Let me first state this is a very emotional post for me. It's a post of grieving and a place where I'm going to try and let go of some of the heart wrenching pain I'm feeling.
The last week has been a very hard time for me. My wonderful and amazing Oma the last of my grandparents passed away Saturday. I had received a phone call from my mother on Thursday saying that Oma was in the hospital and they thought she may have had a stroke. Later it changed to her having surgery and that they'd be putting in some stents meaning that it wasn't a stroke, but a heart attack. Surgery went well and she was stable and resting, but would be in the hospital for five or six days. Due to Covid only one visitor is allowed at a time so we were letting my aunt who she lives with stay with her. Saturday morning I woke up with the kiddo and did the usual routine. Hugged the husband, discussed breakfast, get a cup of coffee, take two sips and start to feed the little guy breakfast. My phone rings, one of my aunts is on the phone telling me that Oma suddenly took a turn for the worse and if I want to see her again I'd better hurry. On the bright side I live only minutes from the hospital so I was there in not time. I wanted to take my son to see her, but covid rules dictate no one under the age of 11 is allowed in the hospital unless it's for a procedure. I really can't complain though, the hospital was extremely flexible with us as it was. They allowed 16 of us in her room. Her six kids and grandchildren with some of their significant others. A priest was called and last rights were given. A little after this she woke up. She started chatting with us, holding our hands, and laughing. She was with it and stable. We talked and she face timed with relatives in Holland. :She got to video phone my son who called her Oma for the first time. She got to video chat with other grandkids who couldn't be there. She was doing so well we had a small pizza party in her room (none of us wanted to leave for food) and continued hanging out and lavishing attention on her. Finally her nurse came in and said that she was seemingly on the road to recovery and as she was so with it that she'd probably be fine until at least morning so a few could stay, but the rest of us should go home. We said our goodbyes, I hugged her and kissed her cheek and told her how much I loved her. My mother, uncle, and his wife would stay by her side. I went home to hug my own family. I relaxed at home and got another cup of coffee, took a couple sips when my phone rang. My aunt was calling to tell me she was gone. Less than an hour later. I rushed back to the hospital and was the first to arrive. Hugging my mother and my uncle and staring at my Oma now peacefully lying there. I listened while crying quietly to the hospital chaplain sing a song for her. None of the other grandkids could bare to come back. I sat and mourned with my mother, aunts, and uncles. My aunt who had been caring for her couldn't come back either. As her caregiver for the last 9 plus years we couldn't blame her. It was heart wrenching knowing that this lovely vibrant woman had come back around just long enough to tell us all goodbye. While I had sat next to her holding her hand she had told me she wanted to go home. When we asked if she meant my aunt's house she had said no. Now I'm pretty sure I know where she was referring. At 90 years old she knew it was her time. Her husband; my Opa, had died 16 years before and her last sibling, her little sister had just passed a week before all this. I don't think her heart could take anymore.
My Oma was an amazing woman...she lived in three countries and had two kids in each one. She spoke four languages, two Indonesian dialects, Dutch, and English. She was born in Indonesia and due to being part Dutch had to deal with very rough treatment. At one point when she was a girl her family was forced to flee their home. During this time period anyone who wasn't pure blood Indonesian was put into convents if they were girls and concentration camps if they were boys. My Opa was actually beaten in my Oma's garage after her family had fled (they hadn't met yet at this point). Under the threat of being killed my Opa, Oma, and their two children fled from Indonesia to Holland. After she had her two kids in Holland they decided to move to America. The Catholic church funded their move and they came here. Six kids, ten grandchildren, and two great grandchildren. We were incredibly lucky to have her. For her last birthday we had all taken a trip to the coast where she made a glass float at one of the glass blowing factories there. Her birthday was just before the covid locked down happened. I'm heartbroken that due to covid we hadn't be able to go and see her before Saturday. The last thing I had wanted to do was somehow spread it to her. To my wonderful Oma I know it was your time and that you were ready, I love you and you'll always be my hero. Even at 90 you were still young at heart and you rocked your little seal onesie on your birthday! I'll miss you <3
