When a family member dies, you get some of their possessions through the will. It is a customary act that many people engage in. Most people believe it shows your loved one’s love when they choose you for one of their possessions. I disagree whole-heartily. Receiving a possession because of a piece of paper is ridiculous. It states that it should be yours. Even if you were chosen to be given that object from your loved one, it still isn’t love. Claiming something because of the will is impersonal and cold. Being given that object while they are still alive is special. It shows you there love. It can be directly or indirectly but both are graceful, beautiful, and powerful. It affects you. I have proof of this for here is my story.

I was sat in a green metal chair, at the matching white and green table of the hospital cafeteria. The cafeteria itself was in what the construction crews probably meant for basement. It had the white wash cement walls. Even though I couldn’t see the bumps in the walls you could feel them. The floors were hard and always cold. The floors are parallel to my feeling about how the hospital is to patient’s families. Cold, impractical, and unaware. Even though I was in the middle of the cafeteria the hospital white walls were closing in. The overly clean building seems to be crumbling to me. Every footstep brought more fear. Fear that my grandmother was gone and I would never hear her again.

“Nikkola,” came the whine from my cousin, Katrina. Her pale blond hair and chocolate brown eyes seemed to portray her begging “Why don’t you want to read this magazines? They’re cool and older.” Since she had awoken me from my reverie, I was annoyed with her. “Cause I don’t want to! Leave my opinions alone!” my snap seemed to anger her. Indignant, she exclaimed “Fine, be a baby. You always tune out anyways. Get over it. I don’t want to let her go either, you know,”

“I know,” I said quietly. She had struck where it hurt the worst.

“Then stop pouting and read these. They’re cool and if you don’t read them that makes you uncool,”

“Then let me,”

“No!”

“You do realize I’m trying to come to terms with the thought that she’ll die. I want to make it hurt less,” That at least silenced my cousin.

Katrina didn’t understand why it was going to hurt worse than any pain I’d ever felt. Our Nanny, as I was fond of calling our grandmother, was dying. Katrina wasn’t as close to her as I was. She was my best friend. We grieved together when my grandfather died and she comforted me when I was upset. We played dolls together and read books together. When she was in first admitted in the hospital, the lies that she would soon come home hurt just like I was one of her daughters. Every fail of the medicine treating her made me wilt and every triumph made me blossom. I just wasn’t ready to say goodbye and I doubt I would.

We squabbled like little girls do, while my father and our uncles played cards, intervening only when our quarrels became too harsh. Eventually, Katrina persuaded me into playing a game, but even then I was still somber and hollow. It was like I had a cold that wouldn’t go away.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps on the stairs. My terror ran rampant in my body causing an earthquake. The tsunami of emotion was drowning me. My worst fear was confirmed.

My aunts and mother walked down the stairs as if they were in a funeral march.  Aunt Theresa flounced down the stairs. Her straight brown with blond streaked hair seemed to bounce as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Her eyes showed the deceit. She was hiding pain. Aunt Mary was next. Her straight dark hair and her distinctive voice caught my attention and lost it just as soon. The next from the stairs was Aunt Cindy. Her brown curled hair seemed to drip. Her vivid blue eyes were brimming with tears.  In all of my years, I knew very well that Aunt Cindy doesn’t cry. My mother was last. Her cheeks were stained with tears. The curls that I inherited from her were not bouncing like usually. Her brown eyes full of agony and fresh tears. She waved off my father and came over to me. She attempted to smile, but all that came was a grimace.

“Hi, Aunt Laura! Are we going to get something to eat?” Katrina’s perky question was soon dismissed by my mother with “Ask your mother,” Mom never answers someone like that. She always would answer with some kindly answer, not an abrupt dismissal. The warning bells in my head said to be wary. After Katrina left her chair, my mother looked at me and began to speak. “Nanny wants to give something to you,”

I closed my eyes and open my hand. I feel her finger tips brush my palm as she deposited the object. When I opened my eyes, bile rose to my throat. My grandmother’s necklace was in my palm. Terror raced through me to try. My claustrophobia worsened. Even with the air conditioning, the hot June air seemed to reach me. My fear taunted me. The fact remained that I knew my grandmother never took off that necklace, even when going through airport security detectors.

“Doesn’t Nanny need this?” my whisper seemed to scream with terror.

“Baby…” my mother trailed off and I understood. She was crying and I felt a tear drop out of my own eyes.

“She’s dying” I left no unanswered questions. The truth was hard. The pain could kill.

My mother nodded.

The agony seemed to vibrate from every fiber and cell from my being. The tears came harder. I didn’t want to lose her. Not yet. I’m not ready. My thoughts seemed to boomerang between not wanting to lose her and how much I need her. I couldn’t let Nanny go.

My mother sat down beside me and I went directly to her arms “She won’t suffer too much longer,” My mother whispered. I clutched the necklace in my hand with all my might. My mother stroked my hair and we cried against each other. Soft tears wet our shirts and shoulders.

“I don’t want to lose her” my plea was soft and seemed selfish. It shouldn’t matter what I want, but it did. “Neither do I, neither do I.” my mother whisper mirrored my own in agony. My mother was kind and selfless. That showed me it hurt her just as much as it did to me.

I had the necklace. I wasn’t losing all of her. I still had her necklace. I slipped the chain onto my neck and under my shirt like Nanny did. She never would leave me. She just wasn’t with me. That wasn’t fair, I wanted to be with her like always. I wanted her alive and with me. Her head full of carrot-top curls and kindly brown eyes laughing with me. I yearned to hear her call “Nicky Nick, get over here,” I wanted to be able to answer “No problem Ro Ro.” I yearned to continue our routine of goodbyes. ”See you later alligator,” she would call. “After a while crocodile’” I would reply quickly. I wanted to play dolls with her. I wanted to show her my new reading skills, I learned in second grade. I wanted her to meet Dexter, my miniature Dachshund, Aunt Cindy got for me. I wanted her to stay alive. Those wishes couldn’t be fulfilled, I realized.

Eventually, my mother left to go talk with the other adults and Katrina took her spot. She filled the space with empty chatter. “What do you think the adults are talking about?” she asked me a couple hours later. “Maybe,” I said slowly. “Nanny has passed on.” Katrina burst into tears. Sometimes it truly is hard to believe she is older than me.

I saw a nurse walk past and walk over to my mother. The nurse seemed nervous. She whispered something and she left. The doctor left and went upstairs to go check on other patients. My mother and Mary walked over to us.
“Girls,” Mary started to say.

“Nanny has passed away.” My mother interrupted and stated the fact.

I admit to being the strongest when first told. At the funeral, I was mangled knot of emotions and a disaster of tears. This had hurt worse than anything of ever known. 

I didn’t want Nanny die, but I was comforted knowing she hadn’t died unknowingly. That was the power of the gift she gave me. It affected me in ways I’ll never know how to explain. The hurt is still there. I doubt it will ever go away. It was a lesson I didn’t want to learn but I needed to. Simple actions are worth more than any amount of money. That was the lesson my grandmother taught me.