September 31, 2024

I’m not sure where to start this month because it’s been a lot of ups and downs. So, I’ll try my best to get everything out that I feel like I need to get out. That way at least I can process the parts that are the most overwhelming. Last month, I talked about what I’d want to do in the future. Well, “the future” is coming a lot faster than I’d like. 

Something I’d neglected to mention in my past entries, because at the time I didn’t think anything of it. My grandma had been losing a lot of weight, and near the end of last month she’d been getting sick a lot. Her bathroom has a window that faces the backyard that she tends to leave open in the summer. I’d hear her throw up every time she did. I figured she just had some kind of stomach bug, so I didn’t see it as something serious, and I didn’t think she’d ever actually outright tell me that she was sick. 

Earlier this month though, I heard her screaming my dead name from the bathroom. I’m normally not allowed in the house, so I ran to the bathroom window and yelled up to her, asking her what was wrong. She yelled back “Help! Please!” and I could hear her start getting violently sick in the toilet again. I ran in without hesitation, and when I got to the bathroom I nearly fainted. The toilet and the floor were covered in blood, and there was my grandma in the middle of it. Laying with her arms propped up on the toilet seat, the corner of her mouth streaked with blood she’d obviously wiped off with a towel that was now laying on the floor. I stood in the door in horror, unsure of what to do. 

She looked up at me, in a voice hoarse from getting sick and said, “I need you to help me to the car and drive me to the hospital. My stomach hurts so bad, and I feel so weak.” I rushed over and helped her stand, and with her leaning on my shoulder we made our way to the car. 

When we got to the hospital, the emergency room was absolutely packed with people. We got her checked in and found the last two seats left in the waiting room. Luckily, with the state she was in, they got her to the back pretty quickly. She didn’t want me to come back with her, and when she was called back, she told me not to tell my parents about it until she could talk to them herself. And for hours I was left in the dark. I called off work so I could stay in the waiting room to make sure she was okay. And I eventually fell into a restless sleep in the waiting room chair. 

I was roused from my sleep by a nurse sometime around 1am, and the nurse said, “Are you Laruen’s grandchild?” (Lauren is my grandma’s name.) I nodded groggily in response. “You can come see your grandma now.” She said with a gentle kindness that put me at ease. 

I got up and followed her into the bowels of the ER. I passed rooms with the lights off, patients sleeping soundly in their beds. Somewhere in the distance I heard someone yelp in pain and watched as nurses in the hall turned towards the noise and immediately rushed towards it. I remember the smell of sick people, sweat, and a myriad of disinfectants. Eventually we reached another room with the lights off and the nurse came to a stop. “She’s in here, she’s on a lot of pain meds so she’s a little groggy, but she’s awake.” 

I stepped into the dark room, into the slow, steady beat of the heat monitor, and there she was. My grandma in a hospital gown, looking smaller and frailer than I’d ever seen her before. When she saw me, she chuckled weakly and said, “You stayed. I didn’t know if you would or not.” 

The nurse tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Use the button on her bed if she needs anything. I’ll be back to check on her afterwhile.” She gave a weak smile to my grandmother and then shuffled out of the room. 

I pulled up a chair next to my grandmother's bed and said, “Of course I stayed, I’m not going to leave you here alone.” 

She gave me a frail smile, and I saw tears begin to well up in her exhausted eyes. She turned away from me. “They said there’s more tests that have to be done so they’re not a hundred percent sure, but it looks like cancer.” Her voice cracked as she spoke. 

I sat in stunned silence for a few moments, before I finally said, “It’s not a hundred percent though. So, there’s a chance.” 

She turned back to me, tears now freely streaming down her face. “They’re pretty sure honey.” She went silent for a moment and looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time. “I’m sorry.” She said before bursting into sobs. 

That sorry carried with it a heavy weight. Something that went beyond that moment in time. And all I could do was grab her hand and cry with her as we carried that weight together. When all the tears that needed to be shed had been shed, she made me promise to let her call my parents in the morning to let them know what was going on. I, of course, agreed as it's not my information to give. 

As this month went on, we got the news that it was stage 3 stomach cancer. And later than that we learned that her insurance was not going to cover cancer treatment citing that it's not “cost effective.” My grandma, of course, took this as a sign from God telling her it was her time to go. And when it comes to God, there's no arguing with my grandmother. 

After I stayed with her at the hospital, she started allowing me to come in the house. And when she became too frail to do most things by herself, she allowed me to sleep on her pullout couch. I began to eat with her, cook with her, and spend time watching TV with her. Things that I hadn't done since I was a child. And as we spent more time together, we talked more. She told me about how she met my grandfather, who I'd never met. Apparently, he was NOT a good man, and her main reason for believing in God. She told me over dinner once, “Jesus is better than any mortal man, and he's the only “man” I need in my life.”

She has deteriorated pretty quickly over the last few weeks. She can't walk around for very long, and she's on a boat load of painkillers. I started to take care of things around the house more. And she started to ask me questions. Last Thursday I was doing dishes while she sat in her recliner watching TV, and out of the blue she said, “Why do you think you're a girl?”

There wasn't any disrespect in her voice when she asked. I could tell she was genuinely just curious. My first answer was, “I don't think I am grandma, I know I am.” 

She grew quiet and when I looked back, she was looking up at the ceiling as if searching for understanding somewhere above her head. “How do you know?” she said after a long while.

I stopped washing dishes and turned around to face her. “You know that feeling you get when something goes missing, and you can tell something is missing but you don't really remember what it is?” 

“Yes.” she replied. 

“That's what it felt like all the time growing up. Like something was missing and I didn't quite know what it was, but I had a feeling that whatever was missing was super important.”

“And how did that lead to you being a girl?” she asked. 

“You remember when I was younger, and I played Mary in the Christmas play and everyone thought it was hilarious?” 

“I do.”

“Well, that's when I figured out what was missing.” I continue.

She looked up in thought once again, and then back down at me and said, “Huh. I wonder why that is.” 

I turned back around to continue washing the dishes and said, “I guess it's just the way God made me.”

I heard a loud slap behind me, which caused me to jump and fling soapy water everywhere. The slap was quickly followed by loud, joyous laughter. I flipped around to see my grandma with the biggest smile on her face than I'd seen in months. “I guess he did.” she said between snorts. I turned back around, smiling to myself. When her laughter died down. I heard her mutter under her breath, “God never makes mistakes.” And I couldn't help but smile wider. 

I don't know how long she has left, but I do know that I'm grateful to spend this time with her. I hope that someday my parents will be willing to sit with me and have conversations like I've had with my grandma recently. I just pray the conversations don't have to wait for another cancer diagnosis. 

Sorry for such a long entry this month. I did warn you that it was a roller coaster. Thank you for always listening, friend. 

-Hope.