When I was twelve years old I attended a daily summer camp Monday-Friday 8-2 at the town playground. Most days my mom and I would listen to the morning talk show segments about couples trying to expose their unfaithful partners, and she would drop me off at my Nana's house around 6:30 so she could go to work. My Nana would ask me if I ate, in which I would always reply with a “yes,” even if I hadn't, to avoid making her go through the trouble of making breakfast. We'd sit down on her stiff slate colored couch and watch a few episodes of home decorating shows about renovating bathrooms before it was time for her to drive me to camp. She had an old snobbish cat about eleven years old named Sassy that resembled the cat of the same name from “Homeward Bound.” She would claim my Nana's lap as her own every morning, joining us for the HGTV programs. One day after camp, just getting into my mother's stuffy car, she told me that Sassy had passed away that afternoon. My brain churned like rusty clockwork trying to process the information that I couldn't comprehend. I had just seen her that morning, how would I never see her again? It was my first encounter with death. I wasn't close with the cat, but it disturbed me knowing how fast the world can change, how one day could be the last day, one word could just as easily become the last word, and how selfishly the world can take something away, just like that.
It was Christmas morning, but it didn't feel like Christmas this time. For the first time ever, my dad would not come down in his blue and gray plaid pajama pants and fix himself a cup of coffee, watching my two sisters and I pass out presents with sleepy eyes. He was off in his Burlington apartment alone, not to arrive at the house till about 11am, after my mother, who wanted nothing to do with him, left for work. The day as a whole lacked festivity unlike past Christmases at my house. However when afternoon came, and my mother, sisters and I arrived at the comfort of my Nana and Grampa's house, the day took a bittersweet turn. Like every year, we showed up a good half an hour to an hour late with leftover desserts from Christmas eve at my house the night before, the smell engulfing us as we stepped through the door as my mom called up “Hello!”. My Grampa was slaving over his special gravy and creamy mashed potatoes while the tender roast beef cooked in the oven. We greeted each other, exchanging cheek kisses and “Merry Christmas!” My Nana came out to meet us in the kitchen wearing a red zip up sweater my mom had gotten for her the previous year. Even with just barely making 5'2”, I had to bend down to kiss my Nana and wrap her in a hug, a sort of small victory for every short person. My Grampa turned away from his masterpiece to ask us all what we'd like to drink, running off a list of various available beverages from Pepsi to Eggnog. As usual, my sisters and I offered to get our own drinks as appetizers were set out. After some small talk and finishing touches to the meal, my Nana, Grampa, uncle Steve, mother, sisters and I sat down at the table made for eight, ignoring the empty seat meant for my father. While feasting on bloody roast beef smothered with gravy, buttered corn, fresh spinach, warm rolls, bacon wrapped green beans, and marshmallow yams, it began to feel more like Christmas. We filled our stomachs while we joked and teased each other about pointless things.
Suddenly, my Nana began heaving coughs that shook her body. She excused herself from the table to go lie down. We were all aware that my Nana had been suffering for many years with on and off cancer as well as other medical problems that had caused her to lose ability in her right arm years earlier. Just recently, she had begun to lose her eyesight in one eye, and she had refused anymore chemo, however she had never excused herself from the dinner table before due her health. When she returned moments later, I couldn't help but look at her, trying to memorize every thing about my Nana as the thought “this could be your last Christmas with her,” teased my mind. But it was Christmas and we were all together and having a good time, so I put it side. After we all cleared the table, handed out presents, and devoured what was left of dessert, my Grampa sat in the adjacent living room to watch TV while the rest of us set up a game of Monopoly. A time consuming dispute broke out between my mom and uncle as he tried to cheat his way into winning. Meanwhile my Nana quietly sat there and offered nine million dollars in Monopoly money, desperate for my oldest sister Katie's railroad card, causing my Grampa to come over and make a joke about her ridiculous game play as we all laughed along, because that was the type of person my Nana was, and we loved it.
Fast forward a few days, and I'm standing in a depressing, dimly lit hospital room, listening to the air flow through the tubes hooked up to my Nana's mouth as machines cry out along with me. I don't know how I got here, all I remember are the days forming together into a hazy gray nightmare after my mom told me my Nana was admitted to the hospital that New Years morning while I was sleeping over my best friend's house. I'm standing there, holding back tears with every ounce of will power that I have, because she's laying there. No it is not okay to cry, If I cry I will not stop. If I cry I will scream and I will curse and I will use every breath I have in my lungs to get rid of the pain rising in my chest. I can not cry. I stand there stiff, not allowing myself to move or say anything or look at anybody, afraid of losing it. Her tired body moves up and down with the air that is not her own, and then, Katie leans down and kisses her forehead, allowing a few tears to slip from her eyes. With all the strength her unconscious self can muster, my Nana reaches up to touch her forehead in a delayed reaction to the kiss. I turn away into my mother's shoulder because the sight is too much to handle. My Grampa lets go of his high school sweetheart's hand to pull me into a hug. I'm now crying, and she is dying.
The first three days of 2014 consisted of waiting for my mom to come home. If she came home that meant she was either taking a rest before she went back, or that it was all over. After two days of constant worrying, waiting, and the knowing that my Nana was suffering, the latter became everybody's first choice. On the third day, the day after visiting her in the hospital, my dad came over to check on my sisters and I and how we were doing. Katie made Stouffer's mac and cheese for dinner and she and I were sitting in the living room watching TV when my mom came home unexpectedly around 8 o'clock. She just looked at us with red puffy eyes and gave us a nod. Katie got up and hugged her, sobbing loud obnoxious cries into her shoulder. I looked down at my mac and cheese like a toddler who was just told to speak French. I joined my mom, my brain once again rusty clockwork, and sniffled a bit. We moved to the couch, Katie gasping for air as I stared out in the distance with the thought “nobody touch me, you'll just make it worse,” screaming in my head. I don't know how I fell asleep that night, but I remember sitting on my floor next to my bed and whispering to myself “I just saw her, I just saw her,” over and over again till the sadness took over and I cried out to the universe. Just like that, it had taken her away from me.
The days of the funeral and the wake blurred together into a blur of time. My family stood in a dark line as unfamiliar faces spoke their condolences and sometimes stole a hug. The worst people were the ones who cried horribly over her coffin, inviting me to do the same. My Nana was no longer my Nana in her purple pantsuit and comfy slippers as she laid sleeping and waxy in the coffin. My Grampa clenched my hand tight when Pastor Travis played their song “Moon River” while slickly passing over some tissues. Then the room was empty. It was just us, and her. One by one we said goodbye, but it wasn't enough time. As I placed my stuffed duck she had given me for Easter years ago by her side to keep her company, my eyes searched all over her body trying to take in everything before it was too late. Everything washed over me at once. This was the last time I would ever see my Nana. She would not see me age older than fourteen. She would not see me get married or have children or go to prom. She would not see me graduate high school or college. I would never see her, nor speak to her, nor hug her again. But she is no longer in pain. She is not fighting for us anymore, she is not struggling, she is not dying. She is happy, healthy, and at peace for the first time in a long time and she deserves to be, and I wouldn't trade her being free for anything.
The last words I said to my Nana were something along the lines of “Thank You!” or “Merry Christmas!” The last sight of me she has is my hair curled in my new Christmas outfit with a smile on my face. I did not come home to receive bad news, I did not miss out on saying some form of goodbye. Even though the universe took her away, it gave me that last Christmas with her. Overall, it gave me fourteen amazing years filled with memories with her. She was the best Nana in the world, and she was my Nana, and for that I am forever grateful.