When I first heard my mom say “tumor,” I had no idea of the long and treacherous journey ahead of me. For my entire life I had been blessed with four (and a half) happy and mostly healthy grandparents. I had no idea what it was like to be in danger of losing one.

“Kate, I really need you to start praying for Pete,” she said calmly the morning after Halloween. I was scared. What is she talking about? She had learned the news the day before but did not want to make me upset or worried while I was out with my friends. “They found a tumor in his bladder. It’s cancer.”

My heart dropped. These are probably the most frightening words anyone can hear. He’s not gonna make it, I thought immediately, imagining my life without him in it. I did not know what to think or do. The worst part was knowing that I could not do anything to fix this.

“Mom, what’s gonna happen?” I said with fear in my eyes. “What are we gonna do?” She did not know the answer.

My mom’s dad had never been in perfect health. He was a fireman who had lost his right leg before my mother was even born. Having received Anointing of the Sick a total of eight times in his life, my grandpa had already been through a lot. He has lived through so much already, so why can’t he take on this too? Cancer made this situation a lot different than any other he had been in.

In less than three weeks, the time for surgery had come. The mass had to come out as quickly as possible to prevent it from spreading.

I walked into the hospital on that cool, November morning, along with my whole family. There are so many people who love him and are here to support him. He cannot die, I thought to myself.

Before I knew it, I watched him being rolled out of the pre-surgery room and into operation. We walked with him slowly until he was pushed through a set of double doors that read “Staff Only.” So many thoughts raced through my head. I knew that he had gotten weaker over the past few months. Can he handle this major surgery? This cannot be the last time I see him.

At that point all we could do was wait. We waited patiently. We sat around laughing, crying, and telling stories about Pete, hoping that the doctor would come out with news that was reassuring and hopeful. When he did come out, the news was neither of those things. I watched him walk towards us with a look of sadness on his face, like something was weighing on him. He looked exhausted, like he had just run a marathon. I knew it was because he was trying to keep my grandfather alive.

“Hey guys,” he would always start off with. “So, we ran into some issues during surgery.” My heart was pounding and my breath short.

“We were able to get most of the tumor out, but his kidneys have stopped functioning properly. We put two tubes in and are draining them right now. He’s up and breathing, but not really conscious and needs to be in ICU.”

I guessed that was better than other news I could have received.

From then on we waited some more. I felt as though all we did was wait. For months he was in and out of the hospital, in the ICU for weeks at a time. Things were just not good. When he was not in the hospital, he was living with us. My parents were stressed and my brother without a room. We spent Thanksgiving and Christmas at home with him. I watched him sit at the kitchen table with tears coming from his eyes because he was not even able to sign our Christmas cards. Seeing my grandpa like this was heartbreaking. Why can’t everything just go back to normal, I wondered. I patiently waited for normalcy to return.

Months full of uncertainty and concern went by. Everything was going wrong. He needed a hip replacement, a knee replacement, a new prosthesis, had multiple bladder infections, and was losing weight. He would get stronger, and then weaker again. Countless times I found myself falling asleep in the hospital or staying home from school to care for him. My family did not know how to care for him anymore. He was even getting tired of caring for himself.

“I don’t know if he’s gonna make it through this one, Gina,” I heard my grandmother tell my mom one night in the empty ICU waiting room.

Very slowly he started getting stronger, at least enough to start the recovery process. He started getting his hopes back up and pulled himself out of the dark and lonely hole he had fallen into. He was able to go to begin his cancer treatments, live with a sitter in his own house, and get a new prosthesis. He was making small amounts of progress, but progress nevertheless.

Throughout this process, my family had to learn patience. If we were going to get through this, we needed to be patient with each other and my grandpa. I truly believe that the Holy Spirit provided us with this virtue and allowed us to nurture him back to health.

Pete still has his sitter and is taking it one day at a time. He is in a wheel chair until he is strong enough to undergo his hip and knee replacements. However, we are unsure if this will ever happen.

“I promise you, the worst is over,” said my grandfather’s oncologist.

I really hope he is right.