Understanding the relationship between day and night is simple but being able to fully describe the transition between the two is much more complex. My relationship with my grandmother was like that. Love is simple to see but the extent of our love is complex to understand. Living with my grandmother never changed the fact. The memories of my grandmother are the fondest memories of my childhood. She always smelled of baby powder and lavender. Sometimes she would even keep me home from school just to spend time with me. She raised my cousins and me since birth. The years I spent with my grandmother were the golden years, until life finally came full circle for her and she found a new calling which ended in her exponential death.
The day my grandmother died is etched in my memory forever. Every single insignificant detail plays on a continuous loop in my dreams so describing it isn’t hard but reliving it is excruciating. The day she died happened to be one of the brightest days I have ever seen. It was one of those days that no matter how much you tried to squint and shield your eyes from the sun the blinding rays still shone through. My grandmother always said that each bright day is God reminding us how heaven can shine and inspire those on earth. That morning would always be remembered differently not because of how bright it was; nor because of how she was not there to take me to school but because she would never be there again.
It was the first time in eight years that my grandparents had not taken me to school. They were unable to take me because the night before my grandmother was admitted into the hospital since her entire body was covered in sores and rashes. The night before was almost picturesque of what a family should be. Bonding over food and having fun enjoying life and each other’s company. Little did I know that image was about to crumble to pieces in that same vivid day. Dying isn’t hard but being left to deal with death is even harder. The morning after my grandmother was put into the hospital I was sitting in morning mass at St. Raphael Church, which was many of the tasks that came with attending a catholic school, pleading with God to change life and change the outcome of her hospital stay because even then I knew she may not live. I know that no one can blame God or bargain with him but looking up at the stained glass and seeing the shard melted together as one with the brilliant rays shining through I believed I could. As I left the church pleading with God my mother’s best friend approached me saying I had to go to the office right away because my father was coming to get me out of school early. She never did tell me why my father left work to come get me nor did she express the urgency of the matter so, I told her with all confidence in the world that they were going to release my grandma and that my Father just wanted me to see her and know that she was okay. After I said this, Rosie gave me her painfully crooked smile and said to wait there. I knew at that moment my life would never be the same. Standing alone as all the classes filed out of the church neatly, I felt as though all was in order and all was well.
At that moment the busy office full of phones ringing, secretaries typing, and coffee brewing slanted upward and spun around me. When the room stopped spinning my father emerged in the doorway and being the rather large man he is, he was able to diminish the rays that lit the flurry around me. After looking at my father’s hard face which had traces of serious life experiences which contributed to his emotionless demeanor, I saw the look of worry and then like clockwork one tear slid down his face. Wordlessly, I stood up and floated out of the office letting my legs carry me away from the ladies chatter, and as I looked back past the office into the hall I saw my former fifth grade teacher who resembled my grandmother and my mother’s friend holding each other crying and that’s when I knew my grandmother was going to die.
I then begrudgingly climbed into my father’s truck that was covered in grease and dirt due to him working twenty four- seven. As I sat there avoiding the reality of the situation, I thought back to when was the last time I truly had spent time with my father. When I glanced up at my father who was fidgeting, he tried to explain to me about death and what one does to understand death. I knew that his voice reverberated in my head, but all I could focus on was him compulsively checking his phone, and changing the radio station, and adjusting his seat in order to avoid saying the two words he needed to say which were “grandmas dying”. As he was about to utter the words relief floods his face as his phone vibrated. My mother calls him and asks to speak to me and tells me. “Grandma can’t make it anymore and she needs to see you.” At that moment I dropped the phone and my heart stopped beating and the world no longer matter and I just started screaming “no!” I even made my father cry and that was the last time I ever saw real emotion in my father.
When we finally made it to the hospital I was in denial and refused to accept the real situation. Walking down the long narrow hallways of the hospital ICU and passing rooms of patients who looked like they were already dead. As we neared the end of the hall, all I can see are my great-aunts holding each other crying. My aunts never could cry calmly, they always screamed at the top of their lungs bawling and praying. As I witnessed this, my godmother pushes through my aunts and running up to me falling on her knees and holding me saying, “Ashlee, I know I’m going to die of cancer and I want you to raise Joshua he is only two and he has autism and I want you to teach him everything grandma had ever taught you. You’re my only hope to keep her spirit alive in him.” I just looked down at my godmother and pushed her away and took off running down the hall out into a small outside courtyard in the hospital and sat down on an iron table and curled up into a ball and just rocked back and forth trying to numb the pain I was feeling. I looked around the courtyard seeing the river rocks and one dismal looking tree scratching against the hard exterior of the hospital. The tree was only supported by one rickety stump. I remember rocking back and forth like a pendulum focusing on the tree thinking maybe if I could concentrate on the stump long enough it could be repaired or saved. The only thing able to break my concentration was my uncle running full speed toward the nurses’ station screaming “code blue” and as he passed the tree took its last stoop and fell toward the ground. I felt as if I had let it fall and let it be broken and blown around as the wind picked up. I walked slowly back inside to see the same priest from morning mass pass by me on his way to give my grandmother her last rights. I wanted to go in and see her one last time but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her and remember any way other than when she was alive and healthy and happy. As I stood in the hospital hallway outside of her door I strived to recall those memories and then my grandfather decided she had suffered enough and took her off of life support. My aunts then flooded the room and watched as the LCD descended into oblivion, I heard her heart grow fainter I shrank back into a corner of the hallway and just sat finally numb to the entire situation.
As we left the hospital I knew that life would never be the same. When proceeding to leave the hospital I saw my grandfather outside smoking and when he realized I was staring at him he turned and gave me the saddest most heart breaking smile ever, telling me it’s what she would have wanted and I instantly assumed he was referring to the fact that I did not go in and see her one last time. While we drove home I cried and regretted not going in for the last goodbye and felt numb to all reality and even though it took just minutes to get home it felt more like hours. When we got home I remember just running straight to my room and finding anything she ever gave me and putting it in trash bags wanting to never remember her again. I blamed her for her death and I blamed God for breaking his promise but most of all I blamed myself for not going in one last time. After I collected everything all I could do was just lay on my bed and sleep. Refusing to let anyone in my room or speak to anyone I laid there and slept for what seemed like years but was really only a few hours. I remember briefly waking up to see people bring us food and only woke up when my uncle who I never liked, because he was a womanizer, finally came in and attempted to make peace with me because it was what grandma would have wanted.
I lie in bed refusing to eat, or move. For a day’s upon day was my way of responding to her death. I felt that her death gave me permission to die also. Most people see death as a blessing in order to escape pain but I saw death as a way for my life to be ripped out from under me and thrown right back at me. The night she died was a night like no other, there was calm after the storm feeling, it’s hard to imagine an earache killing anyone but it killed my grandmother, right after it spread to her brain. Reflecting on all that took place in the darkness of my room made me realize that it was now time for me to grow up and assume her position as the calm mature woman of the family that she always wanted me to be. As I finally drifted off to sleep, I felt her presence right beside me and made the chaos of the day melted away and peace came over me. I knew everything would be just fine.