Granma's third day in the hospital. I didn't know exactly what for, allegedly colon cancer, but then also allegedly they found nothing on ultrasound. Only later I learned that she wasn't eating for weeks already, being unable to get rid of the remainders.
Right after lunch dad and I went to take her home. I don't know why she was in the surgery ward, knowing it's just about the oldest building in the compound, and the hall where we waited for her to be released was in the basement, with weak lights. True, it's all clean, it's still a hospital, but we know how these years the hospitals lacked everything, the patients, including maternity ward, were advised to buy and bring lots of stuff on their own, including bandages, gauze, toilet paper, bottled water and whatnot, as they won't be getting any from the hospital. Considering all that, didn't look too shabby.
We waited for some time, and it turned that the problem was in the absence of the doctor who'd sign the release. So they let her go without it.
I left the trabant parked at the basement entrance. I still don't understand how my door got locked, you can't do that even if you want to, but now it just gut lucky. And the weather was bright sunny, a whiff of spring in the middle of january, unbelievably hot, and I left my thick jacket on the back seat. With the key in its pocket. Which I only now realized... so there's dad standing with granma on top of the stairs, and me dancing around the trabant thinking of a way to open it... ah, right, the trunk is never locked, that lock maybe never worked, so I dived in, pushed the rear seat's backrest, danced with my hand around it and managed to pull the jacket out. All in three minutes.
We took the route over Čurda. May not be shorter, but it's simpler and with far less traffic. Sun is shining, granma is trying to hold on to something, riding shotgun, but there's no handle anywhere, not on the dash, not above the door. She said „sell this, what kind of car is this“. She remembers the škodilak, which was de luxe, compared with the last two.
We got home, put her on the bed, stood around her. Then she wanted to get up. Then to lie down. Then to visit the toilet (did nothing, but at least walked a bit). I lifted and lowered her a dozen times. No nonsense, she was clear minded all the time, spoke clearly and intelligently to the last minute. I actually didn't even understand, until about last ten minutes, that she was dying. The hospital released her to die at home, in peace and among her near. She died practically on my hands, quietly.
(... 83 words...)
Then the standard procedure commenced - called the ambulance to send a doctor to issue a certificate. They usually come within the second hour for that. We opened the gate, that's the tradition, when there's a dead in the house, gate stays open. That's the signal to the neighbors to come. Dad and I went downtown to get a coffin, candles, towels and other stuff. They brought the coffin right away - she died between 17 and 18 hours, and the funeral shop was still open. Meanwhile the women from the neighborhood came, redressed her and then there was a wake, until some time in the night.
The next day I went to EnergoPro and printed the parta on their laser (the name „parta“ for that kind of notice is something from at least a decade later, it was called differently then), which we then posted on the usual places - on the gate, on the pole on the corner, on the nearest shop and a few more, I know I didn't print more than eight. These were once printed in the city print shop, but then they got the idea (in Novi first, I saw it there in 1974) to pre-print the standard parts of the text, with just underlined spaces to fill the name and age of the deceased, where and when will the funeral be. I didn't want it so impersonal.
The funeral was on 13th. We didn't have a family grave, as the granddad's branch of the family took his, and we're not on speaking terms with them since his death. I actually don't even know their names nor faces. So we found a vacant lot, one row ahead and about six lots to the right from his grave, next to the wall.
Mom aged rapidly. And her disposition changed somewhat.
18-VI-2022 - 12-XI-2025