Farewell: My grandma wants to die

A picture on my dresser says: “Is dying bad, Professor?” It's a birthday present from my closest friends for my 18th birthday, an insider. At the age of 18, my main hobby outside of school was to play in a small theater in Bubenheim and memorize huge amounts of text for the main role. I also took part in the school play at the time.

But the ambitions I had in Bubenheim were reversed at school. I chose the smallest role of all so that I didn't have to learn so many lines. I was the old lady, and the only thing I should have said was: “Is dying bad, Professor?” Of course I couldn't read the text at the premiere. My friends and I thought it was funny, so they gave me this sentence, framed.

Today I'm sitting at my grandma's bed. She turned 98. Nothing is as it was before. My grandmother accompanied me in my life for over 26 years - she was almost like a second mother to me. I was with her every day until I was ten. After that, at least once a week until I finished school. She was an independent woman. Independence was more important to her than almost anything else. Last year we all had dinner together and she had her eyes operated on.

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Now she lies in her bed, which has now been moved into the living room, and says: “I want to die.” And I ask myself the question: “Is dying actually bad?” There are notes hanging on the doors that say: “I do not want inpatient treatment under any circumstances.”

This is the first time I've really dealt with dying. What do you say when someone says she wants to leave? How do you react when someone says they didn't think dying would be so hard? Am I a bad person if I wish her wish to come true?

It breaks my heart to see her like this. Because I know how badly it must hurt her to suddenly have to rely on help. Because I know how long she has enjoyed her mobility despite her old age, and because I know that she can still handle everything. She notices how suddenly the nursing service arrives and how she can no longer control herself.

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The impending death of someone has never affected me so much. Does death also have something good, something redeeming? When can someone decide for themselves whether they want to leave? I think my grandma can decide for herself.

How do I remember her the way she wants? As the woman who always modeled tolerance for me? Who told me about the war and the persecution with the intention that I would never have to experience what she experienced? The woman who was able to read Schiller to me just a few weeks ago and was very proud of it?

I also owe the fact that I am who I am today, that I can stand up for myself, to my grandmother. She showed me that if you are honest you will get ahead and that there will be people who love you unconditionally.

It's the little moments that I won't forget. When I talked about the Fridays for Future demos, she gave me the courage to keep going, despite all the resistance. Just a few weeks ago we were talking about the election in Saxony-Anhalt.

Respect, tolerance and helping those who have it more difficult. That's what I learned from my grandma.

I want to carry these values ​​forward within me. Even if she leaves.