you gave us strength. − 1 March, 1989
Teresa Elizabeth Baker was more than a grandmother. She is honestly the only human being I have ever known who exuded pure kindness. Humble, gentle, nurturing, accepting. She was the only thing holding our ramshackle family together. She was patient enough to put up with years of alcoholism from her husband, and then later, some of her children. She was strong enough to fight illnesses from the time she was 18 years old.
A birth defect left her kidney distorted. Repeated infections damaged the organs irreparably. By the time she was 50 she required a double kidney transplant and before that, weekly torturous dialysis. She felt guilty when she received the first donor kidney. It had come from an 18 year old boy who died in a motorcycle accident. My mother wrote a letter to his family, describing step by step what happened from the time the organ was taken to the time my grandmother came home from the hospital. She wanted them to see the reality of their gift. and the reality was it gave my grandmother 10 more years of life.
I do not have even one clear memory of my grandmother healthy. Most of my time with her was spent in a hospital room and that was before she was moved to ICU ward after ICU ward where children were not allowed.
her earthly existence was absolute hell. and yet, she remained ever faithful, kind, and hopeful.
In early 1989, she went into emergency complaining of pain in her abdomen. it turns out that on top of kidney problems, she had genetically inherited gallbladder issues.Yet another item to add to her long list of medical trauma.
The family had grown so accustomed to her hospital stays that it didn't raise much alarm. This is what the family did. we gathered at the hospital, we met out in the lobby and rode the elevator up together and at the top was grandma, always smiling and patient.. always offering strength for us regardless of the problem. In our minds this would just be like every other trip to the hospital. A week stay, maybe two and grandma would be better and would come home. we were sure of it. that was the way of things. that was our family system.
The doctors informed us that it was necessary to remove her gallbladder. Informed the family of the risks due to the thinned tissue of her organs (caused by post transplant medications), but if they left the gallbladder remain in the state it was in, it would cause her great pain and eventually would burst. My grandfather agreed to the surgery.
Her gallbladder disintegrated in the surgeon's hands.
After a lifelong struggle with painful infections, transplants, and almost constant illness. Septicemia would rob us of our guiding light in march of 1989.
I have spoken a lot of her illness, her hospitalization here.. but let me tell you the things I remember most about her.
She made sweet tea in the sun. Let it sit out and stew in the heat of the summer and she'd bring it in and put it on ice. She'd put it in a fancy glass.. a wine glass perhaps, and she'd kick her feet back, sip the tea and smack her lips together savoring it. She had a rough voice but would sing her heart out.. she'd get lyrics wrong on purpose in order to be silly. She wore mu mu's in bright colors and danced in the kitchen. She'd cut a cantaloupe in half and eat it just that way. no dicing or slicing but her own god made cantaloupe bowl that she would hold in her lap and eat with a spoon and if you were in her home you better be damn sure you'd be eating it too, because she would never sit still if you were empty handed. She laughed a gravely laugh and would put lipstick on before she would go out and smack her lips all sassy in the mirror. Her purse smelled like wrigleys spearmint gum. She never cursed or lied. She never raised her voice in anger, and she took care of the small ones. Dirty and sticky from melted candy, she'd still hold us as close as she could when the poker games would run late and the men would get drunk and the sun went down and we got scared. the 9 years i got to know her taught me more about kindness and unconditional love than I could have ever learned in a lifetime had I not the blessing of knowing her at all.
She gave us strength. when she died, the family fell apart. fractured and lost. and though there has been healing through time, nothing was ever the same again.
A birth defect left her kidney distorted. Repeated infections damaged the organs irreparably. By the time she was 50 she required a double kidney transplant and before that, weekly torturous dialysis. She felt guilty when she received the first donor kidney. It had come from an 18 year old boy who died in a motorcycle accident. My mother wrote a letter to his family, describing step by step what happened from the time the organ was taken to the time my grandmother came home from the hospital. She wanted them to see the reality of their gift. and the reality was it gave my grandmother 10 more years of life.
I do not have even one clear memory of my grandmother healthy. Most of my time with her was spent in a hospital room and that was before she was moved to ICU ward after ICU ward where children were not allowed.
her earthly existence was absolute hell. and yet, she remained ever faithful, kind, and hopeful.
In early 1989, she went into emergency complaining of pain in her abdomen. it turns out that on top of kidney problems, she had genetically inherited gallbladder issues.Yet another item to add to her long list of medical trauma.
The family had grown so accustomed to her hospital stays that it didn't raise much alarm. This is what the family did. we gathered at the hospital, we met out in the lobby and rode the elevator up together and at the top was grandma, always smiling and patient.. always offering strength for us regardless of the problem. In our minds this would just be like every other trip to the hospital. A week stay, maybe two and grandma would be better and would come home. we were sure of it. that was the way of things. that was our family system.
The doctors informed us that it was necessary to remove her gallbladder. Informed the family of the risks due to the thinned tissue of her organs (caused by post transplant medications), but if they left the gallbladder remain in the state it was in, it would cause her great pain and eventually would burst. My grandfather agreed to the surgery.
Her gallbladder disintegrated in the surgeon's hands.
After a lifelong struggle with painful infections, transplants, and almost constant illness. Septicemia would rob us of our guiding light in march of 1989.
I have spoken a lot of her illness, her hospitalization here.. but let me tell you the things I remember most about her.
She made sweet tea in the sun. Let it sit out and stew in the heat of the summer and she'd bring it in and put it on ice. She'd put it in a fancy glass.. a wine glass perhaps, and she'd kick her feet back, sip the tea and smack her lips together savoring it. She had a rough voice but would sing her heart out.. she'd get lyrics wrong on purpose in order to be silly. She wore mu mu's in bright colors and danced in the kitchen. She'd cut a cantaloupe in half and eat it just that way. no dicing or slicing but her own god made cantaloupe bowl that she would hold in her lap and eat with a spoon and if you were in her home you better be damn sure you'd be eating it too, because she would never sit still if you were empty handed. She laughed a gravely laugh and would put lipstick on before she would go out and smack her lips all sassy in the mirror. Her purse smelled like wrigleys spearmint gum. She never cursed or lied. She never raised her voice in anger, and she took care of the small ones. Dirty and sticky from melted candy, she'd still hold us as close as she could when the poker games would run late and the men would get drunk and the sun went down and we got scared. the 9 years i got to know her taught me more about kindness and unconditional love than I could have ever learned in a lifetime had I not the blessing of knowing her at all.
She gave us strength. when she died, the family fell apart. fractured and lost. and though there has been healing through time, nothing was ever the same again.
