"Grandma has cancer".
Only a small part of me was scared. This is Grandma. She's a fighter. She's full of life and fire. She's strong, much stronger than I am. I was filled with hope and faith that she would survive this, that we would have so many more laughs and experiences together, memories to create. I did not prepare for the worst, because it would not happen, not to her.
She wasn't getting better. She was having a hard time breathing, eating and then surviving. Mom flew out to help take care of her. We flew out a short time later. Grandma and Grandpa's new house felt empty without her there. I couldn't feel her presence in her untouched things.
We went to the hospital, took the elevator up to her room. Mom prepped us, telling us not to cry. We needed to be happy. She also had us clean our hands with the hand sanitizer outside Grandma's room. The door opened and there she was, laying in a bed. I could see her eyes over the oxygen mask she wore. I stopped breathing, shocked at how quickly she was fading. The words that I had rehearsed flew from my head as I could only stare at this different yet same woman. She didn't look like herself. She was so thin and fragile. Her hair was a solid white. I wanted to hold her hand even though I was scared that it might break. I could tell that she was trying to smile, her eyes wrinkling. But, I could also tell that she was in pain. Her face was pale. Everyone spoke in a calm and somewhat hushed voice, stating only the positive. How could I tell this woman the truth? How could I tell Grandma, a woman who has never defined herself by age, this sassy and lively, John Wayne loving, independent heroine that I am going to miss her dearly? Grandma was my second mother. She woke me up in the morning, made me breakfast, picked me up and drove me to activities, taught me music, held my hand, stayed up all night to help me write English essays, and sang me to sleep. She's steady, always there and now I was facing a future without her.
I couldn't stop the tears. They burned down my face as I looked at her and tried to smile. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to hold her close as she had held me. I knew at that moment that it was the last time I was going to see her. It was a matter of time and I wanted it to go slowly. I wanted it to rewind. It was too much, seeing her like this. The only words that escaped me were to ask, "May I play for you, Grandma?"
The nurses wheeled Grandma out of her room, down the hallway, to the lobby. It was hard to smile as it was plain to see how uncomfortable she was, but she continued to glow, her eyes sparkling. She smiled, her eyes squinting above the mask. I suddenly got nervous, even though I had played in front of her a thousand times. Here, I was sitting in front of the woman who had kindly corrected my mistakes, her hands next to mine on the keys. I tried to relax and started to breathe through my nose and out my mouth like she had taught me. The music began to flow through me, like a stream that I couldn't and didn't want to control. I played Pavane Pour Une Infante Defunte (Pavane for a Dead Princess) by Ravel. Fitting since it was the last song she had started to teach me how to play. Fitting, because in a way, this was my song, my words for her. It is a bittersweet song, beautiful and light. It sounds similar to Debussy's music. My eyes glazed over as I started to cry, the music speaking the words I never said, the love I never shared. I could not see the keys any longer; it was all a large colorless blur.
Grandma had said that the piano creates music with an inner beauty; 'music makes the creator more beautiful, beautifies the soul of the listener, and makes the world a more beautiful place.' Music is our escape; it was what your feelings sound like, a love in search of words. She taught me how to express myself and to love to express myself.
The song ended so quickly. I finished, hands shaking, emotionally spent. I could tell that I had pleased her as she spoke her genuine thanks for the song and clapped for me. I had apologized countless times during the piece, muttering 'I'm so sorry' as I stumbled my way through the most emotional parts, countless tears splashing the keys. My heart was aching.
We continued to talk in her room and Grandma had enough energy to joke around and laugh with us. But, it was not long before she tired, her face weary once again. It was time to leave. Only a hint of sadness lingered as Grandma spoke of seeing me soon, full of hope that in reality was dangling by weak, short strings. I slowly left, nodding my head in doubtful agreement. I was really going to miss her.
I wanted to stay, but had to fly home for volleyball tryouts. Sarah and I ended up being on the same team and we practiced together. One night, after practice, I turned on my phone and listened to my messages. One was from Mom. She was still in Minnesota taking care of Grandma.
"Hey girls, Grandma is going now. If you can, please call me so that you can say your goodbyes and be here on the phone with us."
My heart was racing as I quickly called back and Mom was crying. Grandma was already gone and I missed saying goodbye, telling her that I love her one last time by an hour. I felt numb. I felt nothing, and then, suddenly, I was overwhelmed with feeling. I started bawling, sobbing into my hands. I felt my tears drip into my hands. I felt hot liquid escape my nostrils and mouth. Sarah sat next to me and after I shared the news with her, we held each other and cried in the school gym.
No comments:
Post a Comment