Please no flames, this is just something I wrote to get out my emotions. My grandmother, who I loved so very much was diagnosed with throat cancer last April. The doctors say it was bad luck that she got is since usually smokers get it. She was in all honestly the kindest, least judgmental, unbias, smart person ever. Even in her youth she had to overcome adversities and she didn't deserve the pain she went through. She had her voice box removed in effort to stop the cancer. After the surgery things got better. She could breathe from her throat (windpipe and food pipe separated). She would smile and laugh silently. She would mouth words and communicate. She was getting better. Then we found out that the cancer had spread to her chest in November. They said she had one year left. Then in December they said it was only 6 months actually. Her health deteriorated rapidly soon after. She stopped communicating. She was heavily medicated 24/7. She slept most of the time. Whenever she was awake she would be shaking her head at this disastrous life of hers. Then last week, the doctors said that she had a month left….They were wrong. She passed away yesterday. It was unexpected. And I am 100% unprepared. I have never experienced death before and I'm 17. Everything I'm writing is jumbled and probably poorly written but it reflects my thoughts and state of mind.
I stared at her limp form, lying peacefully on the bed she had be confined to months prior. No more swollen checks, blue lips, or a crease between her brows. Her complex was clear, pale, and smooth. Her warm pink lips were cold to the touch. The soft hand I often spent days rubbing circles on with my thumb was hidden underneath a sheet.
The whole scene was wrong. Where was the hum of her oxygen tank and the layers of blankets over her think but swollen body to keep her warm. What happened to the desks beside her bed that usually carried a multitude of medications or boxes in the corner carrying medical sanitary supplies?
As horrible as the latter scene sounds, I preferred it to a room full of cacophony from grief. Even though she was in pain before, I was never in this much pain staring at her. Her now peaceful appearance wreaks havoc on my being. I feel nothing but torment. My throat constricts painful and tears threaten to fall from my eyes. I hold it all in and flee from the scene.
A day later but not any calmer, I feel a dreadful happiness that she is no longer in pain. She is with her mother, brothers and parents now. She must be laughing in glee with her long black hair (showing no streaks of white). She must be the God she believed in her entire lifetime. She must be able to speak again. She must be watching over me.
However, any and every good memory of her hurts more and more. I feel tormented by what I could have changed. I regret not kissing her swollen cheeks or hugging her the last time I saw her. My eyes sting from unshed tears. My throat is sore from all my silent screaming. My chest is left with a gaping hole that will never be filled.
Maybe time will heal wounds, or maybe this will forever be a scar; but I long for the day that I recall joyful memories of her and smile instead of hiding alone and crying.
While I wrote whatever I could I feel there is so much more left unsaid. So much more I wish to write and let out about my grief. I want to describe how she was before, I want to talk about how I am feeling forever stuck in what if I did this or that she would have still been here. Alas, I can't, it hurts too much.
Thank you anyone who read this.
