Cancer. It was just a word to me in the beginning. I had seen what it could do to families, to people, to lives. It hurt me to see that people had to actually go through that, and what it did to them. I saw what people looked like when they had to go to chemo, radiation. I saw them hooked up to machines to help them breathe. I knew it could happen to anyone in the world. But I never expected it to happen to her.
I remember hearing that she was going to the hospital, because she couldn’t take the pain anymore. I remember hearing that she needed to find out what was wrong with her so she didn’t have to suffer anymore. I thought it would just be something with her diabetes, or with her gall bladder. But when my parents called me out to the living room, I knew it was something more. Then they told us kids, right there on the couch. “Mema has cancer.” It was a simple phrase, very short. And it cut through me like a knife.
She was always the strongest person I knew, so I thought she would just fight it off; like how she fought with everything. She fought her diabetes, the flu, a cold, her husband, her kids, her grandkids, everything. She was just a strong willed woman.
The next day we all got in the car, and headed to St. Joe’s to see her. What I was expecting wasn’t what I saw. When we got there, everyone was crying. I walked in to her room, and immediately started crying. She was hooked up to all of these different machines; she had tubes in her nose, IV’s in her hand. It was the real deal. She didn’t look like the strong woman I knew, she was still Mema; but in a different form. She was sick, couldn't walk, and could barely speak without her voice cracking. Her hug wasn’t strong, it was weak.
She went to have a CAT scan to see exactly where it was at. I remember the nurse taking my grandfather around the corner to tell him with my Uncle. She told him it was Pancreatic Cancer, it had traveled to her lungs, liver, and we eventually found out it had traveled to her brain. I remember watching my Papa collapse. He too was a strong man, I have never seen him cry or show any sort of sad emotion. Watching him cry like that hurt. I became angry at God, and at the world. I kept asking myself “Why her, and why us?”
Mema was moved to a much larger room because of how many people were coming to visit. Everyone knew in their heart, she wouldn’t last long. I didn’t believe that though, I was still the girl who thought her Mema could fight off everything, I had my hopes raised high. That week and a half she was in the hospital was hard. I remember walking in one day, and seeing her cry in her sleep. That image will always be with me.
She was still her goofy self in the hospital, didn’t want the doctors to see her butt. She still made jokes to everyone, told us all we were silly. Everyone did everything they could to keep her happy. But she also said her goodbyes, told us all she loved us with everything she had. She was giving away her dolls. And as selfish of me as this may sound, I was in a way upset with her, angered. I felt like she was giving up, she wasn’t doing what she should have to help her stay. I realize now, that she wasn’t doing it on purpose; but that a part of her knew it was her time.
When she was finally able to go home, she was extremely ill. She was delusional, and made stuff up. She had to take all these different medicines, and was on an oxygen tank. Exactly what I saw other people going through. It was hard for her to breathe. But Mema was still there, she was still ornery and said things that most people wouldn’t dare to say. She was different, I will say that. She couldn’t take care of herself, she needed help being bathed, going to the bathroom, all of that. She didn’t have much of an appetite, in all reality; she didn’t have much of anything left in her.
August 30th, 2011. At around 3:40 in the morning, my parents came in to my room, and turned on the light. I thought it was them waking me up for school. Then they said it, “Mema passed away.” Another simple and short phrase. But it too, cut through me like a knife. Only this time, I felt like it cut me repeatedly.
I went back to bed after a little while; I was still in shock so I hadn’t cried yet. Until I laid in my bed, and her voice say my name. I bawled for the rest of the night, until we had to get up to go to her house. We all got in the car again, only this time it was different. Nobody talked, everybody was quiet. Except the noise of sniffles and the sounds of cries.
We arrived at her and my Papa’s house. We walked in, and that’s when my emotions overflowed me. I don’t know why, but I had to walk in to her room, sit on her bed, and touch the spot where she laid one more time. After a few, I walked back out to the living room where all of my family was. I sat down in her chair and cried to myself. I looked up at my mom, who was in her dad’s arms, and I saw her struggling to hold herself up. That’s when I realized, my families, and my rock is gone. She wasn’t there anymore to hold us up. We were on our own for a change. The pastor came over for a prayer, and left.
The next week was hard. Getting ready for her service, struggling through all of the emotions we had, writing her obituary, and realizing she wasn’t there to help. We all had to come together as a family. I decided that I would be the one to make her slide show, I felt like that’s what she would want me to do. I chose to go to school the next day, I needed to do that for her and me.
The day of her service finally arrived. I woke up that morning knowing that it was time to really say goodbye. I knew it was time for me to realize she wasn’t there. She wouldn’t be there to see me graduate, graduate from college, get married, have babies, none of that. I didn’t cry all morning getting ready for it. Then I walked in to the church, I saw all of the pictures of her and I and broke down. I too needed some ones help holding me up so I didn’t fall to the floor.
Her service wasn’t long. The church was full of all the people that had loved her, and wanted to be there for us in this hard time. We all gathered after for lunch and to watch her service video. I got up and attempted to read a letter I had wrote to her the day she passed away. I got through the first 3 sentences, looked up and realized she wasn’t there watching me, I saw all of the people crying. Then I started bawling. Jill came up and helped me read. We stood there together, crying, and reading my letter. The service video turned out better than I could ever have imagined it. Towards the end, all of us grandbabies released our balloons. We each wrote a letter to Mema and attached it to them. We watched them go up, up, up, until they disappeared.
It was hard in the beginning, but the real hard part was just about to start. For the months following, we all had to cope in some way. We all were brought close through this. Thanksgiving came, it was usually held at Mema and Papa’s, but this year it wasn’t. We had a large gathering at my Great Grandma’s. Everyone was there for one purpose, to in some way be close to Mema.
Christmas Eve came. I think this may have been the hardest holiday yet. We all tried to follow tradition for this holiday. We went to Nana’s again, had soup and sandwiches, opened presents, laughed, shared stories, and went to church. You could tell the feeling in the house and around everybody was different then it normally was. Even though there were all of those people, the house felt quiet. It was missing the loud laugh, and catchy sound of Mema’s voice. Church was different as well. The last time I sat in those pews before the service was with Mema, and we were laughing and giggling just like we always did.
Christmas day didn’t have the same excitement it always had. I had fallen asleep Christmas Eve without the butterflies in my stomach. I woke up that morning, and instead of waiting for Mema and Papa to arrive in order to open presents, we just dove in. We didn’t have breakfast at our house either. After all of our presents were open, we got our shoes on and went to Papa’s for breakfast. We went to be with him for the morning, and open the gifts he had bought for us.
As a family, this has made us all grow closer together. As individuals, the outcome is different. For me, I am doing okay. Some days I think about her a lot, and others I know she is looking down on me and is proud of the granddaughter she has raised. I know that the 16 years I had with her were a blessing, I know that only the best of us get to go home early. As hard as it has been for me to let go of the woman I have grown so close to, the woman that has been my best friend for as long as I can remember, I know it was for the better. And that she is healthy and happy where she is.
I pray daily that my family will be okay. I pray for my Papa, and that he can heal. For my mom, that she knows Mema loves her and his still holding her hand. For my siblings, that they know Mema wants the best for them. For my two young cousins that didn’t get as much time with her, that she is still right by their side making memories with them. For her parents, that they know she loves them dearly. For my Uncle Josh and Aunt Mandi that they know she is proud of the things they have done and the daughter they are raising. For my Aunt Jamie, that she knows Mema loved her more than she could imagine. And for the rest of my family, that they all know, she is right by their side. She loves us all dearly, and will always be there for us. Even if she isn’t here physically, she is still somewhere closer. In our hearts. Guiding us to where we need to go.
Love you Mema.
