My mom, sister and I took a road trip recently, so Grandma could say goodbye.

While Mom is technically not dying of anything, specifically or imminently, it’s increasingly likely somethin’s gonna get her sooner than later. At 87 and a half she is rocking “severe” emphysema, heart failure, breast cancer, and extreme endocrine issues (i.e. she shrank seven inches and breaks if someone breathes in her general direction).

As a result, when I learned Mom’s sister-in-law was downsizing from Albany to Orange, NJ, I arranged an informal, extended-family gathering across three days on Halloween weekend. (How appropriate.)

First, we had a lovely visit with the neighbors who lived next door to the house I evicted my parents from.

Next, we took a slight detour while driving down memory lane on the way to the hotel, when I inadvertently drove my sister’s car into a ditch while corralling stray dairy cows back into their paddock. (Close family and friends are VERY familiar with my life-long impulsive inclinations when it comes to “saving” animals.)

That night, we had a lively dinner out with my uncle’s second wife, her niece, and her gracious, music-loving neighbors who wanted to see The Pianist one more time.

The rest of the weekend was comparatively relaxed, filled with laid-back meals, past and present family anecdotes, a visit to a local museum, and lounging on couches while shooting the sh*t. Even still, my sister and I came home shattered due to the physical and emotional exertion of safely managing a frail elder out of her element, and exhausted from stretching ourselves (often unsuccessfully) to be patient with Grandma, our relatives, and each other.

Originally, I had planned to tack on another five-hour outing to the cemetery housing Mom’s parents’ plot, in order to help with her latest decision-making disorder. After two years of processing and perseverating she had come to the reluctant conclusion (i.e. accepted my declaration): burying her and her brother’s cremated remains on the same site — with a marker also honoring her deceased newborn — would be a nice resting place.

It took several months and dozens of emails and texts and calls to achieve this vision … to mom’s rest home to confirm the post-death process … to the local funeral home to learn the cremation options … to my uncle’s family to incorporate their wishes … to the caretaker of the cemetery to approve the addition of two urns and a new stone.

And then, when I announced the outcome, Mom declared in surprise “I never said I wanted to be buried there!” Twenty four hours and many, many expletives later, she was finally able to articulate her hesitation. She “really wanted to be with ALL her children.” So, we revised the plan to bury MOST of Mom, and then honor her not-yet-dying wish by promising that my sister and I would keep mini-urns filled with the REST of her.

A month later, Mom was with her daughters again for our family’s Thanksgiving gathering. Throughout the day an adult granddaughter stayed by Mom’s side, sharing details of an upcoming summer wedding because she knows Grandma won’t be there, regardless of whether she’s alive. If there’s one thing the recent road trip proved, it’s that Grandma won’t be hitting the road ever again.

That is, unless she’s in an urn!

Yours truly,

Irreverent Rachel