The Planning Type...

The walk through with the realtor had gone well. She didn't think it would be hard to find a buyer, even in the slowing market. 

"Your grandmother took wonderful care of this place."

"She did. She was very particular about things."

"Well you can tell. Lovely home. So clean and well maintained. And these high ceilings? Gorgeous. And all one story is very hard to find. I think you'll be happy with the offers."

"Thank you. We are, as they say, motivated to sell. We'd like to get everything wrapped up here before the summer heat really starts. We just aren't used to it anymore."

"I understand that. I'll send over the paperwork this afternoon and if it all looks good I can have it listed by tomorrow."

"Perfect. Thank you."

The photographer joined them in the living room. "I think I've got everything I need. Really good light today so they should come out nicely without much editing. Love what she had done in the bathroom with the tile."

The look of horror on her realtor's face almost sent her into a fit of inappropriate giggles. Her realtor grabbed the photographer's arm and almost ran to the front door.

"Yes, well, we're good. I'll talk to you later, thank you so much for the opportunity to help you sell your grandmother's property."

"No, honestly, thank you. We are glad to have someone we can trust."

The realtor and photographer were ushered out.

She walked back to the master bathroom and tried to look at it with fresh eyes. 

She understood the photographer's reaction. It was lovely. The tile in the shower area went from floor to ceiling which made the room look even bigger than it was. The ceilings were at least 10 feet high. The paint in the room was the same color as the veining in the tile which gave it all a seamless look and feel. It would probably be a big selling point. 

The thought of her grandmother on a ladder hanging protective plastic sheeting made her shake her head. You could have fallen and broken a hip. She then had to laugh. Well, yeah. I guess she could have just broken a hip...

The plastic had been hung with painters tape. Multiple rows of tape to make sure the sheets would stay up but wouldn't mar the paint on the ceiling when they were taken down. Though by the time she got to the house one of the walls of plastic had fallen in on itself. 

The rest was easy enough to pull down, and her grandmother had been right, it didn't mar the ceiling at all. 

Her grandmother was a very particular person who took excellent care of her things. 

She found the letter on her grandmother's desk. It was on top of all of the important paperwork. That's how it was labeled. A stack of paperwork with a sticky note on top, her grandmother's once beautiful flowing handwriting now a little shaky around the loops, "Important Paperwork." And on top of that the letter. 

It was the official letter from her doctor's office denying her the palliative care she has requested. She was 95 years old. The cancer wasn't going away. She had a limited amount of time left and she wanted to go on her own terms. Before the pain was too great, before she was nothing more than a body in a bed with a constant drip of morphine in her veins. She was a very particular person and that was not what she wanted.

But her doctor had denied her the care she requested. 

Instead of a gentle death surrounded by her family she took care of everything herself. In her tiled shower stall. Surrounded by plastic sheeting. 

She wondered if her grandmother's doctor felt good about his decision. If he still felt like he had done the right thing. He had the ability to help her grandmother leave on her own terms, gently, easily, surrounded by love, and instead forced her to stay, in pain, deteriorating until there was nothing left.

Or at least tried to force her to stay. 

She hoped the house sold quickly. She hoped there were more people like the photographer who did not know what happened in that beautiful tiled bathroom. And she hoped that telling her grandmother's story would make a difference for someone else. 

Let people leave peacefully on their own terms. You cannot force someone to live, but you can help them die with grace and dignity. 

She placed her hand on the cool tile of the shower...

"I am so sorry, Grandma."