I don’t remember the last words I said to her. If I had to guess, I’d say they were, “I love you, bye.” They were definitely spoken over the phone. They were definitely spoken to a woman that was no longer my grandmother. In her last days, she was weak and jaundice. She was in such great pain that she would cry out in choked moans. At least that’s what I’ve been told. In her final weeks on Earth, she was in the one place she’d mostly avoided since diagnosis, the one place where you’d expect to find a pancreatic cancer patient – the one place she knew would kill her: the hospital. |
My grandmother was a very spiritual woman. She wrote an inspirational column for a St. Louis area newspaper, she was pastor at a few churches and she always led the prayer before meals at family gatherings. Naturally, when she was diagnosed, she resorted to prayer as her first defense. When the pain and the sickness continued, she understood that this would be a fight. But, always true to her tenacious and fearless spirit, she took her treatment into her own hands.
They gave her six weeks to live. How many times? I’m not quite sure. All I know is when the first six weeks were up, they gave her six more. Months later, she was still there, still fighting, still in pain, but still smiling and thanking God for life – not a shock to those who knew her.
They gave her six weeks to live. How many times? I’m not quite sure. All I know is when the first six weeks were up, they gave her six more. Months later, she was still there, still fighting, still in pain, but still smiling and thanking God for life – not a shock to those who knew her.
If I hadn’t known she was coming to visit, I wouldn’t have known it was her. The shape and size of the person wasn’t quite right. My grandmother was a plump lady who always wore sequins on her clothes and costume jewelry on her hands. The sparkle was still there, but the clothes hung loosely on a small frame and the rings spun around her thinning hands. The haircut she’d come to wear in those last years was the same, but the hair seemed to be hastily styled, haphazardly combed, if at all. |
When she turned around, though, the smile was still there, under two tired eyes and sallow cheeks. I can still hear her saying, “oh Dani, Grandmother missed you!” in the same childlike voice with which she’d spoken in times of excitement for as long as I’d known her. In that moment, if I looked past the unfamiliar body, she was exactly how I like to remember my grandmother: smiling even through pain, always excited to see her grandchildren, always eager to encourage.
I didn’t understand it then, but this visit was one of her bucket list items. She’d been to Connecticut for countless Christmases and birthdays, but she’d never been to Martha’s Vineyard, a vacation spot we’d only been to as a family once or twice. That summer she went with us. When we got to the ferry, she, my mom and I hopped out of the car to get the tickets. As passengers hurried all around her, carrying luggage toward the line or children toward the cars, she stopped and put her hand over her mouth. Beneath the sunglasses that were suddenly much too large for her face, tears began to fall. Little did I know, that moment was a dream come true for her. That vacation was a big first in her life. If only I’d known it would also be a collection of lasts.
I didn’t understand it then, but this visit was one of her bucket list items. She’d been to Connecticut for countless Christmases and birthdays, but she’d never been to Martha’s Vineyard, a vacation spot we’d only been to as a family once or twice. That summer she went with us. When we got to the ferry, she, my mom and I hopped out of the car to get the tickets. As passengers hurried all around her, carrying luggage toward the line or children toward the cars, she stopped and put her hand over her mouth. Beneath the sunglasses that were suddenly much too large for her face, tears began to fall. Little did I know, that moment was a dream come true for her. That vacation was a big first in her life. If only I’d known it would also be a collection of lasts.
Last ferry ride. Last hotel stay. Last vacation with her youngest grandchild. As I gear up to celebrate an incredible life today, one that was lost too soon and too painfully five years ago, I look at all the things in my life that my grandmother never got to witness in person. |
Getting a driver’s license Graduating from high school Receiving awards Getting my dream internship Falling in love And yet, I know that both her life and her death allowed me to get where I am now. The year that she died was the hardest of my life so far. It didn’t help that I lost another grandparent just 6 months later, but that was just part of it. I learned how to cope – and how not to self-destruct. I learned how I deal with emotional pain so bad it hurts the body. I danced better than I’d ever danced, I loved harder than I’d ever loved and I began to value life in a way that many adults still don’t. |
When she died, I eventually accepted that it was my turn to learn the lesson about the fragility of life. I learned that of course, but not for the last time. I would go on to lose grandparents and family friends, even classmates, gone too soon.
When people around us die, either from illness or other devastating causes, we often ask why. I can’t say why those people have to die, but I can say that when they do, we relearn and reevaluate how delicate and precious life is. Most of us live it like it’s a right, but like a privilege, it can be taken in just a moment. With one decision, one wrong turn, one cell mutation, a life can end.
When people around us die, either from illness or other devastating causes, we often ask why. I can’t say why those people have to die, but I can say that when they do, we relearn and reevaluate how delicate and precious life is. Most of us live it like it’s a right, but like a privilege, it can be taken in just a moment. With one decision, one wrong turn, one cell mutation, a life can end.
I expected today to be a time to celebrate what a gift it was to witness my grandmother’s incredible spirit, and I’m certainly doing that, but I do so with a heavy heart. As I remember the awful news I received five years ago, my prayers are with the family of a classmate whose life ended yesterday. I can’t say I knew him and I won’t say I know what his family, friends and teammates are feeling, but I do know that being confronted with the temporary, fragile nature of life is never easy. Today, Elon students are wearing black in solidarity with a community in mourning. Tomorrow, Friday, November 13, I encourage you to wear purple in support of World Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Day. Though my grandmother’s life is over, the fight against cancers of all kind never should be – not until we reach a cure. |