January 22nd Memoir FInal

BANG!!

I hear the door to my parents bathroom slam, quickly followed by the sound of the water turning on. I turn to my left to look at the clock on my nightstand. The annoyingly bright red lights tell me that its 3:02 a.m. What the hell are my parents doing up at this ungodly hour? The sound of feet softly padding on the carpet warn me of my mother’s imminent arrival in my room.

“Les,” she says “come on we have to go to the hospital, her oxygen levels have dropped.”

I hoist myself into a sitting position and slowly open my eyes, thankful that my mother decided not to blind me by only turning on the hallway light. As my eyes adjust to the semi-darkness of my room I start thinking about what I need. Jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie are my top priority. The last week taught me that being in a hospital with a naturally low body temperature and no sweatshirt of any kind is not a good idea.

I hear the water turn off and realize I only have about three minutes until I need to be out the door. Scrambling around my room I pull on my jeans and t-shirt and grab my sweatshirt off the floor. I locate my cell phone and iPod on my desk, grab them and head down the hall to wait for my parents.

The car ride seems shorter than usual seeing as my father drove at 75 mph the entire way there. My parents and I jump out of the car as soon as my father puts it in park and walk towards the doors of the hospital. The nauseatingly clean smell I have come to associate with hospitals assaults my senses as we walk through the automatic doors. My feet move on autopilot as I make my way on to the elevator to the second floor and then from the elevator to her room.

My grandmother laid there, unmoving as we walked in. Her naturally curly peppered color hair has all but disappeared from the chemo. Her sky blue eyes I’ve been so jealous of my whole life are hidden from me and her glasses lay beside her on the table. The constant beeping in the background tells me she’s still here.

The many wires and tubes sticking out of her seem to be doing her a sort of injustice. They don’t tell you of the bright, funny, strong, sarcastic, and ridiculously stubborn woman that lies there in the bed. No. They produce the image of a sickly and weak woman coming to the end of her time.

My Aunt and Uncle come in ten minutes later and my cousins and I make our way to the atrium down the hall. The boys each claim a love seat as their own as my cousin Erin and I take the couch, making ourselves as comfy as possible. We were gunna be here for a while.

Two days later, sitting on the side of her bed, I have so much to say but my mouth won’t form the words I so desperately want to get out.

I’m going to miss you. You can’t leave me here like this. You can’t leave grandpa behind. Make it just two more weeks please, stay for my 16th birthday. You have so much left to see. I need you here. Why are you doing this to me? You need to see me graduate in my annoyingly bright white dress and you need to see Erin get married. I love you.

None of my thoughts could make it past my lips. My voice box had decided that today it just did not want me to talk, that a good bye was not a good enough reason to function.

“Dance with me Henry?” I managed to croak out.

She gave me a feeble smile and responded.

“All right baby...”

I didn’t need to say anything else. The old back and forth phrases we had used since I was a little girl with curly hair were enough to get it all across. I left that night knowing that it hadn’t necessarily been the good bye I wanted to give, but it was the good bye I needed to give.

The funeral two weeks later was what broke me. The plane ride up to Philadelphia was miserable and the short visit to the Boardwalk in Ocean City, New Jersey was snowy and dreary enough to fit my mood. Through the tears and the sobs I somehow managed to get a out a speech that maybe the first two pews could understand. The casket sat to my left, sky blue in color, almost reminding me of her eyes. The only difference was this blue, held the cold hardness of steel, not the warmth of my grandmother.

As we walked out side after the service it was warm and sunny, a nice 72 degrees which was quite abnormal for the beginning of February. I’d like to think that maybe someone was watching over us, over her.

Dealing with her death is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to deal with in my short 19 years, but it also changed me in a lot of ways. She was always there for me. The one that got to spoil me and the one that made me laugh when I was about to cry. The greatest lesson I have learned from her is simply to live. Even through her cancer treatments she traveled the world, seeing things I hope I can one day appreciate with my own eyes instead of the pictures she brought back with her. She was one of the most annoyingly stubborn women on the planet, a trait I have inherited much to my parents dismay. But she had a passion for life and her family I only hope I can imitate during my years here. She has given me a much closer tie to my family and many memories to cherish. And most importantly she taught me that even though grand gestures are always appreciated, it’s the little things that will always mean the most. In a way she forced me to grow up, and for that I will be eternally grateful.