At the end of May, my husband and I flew to Minnesota so we could attend his grandma’s 90th birthday party. He was planning on visiting over a long weekend and then flying back to Tahoe. I, however, had planned to stay for some additional time with my family.

What started out as a 10-day stay turned into over three weeks.

My husband’s grandma’s party was wonderful, and they have a large family, so around 60 people attended to help her celebrate. For her age, she is doing extremely well.

Following the party, I traveled to my parents’ house to spend the rest of my visit, working during the weekdays and hanging out with family in my downtime.

Tuesday: The First Call

On day six of my stay, it was a Tuesday, my mom got a call about my 92-year-old grandma (her mother) who has been battling Alzheimer’s for the past several years and living on a memory care floor of an assisted living facility.

We learned that that morning, my grandma was showing signs that she was having chest pain. The hospice team administered a few different things to help ease her discomfort, and the staff said she seemed like she was “back to normal” and doing okay. Well, my mom and I decided that, since I was there, it would be stupid to not make the hour-plus drive to go visit her that day, should this be a sign and we miss our chance to see her. So, I wrapped up a few loose ends for work and we headed up to see her.

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My entire life, we’ve always called this grandma “Ger.” It started when my oldest cousin on that side was a young child and had a little trouble pronouncing some words. When she tried to say “grandma” it came out sounding like “germunga.” And that got shortened to “Ger.” And when that same cousin tried to say “grandpa,” it came out as “bumpa,” which got shortened to “Bump.” So, these are my grandparents whom most everyone calls “Ger and Bump.”

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The First Visit

When we arrived at Ger’s, she seemed sleepy and wasn’t very talkative, but she was “there.” Thinking the sunshine and fresh air might do her some good, we brought her out on the small veranda off her room and tried to chat with her.

As she basked in the sun, I rubbed her shoulders and arms, which, in combination with the warm sun, actually made her more sleepy, I think, but she seemed relaxed.

My cousin who works at the facility brought someone’s cute, small dog to visit, and if it’s not a baby or small child, Ger enjoys a visit from a pet almost as much.

Ger’s Love of Babies

After raising their own four children, in 1985, my grandparents took on their next ministry. Influenced by their daughter Sue, they, too, began caring for foster babies. Over the course of 17 years, together they cared for 87 foster babies, regarding each one of these babies as their own and giving so much love and attention to them, regardless of whether they had them for a week or many months.

Ger once explained that these often-high-risk babies need extra love. She said, “We give them at least 100 hugs and kisses a day. They know they’re loved.”

Forty years later, 92 with Alzheimer’s robbing her mind, Ger still never stopped having the desire to care for something. And whenever someone brought her a baby, a young child, a pet, or even a stuffed animal, it would substantially brighten her day.

And when we didn’t have an actual real-life baby to show her, we resorted to sitting with her and paging through numerous photo albums filled with photos of the babies and young kids in our family. We’d go through each photo and tell her the name of every person pictured and who they belonged to. Many times she would comment with, “Oh, isn’t s/he cute! What a sweetie!” She could sit for hours with someone and look at those baby photos. We even made a wall collage of photos of her great-grandchildren’s baby photos for her room.

Tuesday: Dinner & A Stroll

When it was time for Ger’s dinner during our visit that Tuesday, the staff delivered the tray to her room and my mom fed her. Surprisingly, she ate fairly well. After her dinner, we decided to just take her for a walk in her wheelchair, outside on the grounds, figuring more fresh air might do her good.

On our walk, Ger perked up quite a bit and started talking more, commenting on the pretty flowers or the beautiful trees she saw along the pathway. And when the skies clouded over and it looked like it might rain, she even expressed concern and thought maybe it was time to head back inside.

We visited for a little longer, and then wheeled her to the common area to join some fellow residents watching TV. I kissed Ger on the cheek as I hugged her, and we left, feeling pretty positive about how she was today and slightly less concerned. Needless to say, we were still glad we made the trip up there a priority that day.

The following day, my Aunt Sue and Uncle Greg made the trek down from their northern rural residence to spend time with Ger. Over the next couple of days, we got regular updates from Sue about Ger’s condition.

Without Bump, There’s No Ger

We all, more or less, remained optimistic, but with a sprinkling of realistic on top. Because, in reality, my grandpa “Bump” passed away in February 2021. Her life-long love. They were inseparable. In my grandma’s high school senior yearbook, she stated that her aspiration was to “be a good wife to George,” despite my grandpa being known to say that he “married the second prettiest girl in her class, but she was the sweetest.”

They married in November 1950, the same year she graduated high school, and within a year were expecting their first baby.

Fast-forward seven decades, and they were celebrating their 70th wedding anniversary together, still holding hands.

Given my grandma’s declining cognitive condition, we chose not to tell her that my grandpa had passed away, much like we didn’t correct her if she made comments like, “I wonder if Dort [her deceased older sister] will come visit this summer. It would be nice to see her.” Even though Dort passed away long before my grandma was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, it didn’t seem necessary to explain sad, current realities to her at this stage.

Whenever she asked where my grandpa was, we simply told her he was at the ice arena, at a hockey tournament, or napping. All of which were highly plausible scenarios that she was well familiar with after all their years of marriage, and thus, satisfied her momentary curiosity.

While we knew we would miss Ger when she passed away, we also knew she “belonged” with Bump in heaven.

Sunday’s Visit

It became clear within a few days, however, that my grandma was continuing to decline and probably wasn’t going to bounce back. As a family, we prioritized spending additional time with her, as she became less and less lucid and responsive.

One of the days that week, my cousin went into Ger’s room to visit her and see how she was doing. She was sleeping in her bed but suddenly sat up and called “Mom” as she reached her arms out.

By Sunday, Ger was hardly ever awake at all, and we knew we’d better get up there to see her, so I piled in the car with my parents and off we went.

When we arrived, she was lying in the bed sleeping and so much tinier than I had ever seen her. Off and on all day, her small room was full of family members and Donna, one of her best friends from high school, whose apartment was in the same assisted living facility. At some point, we had to bring in more chairs to accommodate everyone who came, and we still had periods of standing-room-only.

Listening to Donna console my sleeping grandma – and her life-long friend – and tearfully tell her she’s not ready for Ger to go because they did everything together and Donna wasn’t ready for herself to go. Then Donna recited the Lord’s Prayer aloud as she held my grandma’s hands, and it pushed me over the edge that day and I broke down.

When one of the hospice nurses came in to take Ger’s vitals on Sunday, we asked her if she could tell us the current status and give any indication as to how much time she had left with us. The nurse confirmed my grandma was actively dying, and said the timeline is different for everyone, because some people hang on for up to two weeks – but it would most likely be less than a week, likely a few days.

My original return flight back to Tahoe was booked for the following day. I hesitated to leave now. I discussed the options with my husband and my mom, and we decided canceling my flight and rebooking it for a later date made the most sense. Uncertain how and when things would unfold, I ended up pushing my departure out another two weeks.

Next Tuesday: The Final Visit

Tuesday morning, one week after Ger’s initial chest pains, we got the call that she was definitely nearing the end and would likely pass that day. So, my mom and I drove back up to be with Ger for her final 7 hours on earth. My aunt Sue and a few other family members shared that time with us, as well as some of my grandma’s aides who made regular check-ins throughout the day, ensuring my grandma was comfortable.

One special aide, in particular, who had cared for my grandma the past several years shared with us tearful, heartwarming stories of my grandma. The most memorable anecdote she shared was that she was the one who gave my grandma her weekly shower, and she said that afterwards, every time, my grandma would kiss the top of the aide’s hand and thank her. Even with my grandma’s Alzheimer’s brain robbing her of most everything, she continued to express her gratitude.

While we waited, I took photos of some of the things that would remind me of Ger. She didn’t have much left in her room anymore after the initial move from their house and then a further downsize to a smaller room after my grandpa passed.

Remembering Who Ger Was

Though I always only knew her as my grandma who loved babies, something else I will always cherish about Ger was that she was amazingly talented in several things. She was very athletic and participated in numerous sports in high school (she did not pass this on to me!) – from basketball to soccer to bowling.

She also had a talent for writing and publishing, having been on the student newspaper staff and an editor of her senior yearbook (two things that I, too, was involved with in junior high, high school, college, and even today). And then there was Ger’s artistic talent. From a young age, she began sketching and only got better with time.

Over the years, Ger also created numerous detailed sketches of the faces of many of the foster babies she cared for. In the past few years, however, she was no longer able to connect her brain to the pencil and paper.

The Final Goodbye & End of an Era

Spending several hours by Ger’s side on that Tuesday, we watched and waited as she appeared to be hanging on – for what, we don’t know. We told her we loved her and it was okay to go, that we would all be okay. She opened her eyes briefly a few times, but it was clear she wasn’t seeing anything, at least nothing that we could see.

After a few ups and downs, when the moment came where my grandma took her last breaths, and we confirmed that she was gone, the aide came in minutes later to check in, and we signaled to her that my grandma had passed. The aide rushed over to her bedside and started sobbing – a testament to the fact that my grandma was special to everyone with whom she crossed paths.

A few other aides also came in to pay their respects and offer their condolences to us, one of whom had only been working there a few days and was still training, and she looked around at each of us with sorrow in her eyes and told us that she only got to meet Ger recently, but she said how sweet she was and that she could tell how wonderful Ger was based on how much we all loved her.

We can all say with conviction that Ger never said an unkind word about anyone or to anyone. Bump was right: She was the sweetest.

We each took turns hugging Ger and saying our goodbyes, and we called hospice to alert them. On Tuesday, June 11, 2024, around 8:30 p.m., my grandma went Home. As much as we prepare ourselves to expect it, it’s still pretty tough to let go of loved ones.

Not only that, but it felt like the end of an era. Ger was my last living grandparent. My last personal connection to The Greatest Generation. The ones who fought and died for the freedom in this country, defending with their lives against the oppression of communism. The ones who made greater sacrifices than we may ever know so that we could have everything and still complain about what we don’t have. The ones who lived and breathed frugality, appreciated everything no matter how minute, and expressed genuine gratitude and great humility as a well-formed habit. They were the ones with the courage to stand up against evil and didn’t bat an eye at the self-sacrifice it took to get there.

And that self-sacrifice, humility, and frugality never left them. At least, it never left my grandma. She lived her life for others, namely for her husband and her four children, but later on for the 87 foster babies, nine grandchildren, 13 great-grandchildren, dozens of birth mothers and adoptive parents, and a myriad of other friends, community members, church-goers, hockey parents – and many of these peoples’ children, as well. But I don’t think she ever saw it as a sacrifice; she did it out of love.

For years and years, the living room hutch in my grandparents house is where Ger would display the Christmas cards every year – always a mixture from family, friends, adoptive parents, and birth mothers. Even after a foster baby they’d cared for was a teenager or graduating from high school, my grandparents would still receive photos and letters with updates on their foster babies from the adoptive parents or birth mothers, who always expressed their gratitude for my grandparents’ role in the lives of their babies. After all, someone had to give those babies 100 hugs and kisses a day!

Ger was also steadfastly frugal and it didn’t bother her one bit. In fact, I think she enjoyed finding new ways to reuse things or stretch her dollar as far as she could. She was known for finding stellar deals at neighborhood thrift sales, which she frequented regularly. And those Christmas cards? She was not about to let those beautiful cards go to waste, so she would cut them apart, rescuing the decorative panel, and using it to create another handmade card to send to someone else. She did this with just about every card she ever received – birthdays, anniversaries, get well, or simply a cute puppy, kitten, or baby card.

This “lifestyle” was all second-nature to Ger, and so much has been lost on the younger generations. I look to The Greatest Generation for wisdom, grounding, honesty, and an opportunity to learn from their example, which, like every generation, was formed as a result of the experiences through which they had to persevere, but those of The Greatest Generation were far more monumental than anything I’ve experienced in my charmed life so far. And this opportunity is quickly slipping away.

While Ger’s departure was a bit like an emotional rollercoaster and wasn’t quite as calm and peaceful as when Bump passed, I am so thankful I could be there to experience it and support her and my family throughout it.

And, much like when my grandpa passed, I can’t help but feel God’s hand in all of it. I only visit my family in the Midwest a few times a year. Ger happened to start declining, more or less unexpectedly, just 4 days before I was supposed to fly back to Tahoe. Yes, she was 92, and at that age, anything can happen, but I truly believe it happened while I happened to already be there. For whatever reason, God wanted me there for it and I am thankful.

A Heavenly Messenger

Two days after Ger’s passing, another incredibly unbelievable thing happened.

I was back at my parents’ house, embracing the distractions as my mom and I worked on putting together a photo slideshow, photo boards, obituary, eulogy, funeral program, etc. when my dad appeared outside the deck door. He had his hands softly cupped around something. My mom and I went out the door to get a closer look.

We soon realized my dad was holding a live bird in his hands. Now, my dad has kind of an “animal whisperer” reputation, so his holding a live bird is not the unbelievable part. The bird he was holding, however, was a male cardinal.

Since Bump passed away a few years ago, my mom has had numerous cardinal encounters at significant moments. Some people believe that cardinals are “heavenly messengers” that come visit us after a loved one has passed away. Whether or not you believe in that sort of thing, what happened next was beautiful.

As we stood on the deck, my dad explained that he had noticed something red lying in the street outside their house. He walked over to investigate and discovered a male cardinal, but it wasn’t really moving. Not sure if it was still alive, my dad carefully scooped it up. Upon closer inspection, it definitely was still alive, but possibly had been struck by a car and was stunned, or possibly brain damaged.

Nevertheless, he brought the cardinal over to us. My mom and I stood there in complete awe as we tried to coax it out of its current state.

We waited for several minutes and the bird just sat there in my dad’s hand. I asked, “What do we do?” My dad shrugged, thought a minute, and then suggested we get out my niece’s butterfly cage and set the bird inside, give him some more time to recover, and then come back and check on him.

He carefully placed the bird from his palm into the mesh cage and we left it on the lawn and went back to the house, not feeling very optimistic.

My mom and I went back to our funeral prep tasks inside the house. About five minutes later, my dad returned to the deck door, poked his head inside and said, “You want to get video of him flying away?”

The two of us ladies looked at each other in disbelief.

“What?! Really??” I asked my dad.

“Well… I think so…”

So, we rushed outside, my phone at the ready to capture the release on video. Sure enough, the cardinal was flapping around inside the butterfly cage.

I got into position and my dad prepared to open the flap of the cage to free the suddenly revived bird.

As if what had already transpired wasn’t amazing enough, what happened next was even more so.

With the enclosure flap open, the bird immediately fled the cage and flew away from us, soaring up to the treetops in my parents’ backyard. Then abruptly, he made a complete U-turn, dove down, and gave us a low flyby as he swooped just a few feet over our heads and ultimately landed on the adjacent garage roof overlooking us.

My dad said that must have been his way of thanking us.

In that moment, my mom said, “That was Bump telling us that Ger made it.”

Read Ger’s full obituary here.

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