Dissolver of sugar, dissolve me, if this is the time. Do it gently.

My bubbe, Rita Evelyn Serlin, died last night. She was 92. This has been a very painful and drawn out event, and highlighted the truly undignified way that a person can be herded toward death. I think, truly, that Rita gave me one of the greatest gifts with her decline and passing from this life; her fear, and her daughter's weakness, took from her the god-given right to die gracefully. Instead of passing when she became acutely ill and, I think, meant to, she was put on multiple ventilators over the course of numerous hospitalizations in the last 2.5 months, and was finally discharged on hospice. Seeing her on Thursday, the day before her death, was a shock beyond anything I've experienced. She was emaciated, and the skin that was so plump and soft just months ago was tightly wrapped to her skull, and her mouth was open. I immediately started crying, as I do now just remembering it. This was not Rita. Rita's soul was already gone, and her body was just delayed in catching up with her. I kissed her cheeks over and over again, and warmed her freezing hands that grasped and ungrasped with her heartbeat. Oh Rita. How I love you.

To my dear Rita,
I can feel you with me, and so as I write this, I'm sure you're reading it too. I have adored you since we met, and know that you were one of those people that is both a mirror and a ideal to those privileged enough to have you. You adopted everyone you loved, making them immediately yours, and they were all thankful for it. You could be harsh and exacting, and your daughters debilitating issues are evidence that sometimes, we learn to be our best selves in the last decades of our lives.
When we had dinner on Valentine's Day with Linda and Nick, you held my hand and told me that death is a terrifying thing. That you were so scared...not necessarily of death, but of dying. I felt my eyes water but didn't let tears fall, because I refused to be weak for you. I kissed that hand, the soft gnarled branch that gripped mine, and told you that I've stared death in the face and wasn't scared because I've never felt like I didn't do what needed to be done. No regrets. You said you had too many, and all I could say was that things done in the past should stay there, and that you were loved. You will always be loved.
I hope you heard me, when I whispered that you didn't need to be afraid. I knew the collective love of everyone who came to hold those hands and kiss those cheeks through the recent months would carry your soul through the storm of death and fear you were facing. Now you're on the other side, and I feel in my marrow that I was right. That you're alright...dancing, singing, drinking margaritas, eating salted steak, teaching yoga, and laughing with your loves that met you.
There is nothing more reaffirming to faith than death, and mine is simple: good souls are going to be alright, whatever comes. And I know it's true.
Thank you for demonstrating, every day, that it's never too late to change. That you can leave the beaten path whenever you feel the need. That there is no such thing as age-appropriate behavior. That naysayers can suck it. I have felt very powerless throughout your entire final chapter, but I know you saw me, and heard me, and know that I adored you.
Enjoy the party til I get there.
With all the love I possess,
Your sweetheart.