Rest in Peace.

After being inspired by Elizabeth's essay, I decided to write my blog post/"mini essay" along the same lines.

In early April of 2004, my grandma Connie was diagnosed with Pancreatic cancer. If you've ever known someone who has had it, you'll know that it's one of the most aggressive types of cancer. In other words, we knew she wasn't going to make it. Having just lost her father the previous August, and given birth to my youngest brother the previous December, this was an emotional atom bomb dropped on my mother. My family, as a whole, visited my grandma for the last time in the hospital (it wasn't a hospital or a nursing home... it was more like a place they take you to die comfortably) about two weeks after her diagnosis. Upon entering the room, I was shocked. My grandma could not get out of bed, and the tumor in her pancreas had grown to the size of a pregnant belly. She was barely able to hold Jacob, as he was just 4 months old, and she was so frail. In the span of just two weeks my jolly adorable saint-like grandma had become sick and for the first time I realized how old she was.

She was always so happy and energetic before. She called me "Katydid". She called hamburgers "hamburgs" and whenever anyone had a tummy ache, her first question was, "do you need to take a BM?". She had been the one to stay with my sister when I was born, and stay with me and my sister when Michael was born, and once again stayed with the three of us when Jacob was born. My mom's whole side of the family always went to her house for Thanksgiving and most Christmas'. I remember one Christmas in particular when my brother, Michael, put his head between the bars of a railing that separated the dining room from the living room and got stuck. One year, after celebrating the birthdays of my uncle, my cousin, and Michael, there was a tornado. I remember my whole (immediate) family and my grandma, all huddled in her bathroom because she didn't have a basement. It was truly a miracle, her house had no serious damage despite the fact that the tornado had gone right between her house and the next door neighbors'. The rest of the neighborhood was a mess, but my grandma's cute little ranch style house remained sturdy as ever-- with the exception of a few broken shutters. My grandma always had the best movies for us kids, too. My parents never let us watch any good shows but my grandma always put on Ninja Turtles, the Brave Little Toaster, or a Tom and Jerry movie. My mom always got so mad about it, but grandma just laughed and continued to do it. My grandma had tons of art throughout her house from her world travels. She had a shelves of little figurines and sculptures and other little things like that. There was one in particular that all of us kids (my siblings and my two cousins) had a fascination with. It was a tiny glass porcupine. It was so incredibly fragile, along with all of the other things on her shelves, but the suggestion of "child-proofing" her house was outlandish to her. I always hated sleeping at her house. I mean, I loved it, but the curtains in her room gave me horrible nightmares. She always had the greatest blankets though, which probably largely contributed to the fact that I now love blankets. I have very high standards for my blankets. My favorite blanket on this earth, which I'm currently nested in, is one that came from her house. It's really ugly and not soft at all, but around the edges it has "softies", as we always called them. The little satin-like edges of a blanket. This blanket has the softest softies of any blanket I've ever had. The only things I asked for, as we went through her house after the funeral trying to claim the littlest pieces of grandma Connie to hold on to, were the "blankies with softies" and a little model of St.Basil's Cathedral that I always loved.

For the next two weeks after my family visited my grandma, my mom continued to visit her often. She lived two hours away, but she knew time was limited so she went every chance she got. At the time, I was in fourth grade and the only one still home schooled. Because of this, I was able to go see her more than the other kids of the family. As the end of April approached, my grandma grew weaker and weaker by the day. The cancer not only ate away at her body and her abilities, but it diminished her always cheerful spirit. When my mom got news from her brother, who lived much closer to my grandma, that she should come down and say goodbye, I insisted on going along. We stayed at my grandma's house while we were in Cincinnati, but it didn't feel like my grandma's house. Without my grandma in it, it was just a house. We went to the hospital to see her the next afternoon. When we got to her room, she was half asleep. My mom went to the side of her bed and touched her shoulder to let her know we were there. She was in and out of a daze. I stood behind my mom, feeling very timid. My grandma opened her eyes and saw me. "Little Katydid," she said weakly, as she lifted her hand out to me as best she could. I walked up and took her hand carefully, afraid that she might break into a million pieces in the frail state she was in. She asked me who I had brought with me, not recognizing my mom because she had dyed her hair since the last time they had seen each other. My mom said, "it's me, mom. Julie." I could tell that broke my mom's heart. But suddenly, my grandma's eyes grew wide as she looked passed us, at a chair in the corner. "Who's that?" she said to us. "What? Who's who, mom?" my mom said, suddenly realizing that she wasn't looking at us. "That man... in the chair... who is he?" my grandma asked. "What man, mom? Who do you see?" my mom asked, concerned. "The man in the chair. He's here to visit me." she replied, still beaming at the empty chair. "Is he a nice man?" my mom asked. I had the feeling that my mom was just playing along with my what she thought was a delusion. After watching her dad, my grandpa George, suffer with Alzheimer's for months before his death, my mom was used to delusions. I don't think my grandma ever answered the question, but after she stopped looking at the empty chair, there was a peacefulness about her, about the situation, that wasn't there before. Being so bewildered by what had just happened, the rest of the visit was a blur. I remember saying goodbye, though, and kissing her on the cheek. As we were leaving the room, my uncle and his family were entering the room. We said our hellos and whatnot, I took my last glance at my grandma Connie, and left the room. We drove straight home from the hospital, back to Columbus in silence.

Around 5 in the morning, the phone rang. I laid in bed, knowing who it was and what they were saying already. As I heard the phone hang up, I peaked my head out of my room and saw my mom on the couch crying, wrapped in my dad's arms. I went back to bed.



R.I.P.