Doris Culmer: in memoriam
Mar. 4th, 2011 09:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
edenfallingGrandma Doris died shortly after 9pm EST (which would be 8pm in Iowa).
Uncle Bill was with her at the time -- Uncle Charles had flown home, and Mom was at her motel catching some sleep so she could take another shift later tonight -- and he called Mom to tell her that if she hurried... but Grandma Doris was gone by the time Mom got to the hospital. She just breathed less and less, with a bit more labor each breath, and then stopped. The attending nurse apparently said it was one of the quietest and easiest deaths she's seen. Which is something, I suppose.
Mom called Dad and then me; Dad will email Vicky. Uncle Bill is calling Aunt Cara and Uncle Charles.
Mom sounded... calm, I guess. And grieving, and hurt, but mostly calm. I think this is because we've all been grieving Grandma Doris in a long, attenuated process for several years, as she slipped away into dementia. We lost her by degrees, not all at once.
The last step is still off a cliff, though. It still hurts.
...
Doris Pitula Culmer: November 26, 1917 to March 4, 2011. She was born and raised in railroad depots in North and South Dakota, and loved trains all her life. She graduated college in a time when many women didn't even think of secondary education. She was married for fifty years and had four children, four grandchildren, three step-grandchildren, and three step-great-grandchildren, last I knew. She taught special education classes for decades, and was a friend and mentor to a lot of children even after that, until she couldn't go volunteer in elementary school reading programs anymore.
Grandma Doris babysat me and Vicky sometimes when we were younger, before she started fading; she let us get away with a lot, including playing with her cool and sometimes expensive knick-knacks as if they were cheap and disposable toys. (In return, we never broke them.) She was always warm, she generally retained a cheerful outlook, and she adored having people around to talk to. She had a huge collection of the most ridiculous costume-jewelry-style necklaces that I loved to try on, and she made them look good when she wore them. She enjoyed the color red, watching wildlife out of her window, and listening for trains passing through town in the night.
She had a good life, by and large.
I miss her already.
Uncle Bill was with her at the time -- Uncle Charles had flown home, and Mom was at her motel catching some sleep so she could take another shift later tonight -- and he called Mom to tell her that if she hurried... but Grandma Doris was gone by the time Mom got to the hospital. She just breathed less and less, with a bit more labor each breath, and then stopped. The attending nurse apparently said it was one of the quietest and easiest deaths she's seen. Which is something, I suppose.
Mom called Dad and then me; Dad will email Vicky. Uncle Bill is calling Aunt Cara and Uncle Charles.
Mom sounded... calm, I guess. And grieving, and hurt, but mostly calm. I think this is because we've all been grieving Grandma Doris in a long, attenuated process for several years, as she slipped away into dementia. We lost her by degrees, not all at once.
The last step is still off a cliff, though. It still hurts.
...
Doris Pitula Culmer: November 26, 1917 to March 4, 2011. She was born and raised in railroad depots in North and South Dakota, and loved trains all her life. She graduated college in a time when many women didn't even think of secondary education. She was married for fifty years and had four children, four grandchildren, three step-grandchildren, and three step-great-grandchildren, last I knew. She taught special education classes for decades, and was a friend and mentor to a lot of children even after that, until she couldn't go volunteer in elementary school reading programs anymore.
Grandma Doris babysat me and Vicky sometimes when we were younger, before she started fading; she let us get away with a lot, including playing with her cool and sometimes expensive knick-knacks as if they were cheap and disposable toys. (In return, we never broke them.) She was always warm, she generally retained a cheerful outlook, and she adored having people around to talk to. She had a huge collection of the most ridiculous costume-jewelry-style necklaces that I loved to try on, and she made them look good when she wore them. She enjoyed the color red, watching wildlife out of her window, and listening for trains passing through town in the night.
She had a good life, by and large.
I miss her already.
