when she stopped eating, when we put her in bed.

The voice of Jean also was constantly telling me, "Your grandmother doesn't want you around." I argued over that absurd statement, because I had to care for her. "No Mike, she doesn't want you to see her die." I thought how funny it all was that she died when we were outside for a few minutes. It seemed to me that all bases were covered.

Throughout this I walked by Myfals, that Indian restaurant that had long since closed its doors. I wished it was still open as I would have found comfort in getting their food. I was also running into Rita thoughout the day and enjoyed talking with her. Also I appreciated her concern and decided to ask her out since this was all over...