Grandma and Dixie: Two Post Mortums

Grandma is in the middle here at Grandpa's funeral

It's taken me over a year to really write about this, but I'm hoping that the wounds have scarred over sufficiently by now.  We'll see... and fair warning for those in my family who loved either or both of these wonderful females.  There will probably be crying involved, at least on my part.

Grandma Lova was an incredible woman.  She was strong, smart as a whip, dedicated, and she had a will that burned.  If you had a task you needed accomplished, you gave it to Lova, whether you were family, the community or her church.  Her community needed funding, so she was one of the founders of the pie committee - thousands and thousands of pies.  Really incredible pies, too - flaky crust, incredible filling, welcomed a fork like a lover and melted on the tongue.  I knew that there was starting to be an issue one year when she forgot to put salt in her pie crust (she was in her 80s at this point).  (I know, it's a little thing - but you don't understand Grandma's pride.)  Then there was the time she went to make tea and put the kettle on the stove - the electric kettle, with the plastic base.  At first she moved in with her daughters once Grandpa died, but finally, she had to move into a home (and that was a lot harder on the daughters than on Grandma, I think.)  Last time I talked with her, we had brief moments of conversation, interrupted every 15 minutes or so by "How old am I again?" (This was her 95th birthday party), followed by "My, that's old.  I guess God doesn't want me."  How do you reassure a good Mormon woman about that?  I honestly believe that the last 10 years of her life were just her waiting to be with her beloved Dewane again, wasting away until her body gave up and finally allowed her some peace (after a horrible, painful urinary tract infection or two.)  I love my grandma dearly, and I miss her horribly, but I am so grateful that she's finally able to rest now.

Not sure what Dixie was winking at...

Dixie, now - Dixie was my fur-sister, my mother's dog.  I've written about her before, but she was also a force of nature - a born crone, who might not like you, but if she did, she loved you absolutely.  She was a pirate dog - she'd lost one of her eyes a couple of years back to glaucoma, but that did not slow her down - she could still take out a chicken twice her size (and did - Mom used to joke that Dixie was the only one on the ranch with the will to kill a rogue chicken.)  She spent 12 years as Mom's constant companion, but by November, we noticed that she was losing sight in the other eye, and she was starting to be confused - she got lost under the kitchen table, she was having a hard time going outside, and she slept pretty much constantly.  So, just before Thanksgiving, I called our local vet, made the appointment, pre-paid for the service so that Mom didn't have to deal with anything.  We fed Dixie her favorites for her last meal, wrapped her up in her favorite blanket, and took her to Dr. Matt, who helped her cross over while she was lying in Mom's arms.  Again, I love her dearly, but I'm grateful that she's able to rest now.

I know that of the two deaths, I would vastly prefer the second one.  It was relatively quick, definitely painless and so much less confusing to her and us than the 10 year ordeal that Grandma had to go through.  I know - very different circumstances between a dog and a human, and there were moments in that 10 years that were special - certainly I cherish my last conversation with Grandma.  I just don't know that it was worth the pain she had to endure to give it to me.