My Grandmother’s Dying Wish

A donut in the face of death

It was the late August of 2016, and my grandmother was about to breathe her last breath at the ripe age of 86.

As a disclaimer, there wasn’t anything dramatic about her death. She didn’t die in a fiery car wreck that I attempted to pull her out from or jump off her 24th floor balcony while I and the family stood on the ground begging her not to take her life. I guess either one of those scenarios would make an exciting story, though the true story of her death has a few twists of its own.

The truth is, my grandmother died peacefully in her sleep while in palliative care. She died under the watchful eye of the nurse who had developed a friendship of sorts with her, and the nurse reported that she stayed with my grandmother all night until she fell into the sleep from which she did not wake up from. This is the kind of quiet and painless death that I’m sure many would hope for. I know that I definitely do.

However uneventful my grandmother’s actual death was, through a series of some random events the task of fulfilling her dying wish somehow fell to me. And this wasn’t the task that I ever would have thought would be mine. This is simply for the reason that my grandmother and I weren’t ever close beyond a certain obligation as family members to show a modicum of affection to each other. I had heard at one point that she had been disappointed when my sister was the first born grandchild followed soon after by me, another girl. Apparently she felt that a boy should have been the first born grandchild. Now, I don’t know with absolute certainty that this was true, and if it was true then it most likely came from a place of internalised misogyny which for all I know could have been something taught to my grandmother and not necessarily what she actually accepted as truthful. I do however know that I always felt like something of an intruder when I was around her, as if my presence was acknowledged yet not welcomed. This definitely supported the ‘disappointed by having only granddaughters’ theory. What also supported it was when my male cousin was born some time later, my grandmother treated him as if he was spun from pure gold.

The somewhat unfortunate truth was my grandmother was a generally cold and critical person to pretty much everyone around her with the exception of my aforementioned cousin. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and fuel the fire, clearly not caring about offending anyone around her. I realise that this sounds like a lot of negativity and she was a pretty negative person, though there was some softness to her underneath her hard surface. She was fiercely independent and was unafraid from a young age to go her own way and leave her family home, find a well paying job, get married, have 4 children one of whom is my dad, eventually leave home again and seek a divorce from my grandfather to then live on her own supporting herself for over 2 decades. For a woman who grew up in the era when women were pretty much only given the options of being wives and mothers, she achieved a staggering amount of accomplishments in both her personal and professional life. So for this I genuinely feel that she deserves some admiration, even if I didn’t ever feel a close kinship with her.

Eventually my grandmother’s unhealthy lifestyle began to catch up with her as she had a strong liking for over indulging in red wine and salty foods, and her age began to show more strongly. After some safety issues with her living alone came up, the family made the difficult decision to put her into a full care seniors facility. Interestingly enough she was enthusiastic about living there. I think she liked the company of the other seniors and felt safe under the care of the medical staff. The few times that I saw her there were the few times which I can remember seeing her genuinely smiling. Though not too long after getting used to her new accommodations, her mind began to fail, and she began to have a lot of trouble with remembering things and recognising people. It became near impossible to have any kind of coherent conversation with her as she would get caught in these repeating loops where she would become insistent that she couldn’t find her keys or handbag and drive herself into a frenzy trying to find either one. It didn’t matter what anyone said to her while she was in one of these loops as no one could calm her until she eventually ran herself ragged. Once while she was in a loop of not finding her handbag I picked up her handbag and said “Gram, look! I found your handbag!’ and she responded to me, ‘that isn’t my handbag, that’s my purse. I’m looking for my handbag.” And on and on it would go. These loops began to happen more often, and more health issues began to surface. The final straw was when she began to build up fluid in her lungs and calves which seriously restricted her mobility rendering her unable to leave the residence for any reason. Once the news of her deteriorating condition was dealt, I and the rest of the family knew that it was just a matter of time before we got to call from the residence that my grandmother was close to death. And soon enough, that call did come, and it came for me under some less than desirable circumstances.

In the same months that my grandmother’s health was declining, I was in school studying accounting. I had passed Accounting 1 and struggled a bit with Accounting 2, though I’d made it through the term and wrote my exam on a sunny August Saturday morning which was the day before the Sunday my grandmother died. A few hours later I hit the town with some friends to celebrate the end of the term and I downed no less than 14 shots of tequila along with a few wine coolers and a beer thrown in there somewhere. The next morning I wanted nothing more than to crawl deeper under my bed covers and drown out the world, but I was awakened by a phone call from my uncle who had himself just received The Call from the seniors’ residence. My grandmother’s time was about to run out and the family needed to come to spend the day with her. I somehow crawled out of bed, rolled into the shower and slithered myself into some clothes. I then trudged to my parent’s house where my uncle and his cousin were waiting for me. My parents weren’t home because they were in Nova Scotia at the wedding of the son of my Dad’s best friend. According to my uncle, my dad was aware of the situation and was trying to get an earlier flight back though it was very unlikely my parents would be landing anytime in the next 48 hours. My sister was in a different time zone travelling through Chicago on a work trip, so that meant I was going into the last day of my grandmother’s life as the sole representative and absolutely the most hungover of my immediate family.

I made the trek down to the seniors’ residence with my uncle and his cousin. My grandmother’s older brother was already there along with his wife, and eventually all the rest of my uncles and aunt trickled in. My aunt was having the hardest time of everyone coming to grips with what was happening and she alternated between trying to communicate with my grandmother and then breaking down crying.

Being around my grandmother that day was the first experience I’ve ever had with being in close proximity with someone who was dying, and I can truly say that I hope to not ever be in close proximity with someone who is dying ever again. The zombies from Night Of The Living Dead looked healthier than my grandmother did that day. She was very agitated that my dad wasn’t there and continuously asked where he was. My aunt attempted to explain many times over that my dad and mom were in Nova Scotia for a wedding of a family who my grandmother had also known for years, yet the message just wasn’t sinking in. As the endless question and answer period dragged on, I came to the conclusion that I needed air and had to do something to get out of the room.

Google Maps came to the rescue as I learned there was a Tim Horton’s a 20 min walk away, and the notion of a yummy grilled Turkey sandwich became appealing. I asked for the group’s attention and announced my intention to trek to good ol’ Timmies.

And then the unthinkable happened, as my grandmother looked straight at me and said “I would like a donut please”.

This was unthinkable because this was the first coherent sentence I had heard my grandmother speak in a long time and she had answered my question in a way as if she had understood what I’d asked. I was shocked but rolled along with it and I said ‘Of course! What kind of donut would you like?’ And my aunt then said ‘She always liked the Canadian Maple donuts’. I turned to my grandmother and said ‘Would you like a Canadian Maple donut?’ And my grandmother smiled and said ‘Yes I would’. So I set off on my mission to procure a Canadian Maple donut with the hope that my grandmother wouldn’t die before I could get back with it.

At the Tim Horton’s there were two teenaged cashiers behind the counter arguing over something Sandra had said. I still to this day have no idea who Sandra was to the cashiers. I assume she was the ogre like manager who ruled with an iron fist which all Tim Horton’s employees ran in fear from. I stood there waiting for someone to notice me, a paying customer. I realised in that moment that I was shaking from head to toe, and I had not ever felt more stressed, overwhelmed and exhausted in my entire life. I know my hangover wasn’t helping any of these feelings. I knew I was about to explode, and the lucky Tim Horton’s cashier was about to be the lucky recipient of my temper tantrum.

Finally, one of the teenaged cashiers graced me with his attention, and I ordered a Turkey sandwich with an iced cappuccino, and finished off my order by asking for a Canadian Maple Donut. And then the following exchange happened.

Teenage Cashier: “Sorry but we are out of that kind of donut. We’re a half hour away from closing so we aren’t baking any more.”

Me: “What did you just say?”

TC: “We don’t have the donut you’re asking for. The only donuts we have left are in the case over there. Why don’t you pick one of those?”

Me: “DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT MY GRANDMOTHER IS ABOUT TO DIE AND SHE PROBABLY IS DEAD RIGHT NOW AND YOU EXPECT ME TO TELL HER THAT SHE CAN’T HAVE A DONUT AS THE LAST THING SHE CAN EAT WHILE SHE IS ALIVE???? DO YOU NOT EVEN CARE ABOUT THIS AT ALL??? SOMEONE IS ABOUT TO DIE AND YOU DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT KIND OF DONUT????”

My outburst was followed by a pin drop silence in which every single other individual in the Tim Horton’s turned to stare at me. The other employees began to shift their eyes at each other as if to say ‘This chick is crazy. Get ready to bolt.’

TC: (in a scared squeaky voice) “How about a honey dip donut? They are similar to maple donuts and I’ll give you one free.”

Me: (also in a scared squeaky voice) “Yes please thank you.”

I stood there shaking and attempting to breathe myself calmer all while every other customer gave me a 10 foot wide clearance zone as they walked past me.

I got my order including the buy-one-get-one-free honey dip donuts and walked back to the seniors’ residence. When I got back to my grandmother’s room the first thing I saw was a priest standing over my grandmother. My thoughts immediately went to the conclusion that she’d died in the hour I’d been gone, but then my grandmother started waving her hands around and I figured someone who was dead wouldn’t move like that. It turned out the priest was there making his rounds as this was a Sunday evening and that was the ritual in the residence. As I was distracted by his presence, I dropped the donut bag on my grandmother’s nightstand table and promptly forgot about it. I went to the sitting room next door to eat my sandwich and cool off. I still just couldn’t believe that any of this was happening.

What do you say to someone who is about to die? What do you say to someone who has uttered exactly one coherent sentence over the past 6 hours? What do you say to someone you haven’t ever had a relationship with despite having tons of memories of the two of you together?

It all felt like the biggest contradiction I’d ever been faced with, and I had less than an hour to figure it all out as my grandmother’s time was ticking and the nurse had warned us all the activity was wearing her out and she needed to be prepared for bed.

Eventually my relatives and I circled through my grandmother’s room one by one saying our own private goodbyes to the matriarch of the family. As I spoke to my grandmother for the last time she alternated between staring at me blankly and nodding off. Strangely enough the donut that I’d expended so much energy freaking out about was still forgotten.

We finally all headed home where I collapsed into the welcoming arms of my bed. I think I’d cycled through every emotion possible over the past 12 hours. I, ironically, fell into what could be described as the sleep of the dead since nothing short of an atomic blast was going to wake me until I’d gotten my 8 hours. About 20 km away, my grandmother was doing the same. The difference between us was that I opened my eyes the next morning.

The days that followed passed in a blur as the funeral arrangements were made and it was decided that my cousin and I would each do a reading at the funeral service. I went to the mall the night before the service to find something appropriate to wear. I lucked out and found a Michelle Obama-worthy fitted sleeveless black dress and was wearing it in the fitting room when my phone beeped. I had an incoming email.

The email was from my uncle. He stated that he wanted to pass along the message that the nurse who had befriended my grandmother had woken up at about midnight on the last day of her life. She apparently was awake and completely coherent. She made some conversation with the nurse and during this conversation my grandmother asked for her donut. The nurse found the donut bag on the nightstand and my grandmother ate both of them even though they were honey dip donuts and not the Canadian Maple donuts she had requested. The nurse reported she fell back asleep not long after her donut break and was pronounced dead about 3 hours later.

So my grandmother had gotten her donut after all and had reportedly enjoyed it, even if it was the wrong type since her request had been made within 30 minutes of Tim Horton’s closing time.

The next day at the funeral service, I stood there in my stylish new black dress and told my dad about the nurse relaying that my grandmother had eaten her two incorrect donuts just before her death.

And my dad, who quite fancies himself an outstanding comedian, then blurted out:

“It was the donuts that did her in!!!”