"Oh my god, Sasha!" She stated in excitement. Relieved at her current state, I breathed an exhale and exchanged her the flowers we had secured at the sixth floor. I was taken back by the elevation in her mood after seeing me. I had expected judgement and scowls after her listening to the words of her grandson, David Jr. However, not Grandma Becky. Not after being a hardcore woman working for the railroad her whole life. She had learned a thing or two, the hard way, and learned to think for herself.

Flowers handed over, all in all, Grandma Becky was luckily not placed on the 10th or 11th floor like my father in ICU (Intensive Care Unit), where flowers were not allowed on such floors. 

My husband hooted to his grandma, "How ya doing Grandma?" "Well, I'm dying," she spit back with such fire her breath lit the room with excitement of her release. Grandma Becky breathed hard through oxygen tubes cranked to the max. She knew her lungs were failing, and the edema was setting in, but the hospital saw fit to release her to comfort care in her home. 

We chatted for a short fifteen minutes before she started getting out of breath with her ecstatic life event claims, and my children messing around as bored children do. I gave her a hug, promising dinner of my cooking at her place very soon. A very soon gathering with my father to boot as he was of very high entertainment and conversation to Grandma Becky. 

The next day, Grandma Becky would start the process of active dying because her son, David Senior placed her as a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate). This code in the hospital would stop any lifesaving procedures that might be necessary for her to reach her home, that she wanted to pass in. Not fully understanding the care being offered, Grandma Becky was taken off her pulmonary medication. This frontal of on-brute death facing her, would onset a present she was unprepared for; nor unaware of the care she had previously signed with her eldest son, Grandma Becky had a panic attack and fell into a coma. A coma she didn't rise from.

Meanwhile, my brother Alonso flew back from Arizona to Minnesota due to my father's state. My father's eighty-year-old soul hung in the balance much like it has for the past twenty years. Four courts of blood lost, a body in shock, and a heart that needed to be stopped to be reset. 

All in a day's works. I stood on the outskirts holding my breath for my father. Not panicking because things had been worse before. Way worse. He had died once in this very hospital, and they brought him back. Always back. I just calmly sat tucked away in the corner as they angled his head down on the bed and grabbed the crash cart. They stopped his heart for a split second, just to reset it and rushed him to the ICU.

"You by far are the calmest family member I have ever encountered," explained the male nurse. "I did Search and Rescue for the Coast Guard," is what I regurgitated. Although, he most likely did not know the extent or grotesquerie that was Station Golden Gate. 

My father lived another day while David's Grandma died. My children came undone believing they will never be allowed a grandma, and such an idea is taboo. They cried for the release of their Papa in which the hospital agreed. And he is at home, comfortable, thinking of gambling and hunting, until the next deer crosses his windshield to shoot out (another story).

David's Grandma's service will not be held until the summer. A time that is at everyone else's convince, as arranged by David Senior. 

I feel I need to address that death is not convenient. It is not something that should be put away until it may be addressed at a proper moment for others. Death is finite. Death is present among many of us, weighing on our shoulders as multiple moves along a normal life. That person is here, just away in another room, and they need to be recognized. Not for them, not for the dead, but for the living. A remembrance of love of those passed. Not when David Senior sees fit, but when it feels fit for grieving family like that of David Junior, whom was always there, or Uncle Paul that spent his countless moments with her. Or Sara and Alaina that always asked too much of her but never were more than a mere phone call away.

Grandma Becky, I am sorry I never got to make you that lasagna. It would have been so/so anyway, since I cooked it. To Dad still here... just make it through Christmas or I will not drive your body out west... Like I am facing some big charges unless I get all the paperwork done... Dad.