I got a call Tuesday afternoon that my Gran (in the US) had a massive stroke and was in a coma. They already knew that they were going to have to transfer to hospice.
I flew out Wednesday, and the horrendous trip began. We were a bit delayed coming in to Washington because there was a plane sitting on the runway. So when we landed and disembarked, I had 45 minutes to collect and recheck my bag (because that was the first point of entry into the US), and catch my connecting flight.
There were a lot of cancelled or delayed flights, due to the weather, so the airport had an employee down there with a list, telling everyone what the score was on their flight. He told me my flight to Cleveland had been cancelled. He said to go in the customer service line and get a new flight booked. As I sat in the line, I finally was able to see the screen of cancelled flights and mine wasn't on there!
I raced to a desk, and the person told me that my flight had just pushed back from the gate. I was seriously angry, because this dumba** had made me miss my flight. I wanted to go back down there and smack him around.
So they booked me on the next available flight, which was subsequently cancelled. I ended up spending the night on the floor of Dulles Airport, freezing because I had no blanket, and starving because I had no food. Nothing was open.
I got put on standby for the first flight of the morning, and barely made it on. One person after me was allowed on. Naturally, that flight was delayed. I ended up finally landing in Cleveland at 1 pm EST, over 24 hours after I started out.
We went straight from the airport to hospice to see my gran. It was horrible to see her that way, but I was so relieved that she had held on until I arrived. I had one of those massive sudden headaches in the middle of my forehead during the flight, and I was so worried that she'd passed before I could say my goodbyes.
After a while, we went back home, and my sister and her husband showed up. Everything was going OK, and then as they were going to leave, my sister pulled me aside and gave me a "don't try to change our relationship" speech. I told her that we don't have a relationship right now, and that I only wanted my sister back.
Basically, I have to be happy that they talked to me (quite nicely, I might add) whilst I was there in this bad situation, and when I got home, it would go back to the way it was. 
We did manage to air out a few things, which was good.
The next morning, Papi and I took Kendall (their dog) to hospice so he could say goodbye to Gran too. Papi finally realised that Gran wasn't going to wake up; he asked me to start cleaning up her things in the bathroom, and then he went down in the garage to putter around. (That's what he always does when he can't deal.) So I basically started doing all the stuff that I knew he wouldn't be able to handle...going through her handbags and clothes, etc. I found so much evidence of how scattered her brain had become; it was soooo sad.
In hospice, they pulled me aside, because we had talked very candidly the day before. I knew I had to do all the hard stuff, because Papi was still holding out a bit of hope. They told me she had deteriorated a lot overnight, and they were fairly certain that she would pass that day (Friday). I told them what time we were planning on coming back that day, and to call us. Luckily, the hospice was only 15 minutes or so from their home.
I took Papi home and made a home-cooked meal for him. He'd been living on burgers and very little else over the past few days, and I wanted to get some real food into him. As I was cooking (He was outside.), they called and told me she was going downhill fairly quickly. I wanted him to eat, so I asked how long, and they said a matter of hours. I explained why I had hoped to wait a little, and they said they would call me if they thought we needed to come.
Halfway through our meal, they called. I called my father, because he and my sister were planning on coming with us later to see her. We rushed off, and it was the first time I've ever seen my Papi speed in my life.
She was still alive when we got there, and one of her dearest friends was sitting with her. I absolutely adore this woman; she's the one who called me last year to tell me to brace myself.
We sat there for a while longer before my father showed up. He had been at work about an hour away. That was the first I'd seen him since before he admitted what he'd done to me. I felt sick.
We all sat with her; her friend left about 10 minutes before Gran passed. Papi and I talked to her; tears were streaming down my face as I listened to him tell her that he loved her and that she didn't need to fight anymore, that it was OK to rest now. He was so devoted to her. I told her that I was there, and I promised to take care of Papi and Kendall. I told her it was OK to let go.
My father said nothing. I offered to move so he could sit closer to her and talk to her. He didn't say a word, not even in answer to me.
There were long pauses in her wheezy breathing. (She was on pain medication and oxygen.) The pauses started getting longer and longer. There were a couple of breaths that I was certain would be her last, and then she'd take one more strangled breath. I was really crying by then. I kept watching and holding her hand. Papi was stroking her forehead and cheeks. She was so thin, that you could see her pulse. I saw it stop, and I knew. The nurse confirmed it; Grandma was gone.
My Papi was crying; I was holding him and crying too. My father was angry because he was crying. He didn't watch the end...he faced the window.
We stayed with her a little longer, and then we went home. My father came over later, and eventually, all the family was there. I felt so ill being around them, but I kept up a good facade. My mother was all sugary-sweet and concerned about me. Blah.
Earlier, when we had been alone, my Papi kept going on about how her eulogy should be by someone she knew really well. I finally asked him if he wanted me to do it, and he said yes. So that was one more burden/honour on top of all the rest. My father was probably annoyed, because he'd offered to have a Witness do the service. My family kept throwing Scriptures into the conversation, without telling Papi they were actually from their Bible. Two can play at that game, so I did the same at them. Shut them up for a while.
I'll shorten up the rest. Over the next few days, I handled all the important stuff...notifying pensions, social security, etc., etc. I went through all kinds of things in the house, because Gran had told me what she wanted done with certain things. I cooked a bunch of meals for my Papi and put them in the freezer.
Tuesday was Gran's funeral service. We kept it small, with just family and close friends. So there were just under 20 people there. I tried my best to be strong and get through the eulogy without crying, but everyone else was crying, so I wavered a bit. Had to step back a few times to collect myself and then start again. Papi said it was wonderful, and he knew it would have made Grandma happy.
My mother said, "I know I don't act like it, but I'm proud of you," and told me I looked beautiful. I kept the inappropriate response in, and managed a thank you.
We all went out to eat afterwards. My brother said all of 3 sentences to me, one of which was, "I'm sorry for your loss." I told him it was his loss too. Then when they were leaving, he tried to shake my hand to say goodbye. I told him to hug me, that he was my brother. He did, reluctantly. Broke my heart.
My mother left without saying goodbye to me. She was sulking for half of the day, I think because people were paying her no mind. Everyone kept coming up to Papi and I, telling us how much they loved us. Papi said he had to go up to her as she was leaving, or she would have left without saying goodbye to him either.
Wednesday morning, we put her ashes in her niche. Grandpapi did it himself, and cried. My father made an inappropriate remark to the funeral director, and after he was out of earshot, I said, "I'm sorry about my father; he's an a**."
And to tell you how much of an a** he is, he waited until we were standing outside waiting for Papi, as I was leaving for the airport for this gem:
"You said once that I could have been in jail for what I did to you, and you were within your right. I wanted to thank you for not taking that course of action."
I wanted to throw up.
I just said, "What good would it have done?"
My husband says I should have said, "F*** off." But I didn't want to give him any ammo to use on Papi now that I'm not there. I was perfectly behaved the entire time; they've got nothing to use, and Papi saw their stupidity at times.
My sister was the best, though. She has a good heart; she is just deluded. She spent the night over there on Wednesday after I left.
I have spoken to Papi now that I am back, and he will be OK. I promised to come back in June, that I will not leave him alone for what would have been their 55th wedding anniversary.
I can't think of anything else right now.