Fourteen years ago, our Heavenly Father called my grandmother ("mama") home, but somehow it feels like it happened yesterday. Everything reminds me of her; sometimes I greet those memories with a smile or a laugh, but today for some reason I greeted them with tears. My grandmother was the best person I knew, she is the only person that can get you told yet make you feel loved at the same time. She treated all of our friends with love and kindness and she would feed or clothe anyone in need. On Sundays, her house was packed. Everyone stopped by because they knew she cooked a big meal and that laughter would feel the air. I remember the summers were the best. The family, related (and not), would come over for a cookout or fish fry, listen to music in the front yard, and laugh and dance for hours. Those were the good old days for real. Even when she started feeling poorly, she still made her home welcome to everyone. She didn't cook as much but people still wanted to be in her presence.
During the last year of her life, I moved away, I didn't know how sick she really was or that time was drawing near. I knew she was "sickly" but honestly didn't realize the severity. It took me years to understand that she didn't want me to know because she knew I would have stayed. She was about living and enjoying life and she really wanted that for me. During the last few months, she grew more ill, and she wasn't herself at all. We took turns taking care of her but she still tried to take care of us. The last month is what I remember most. I would call and talk but she her words were few and mostly she just answered questions. When she finally had to go to the hospital, she kept telling everyone that I was coming to see her. When my aunt asked if I had told her I was coming home, I was confused because I hadn't said that to her at all. They figured she was talking out of her head, but for some reason I took action. I hadn't been on the job that long but my boss understood my grandma was ill and I had to go home.
With little thought and no questions, I packed up and hit the road. When I got to the hospital, she was on Morphine and didn't recognize me at first. After talking to her for a few minutes, she looked up and smiled and say "Hey Boy" (she called all of the girls boys, she said it was easier..lol). I stayed with her for a few days and then had to say my goodbyes. I didn't want to leave but I had to and honestly it was just too hard to watch her like that. The next day, my aunt called me and said she was "gone". I was so hurt and heartbroken but happy that I was able to see her one last time and happy she was no longer in pain.
After that day, nothing was ever the same. People said such kinds words about her and told wonderful stories. It was hard to laugh and so easy to cry. I cried for me not for her. I cried because I wouldn't be able to call her during The Price Is Right anymore, knowing I was interrupting her favorite show. I cried because she would never meet my children. I cried because I knew my life would never be same.
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