Grief...

My grandmother passed away. Those are 4 words that don't even make sense to me. Four words that don't go together to form a proper sentence. It's been 3 weeks (tomorrow) and it feels like it was hours ago, and at the same time it feels like it's been an eternity.

On a Sunday afternoon I got a call that she was diagnosed with Stage 4 Cancer that had spread throughout her body. Her lungs were filling with fluid and they were also filled with blood clots. I knew I needed to get to Florida as soon as I could, though everyone was telling me that I shouldn't waste my money because I would probably be too late. I started praying about it, looked online at flights and found one that left that evening for $42. I knew God was telling me to go. I knew I needed to be there. So despite what everyone tried to tell me, I got on that plane and prayed that I would make it in time to say goodbye. I don't think anyone or anything could have stopped me from going.

That was the best decision I've ever made.

I feel like when someone says that a grandparent is dying, it doesn’t hold the same weight as the fact that MY grandmother was dying. Everyone’s grandparents die, right? That's just life. But this is so much more than just losing a grandparent. If there was ever a grandmother/granddaughter relationship that crossed all boundaries, it was ours. I would say I spent more than half of my childhood with her rather than with my own parents. Countless vacations, shopping trips, getting pampered together at the beauty shop, my time with her was the best. She has always looked much younger than she is, so a lot of times strangers would mistake her for my mom. If I even thought about correcting them, she would give me an elbow. She didn’t mind letting people think she was young enough to be my mom. She spoiled me rotten. She loved to tell the story of when I was 3 or 4 and decided I needed silk pajamas like hers. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find silk pajamas in a toddler size?” she would say. She found some though. There was no online shopping then, so she went to several different malls to find them. And we wore our matching silk pajamas while we sipped tea and played games. She would tickle my back until I fell asleep. Every. Single. Night. I can still feel her perfectly manicured nails on my back, just soft enough to give me chills.  

I was lucky enough to be the first grandchild. The next one didn’t come until 5 years later, so I had her all to myself for 5 whole years. I’m so thankful for that. Anyone who knew me as a child would probably still make reference to the fact that I could always be found attached to her hip, in the most frilly dress with matching purse, hair bows and socks to match. She loved to dress me up like a little porcelain doll and show me off to everyone she knew. She did NOT love when I blew bubbles in church with my bubble gum, or did anything that a ‘lady’ shouldn’t do.

She loved to dance. And roller skate. She and my Papa would synchronize skate and it was just about the most precious sight ever. She tried to teach me to jitterbug. She ordered a box set of 50's and 60's CDs and she would try to teach me the dances. I never really caught on, but it didn't matter. She laughed at my jitterbug skills, and I envied hers.  

I made it to the hospice facility in the middle of the night. I planned on just quietly going in and sleeping until the morning, not disturbing her or Papa. But the nurse flipped the light on and announced "you have a visitor!" (At around 1am.) She and Papa woke up, her face lit up as I walked toward her. I sat next to her on the bed and she grabbed my face with both hands and said "I can't believe you came. I just can't believe you're here..." as she rubbed my cheeks. In that moment I knew that nothing mattered other than the fact that we were together. None of the hard times we had gone through, none of the arguments, none of that mattered anymore. She was happy to see me, and I was beyond happy to be with her. The fact that I flew down there showed her how much I loved her. And I knew I wasn't leaving her side as long as she was still breathing. 

The next 6 days were a whirlwind of emotions. My Papa, Mom, Aunt Joy, Uncle Keith, my cousin Robyn and I were all there. Nanny was in and out of consciousness. Sometimes she could hold a perfectly normal conversation, and other times she said the most off-the-wall, silly things. Robyn and I were on 'bathroom duty' and we made a really good team, getting her out of bed and back and forth to the restroom. We reminisced a lot. We laughed a lot. We cried even more. I think we all started the grieving process before she even passed. We went from not even knowing she was sick, to believing she had hours to live, to not knowing if she would hang on for a couple of days or another month. We all just cherished every minute we had with her. I wish I would've cherished my time with her before I knew she was sick. 

One afternoon I was sitting in the room alone with her and I started thinking things like "We can't forget Papa has medicine in that bathroom cabinet" and "there are clothes hanging in that closet we need to remember..." Then I became angry. I was angry that I was thinking so practically. Like we were getting ready to check out of a hotel, not thinking that when we leave this place our entire lives will be forever changed. This might be the first time I allowed myself to break down. And I mean I. BROKE. DOWN. I started ugly crying. Loud sobs came from deep down in my gut. I left the room to go to the lobby to get myself together. But the sobs just became harder and louder. Her nurse came up to me and just put her hand on my shoulder. She said something comforting, but I didn't take it that way. I was mad. I was mad at her, at God, at the situation, at everything. I started screaming at her "Don't tell me it's ok. It's not ok! When we leave here, you'll go on with your work day. You'll move someone else into that room and it'll be like she was never even there. Do you have ANY idea how special she is? Do you understand that she's not just another patient? This is just a job to you. But this is our life! She is our everything! When we leave here, our lives will never be the same. And a week from now you won't even remember her name!" I lashed out. I was so hateful. And she was so kind. I didn't deserve her kindness. I probably deserved a slap across the face, honestly. Nanny would've been so embarrassed by the way I acted. The nurse just hugged me and she told me that while this is her job, she will remember Nanny. She'll remember her beautiful skin, and smile. And she'll remember what a loving family she had. A family who they had to tell multiple times to leave her alone and let her rest because we all just wanted to be right next to her, talking to her, touching her, holding her hands. She assured me that just because this is her job, that doesn't mean she doesn't care about my grandmother. And when Nanny passed, that nurse cried with us. 

Around day 4, the social worker told Papa that it's important for the family to give her permission to go. To tell her that we're ok. She said people tend to hold on because they feel like their families are not ready to say goodbye. So the next time I was alone with her I sat down on the bed next to her. I told her that I needed to tell her something important. I told her that it was ok for her to go meet Jesus. That while we will never stop missing her, we will be ok. That she has taken care of every single one of us and now it's her turn to rest. That we will take care of each other, and we will take care of Papa. She said "I understand what you're saying, and I'm ready." I said "I know you are, and I think Jesus is waiting for you." She said with such confidence "Oh, I know He is. I've already talked to Him." Then she flipped the covers off of her and said "Let's go... are we taking your car or mine?" Even though she had a moment of confusion, I believe with my whole heart that she was ready, and that Jesus was waiting for her.

Another day, she was scratching her head. I said "Do you want me to scratch it for you?" and she said yes. I started scratching it, and she reached her hands out to my head and started scratching mine. I asked what she's doing and she said "You said your head is itching." I reminded her that she was the one who asked me to scratch her head and we both laughed. We got to take her outside for a few minutes one day. She loved that so much. It was a bit chilly that day, so we bundled her up in her robe and blankets, got her in a wheelchair and took her to sit in the sun. She was so happy to be in the sun. She smiled and just soaked it in. There was another time where she told her nurse how proud of me she was because I got on a plane all by myself, and then got an Uber from the airport to the hospice facility with no help. I was confused. The nurse was confused. Then Nanny went on to say "she just graduated from high school a few months ago!" I realized that she thought I was Madison.

I have so many stories from those 6 days. Memories that I will cherish forever. I will never regret being there. It was an absolute honor that she called for me when she needed to go to the bathroom. That I got to sit next to her, holding her hand and laying my head on her shoulder right up until her last breath. I sang to her. I got to say everything I needed to say to her before it was too late. It was the longest 6 days of my life, and at the same time I wish it would've lasted 6 more days, or weeks, or months. Of course I wouldn't want her to suffer any more than she did. But I'd give anything to have her back. I'm so thankful I know exactly where she is, and I have that promise that we'll be together again. I will miss her every day until then. It's crazy how much you can miss someone you've only been away from for 3 weeks. 

She was not perfect. She was stubborn, and difficult. She was never wrong (and I do mean never.) She would never apologize. There was a period of time when we weren't even on speaking terms because neither one of us were willing to swallow our pride and make amends. Papa would tell me "She's not mean, Brandi. She's sick." Of course now we know she had brain cancer, and we have no idea how long it had been affecting her behavior. I'll probably always wonder, and always regret not being more understanding and forgiving.

Papa on the other hand... he loved her unconditionally. A love like I've never seen. He took care of her right up until the end and loved her even at her worst. There's nothing in the world that would change his love for her. He is the very definition of 1 Corinthians 13:4-7: Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

I have decided to strive to be more like him. To love without conditions. To show grace and to forgive whether I believe it's deserved or not. Losing her is the hardest thing I've ever gone through, and it has changed my entire life. My heart aches. Tears flow for no reason at all. Sometimes it's hard to breathe. But I'm determined to let it change me for the better. I will make more time for family and the people I care about. I will love fiercely. I will be more kind. I will try to show everyone I love just how much I care about them every chance I get, because I never know if it'll be the last.

In loving memory of my Nanny

Linda Sue Wood

June 23rd, 1943 - January 12th, 2019