On January 28 Grandmama was diagnosed with Stage 4 terminal cancer of unknown origin. I happened to be at the oncologist's office when this diagnosis was delivered and I accidentally discovered my ability to channel strength and accountability in stressful situations, because I became my grandmother's best patient advocate. I interrogated the doctor on necessary palliative care, what we should do to next on testing, and what the family can do to help. I'm not highlighting this to applaud myself, but rather for my own self-assurance that I CAN be managerial and take charge when adversity comes my way, or in the way of someone I love immensely.
I'm probably a rare scenario for the following instance, but when I was younger (but not that much) I used to have nightmares about what I do without certain people in my life; namely, my dad, my mom, and Grandmama. My grandmother and I have always had a bond that I have treasured through the years. As the oldest grandchild, I sort of adopted a role as my grandmother's "protector." Besides fifty percent of my childhood being spent at her house, I consistently stood up for her in any situation and loved my grandmother more than anyone else.
Adulthood is complicated because it forces you to deal with life, and with life, comes death. Undoubtedly, Grandmama's days are numbered, but I choose to believe that after death she will be somewhere happy, with my grandfather, doing all the things I remember her doing in my childhood: baking cakes, making her "special" scrambled eggs and laughing at holidays; not rendered immobile in a chair in her living room with blankets wrapped around her because the cancer has take over her body's ability to thrive.
I want nothing more than my grandmother to remember what happines was - before age, before death of her husband, before cancer. I want these things for her firstly, but also for me because I am not ready to deal with her not being in my life. I always imagined her tall, regal figure coming down the aisle at my wedding, or her gentle nature and kind words when meeting my children for the first time.
I write about all of this for no one else but myself. I needed the release of the weight I've been carrying about her diagnonsis, and writing gave me that. I don't need commentary, emails or any sort of correspondence over this situation, because I know that everyone deals with life, and the all the hurdles it puts in front of us.
Still, life's little hurdles sure do hurt when they're taking out the ones you love the most.
