A family from home lost their father and grandfather today, from lung cancer. I have been thinking about them a lot the past few days. It made me think about my own struggle with the loss of my own grandmother, from lung cancer, too. I understand how this family is feeling.
There is a feeling of mourning, hurt and disbelief. At the same time, though, you are feeling relief. You’re rejoicing their life. And a new life in heaven–without pain. Those last few days are hard. It feels like all you do is sit around and wait, wait and wait. I know my family did. I have been trying to write a post about that time in my life for well over a year now. Every time I started, I stopped. I felt it was too cheesy, too in-depth, too sad, too irrelevant, too much of too much!
I’m letting go of that, tonight. This is for me. This is for me to remember– to have a record of the memories. The good ones-- especially– but the details too. Because with all the sadness during that time, the JOY comes from spending as much of that sad, exhausting and gratifying time by her side. It was a Tuesday and as I was dropping off the kids for the day, my step-grandfather called me. He told me they were in the Emergency Room. He said their was no hurry, but to come when I finished working. I walked into the ER, saw my grandmother and tried to figure out why she was there. Turns out, she went to radiation treatment that day, and she was too dehydrated to have radiation. Her pain had increased too! I sat and waited, making little conversation. I was eighteen years old, I didn’t know what to do. My mother was just five ours away in Mississippi and my father was still working. Here I am– with my grandmother, alone. My step-grandfather left to get a few things from home. I called my mother several hours away, visiting her father. She just left Mississippi and she was heading back home. I can't imagine that drive home for her once I told her we were sitting in the ER. She said she would be there, when she got there– and to call her if we found out anything. I feel like the world stopped when the ER doctor walked in. He barely made eye contact with me, as I sat in the chair beside my Gma. The doctor calmly walked into the room, asked if I wanted to leave. My Grandmother said no. I stayed there–just me and her– and that ER doctor. He said something to the effect that the cancer was in her chest cavity, like liquid. That’s where the different feeling pain came from, and they would admit her into the hospital. Her doctors would talk about options– they would be ending treatment. He left. I sat there in silence, emotionless. My grandmother didn’t move or flinch. She took a deep breath and said, “Well, looks like we will find out more tomorrow. Leigh, God has better timing than you and I do. Hold my hand. Everything is going to be okay.” I interrupted her– I don’t remember what came out of my mouth, but I remember it had “DENIAL” written all over it. A little while later, my step-grandfather came back. All I was thinking was, “Where have you been?” Looking back— I am SO glad she and I were the only ones in that room when the doctor became the barrier of bad news. It showed her true Faith and Strength. I watched a 78-year-old woman, who weighed less than me and was in so much pain the last few weeks that she paced the floor at night (and my mother and I NEVER knew about until the last few days of her life) I watched her get the news with dignity and an understanding of God’s plan. I don’t remember a whole lot from the rest of that night. I probably told her stories of the children I babysit. Eventually, my mother was walking into the door. I’m pretty sure my Grandmother told my mother as nonchalant as she had my step-grandfather. “It’s not looking good." We moved to a room around midnight. The next couple days were a blur. We talked with her doctors, and doctor friends. It was terminal– that we knew for certain. That week, I was told my grandmother took the second round of palliative treatment– against my mother and father's advice– for pain management and buying time. She had HOPE, but she knew what He was doing. ”Sure hated to go, but thought it was best that she didn’t stay here,” she said. Her first week in the hospital was enjoyable. They managed her pain. If I wasn’t with the kids, or taking a summer class– I was there. Holding her hand, rubbing her back and talking. I remember the laughter my mom, my grandmother and I shared. I stayed with her one of the first days she was in the hospital. I slept in her hospital bed most of the night. She asked if there’s anywhere I would go and who I would see, who would it be? I asked her. She said Nashville– to see country stars. It was one of those moments that you see on TV. But no, this was real. It was one of my sweetest moments with her. In fact, one time during the night— I decided to get on the couch. The second I laid my head on the pillow, she asked me to come back. “Where do you think you’re going? I sleep better when you’re right here.”
The second week in the hospital was rough. That Saturday was the first and only day I didn’t visit my grandmother. I begged my mom, dad and Nathan to let me drive out there– before we left for BamaJam. The answer was no– you need a break from the hospital. My mom said, “see I’m taking one too,” like it was going to help me change my mind. I didn’t see her that day. The following morning, I am at home relaxing. My parents went to check on her early in the morning. My father runs into our home and yells to me to jump i the car. He told me he and my mom had been calling me over and over.We hopped in the car. My father said, “Leigh, we don’t know what’s going on, but she keeps calling your name. Maybe this is it, we don’t know. She wants you!” {Let me tell you, before I finish this story…. nothing has ever made me feel most special in my life– nothing! } My father drops me off at the entrance. Running to the elevator and into the room, she asks for me again. The nurses and my mother tell her I am in the room, now. I grabbed her hand, told her myself I was there and she calmed down immediately. It wasn’t the end of her life. So even now, I still wonder. Why me? Why then? Why? Why? Why? All so that I could hold this precious woman’s hand.
I took a math class that summer, which my grandmother asked about, a lot! She asked if I was keeping up with my studying, when I had tests, and why I was taking it during the summer. I never had the guts to tell her it’s because– I didn’t do so well on the first go round! One day while in in class, my mother and the doctors decided to sedated my grandmother. That’s when it got hard. Her sense of humor, character and personality were no longer.
Oh, how I wish I had one more conversation. The next thing I remember, a few days later: my mom called my dad, me, and Nathan to come to the hospital. A close family friend, who happens to be a doctor, stated she should have been gone a week prior. Her time was dwindling.
I asked myself a lot during those two weeks whether, or not, I would witness her transition from this life to another. As Nathan and I walked around the hospital floor to take a break from the waiting, he asked me if I made a decision. I thought about everything that happened during her illness. I shared some of my thoughts with Nathan. I thought about the time we spent together– which was a lot! The medicines I took her to get, the back rubs I gave, the memories we shared. I thought about her asking for me- calling my name because she wanted ME. And us, alone, in that ER room. I thought about her pound cakes, dinner rolls and gingerbread men. I thought about all the times she made me laugh and the stories she told me about her life. I thought about how she loved Nathan, so. Thought about my graduation she couldn’t attend and the Honor Society induction she would never have missed. And there was no doubt I would be there as she took this step too! We were all there– me, mom, dad, Nathan by my side, BB, and the nurses. Nathan chose to be there, too– he held my hand while I held my mom’s who was holding her hand. It was the most peaceful goodbye to witness. Her fight was lost, but her eternal life was won.
She was strong and knowledgeable. She was fiercely independent and did I mention strong— so darn strong! She was witty, hardworking, passionate and honest about life. She knew her life was ending– she was at grips with it. And sometimes I forget that I have this whole world in front of me. How can I ever? She showed me what life was— the reality of it— the fairytale of those moments that are so sweet like the night we spent together in her hospital room– she was AMAZING. And I know the family who just lost their loved one– they are thinking about how amazing their grandpa was, too.
It’s so damn hard to find the good in something so devastating as cancer! And the quote, “He doesn’t save us from the fire, he saves us through it!” hits incredibly close to home.
There is a feeling of mourning, hurt and disbelief. At the same time, though, you are feeling relief. You’re rejoicing their life. And a new life in heaven–without pain. Those last few days are hard. It feels like all you do is sit around and wait, wait and wait. I know my family did. I have been trying to write a post about that time in my life for well over a year now. Every time I started, I stopped. I felt it was too cheesy, too in-depth, too sad, too irrelevant, too much of too much!
I’m letting go of that, tonight. This is for me. This is for me to remember– to have a record of the memories. The good ones-- especially– but the details too. Because with all the sadness during that time, the JOY comes from spending as much of that sad, exhausting and gratifying time by her side. It was a Tuesday and as I was dropping off the kids for the day, my step-grandfather called me. He told me they were in the Emergency Room. He said their was no hurry, but to come when I finished working. I walked into the ER, saw my grandmother and tried to figure out why she was there. Turns out, she went to radiation treatment that day, and she was too dehydrated to have radiation. Her pain had increased too! I sat and waited, making little conversation. I was eighteen years old, I didn’t know what to do. My mother was just five ours away in Mississippi and my father was still working. Here I am– with my grandmother, alone. My step-grandfather left to get a few things from home. I called my mother several hours away, visiting her father. She just left Mississippi and she was heading back home. I can't imagine that drive home for her once I told her we were sitting in the ER. She said she would be there, when she got there– and to call her if we found out anything. I feel like the world stopped when the ER doctor walked in. He barely made eye contact with me, as I sat in the chair beside my Gma. The doctor calmly walked into the room, asked if I wanted to leave. My Grandmother said no. I stayed there–just me and her– and that ER doctor. He said something to the effect that the cancer was in her chest cavity, like liquid. That’s where the different feeling pain came from, and they would admit her into the hospital. Her doctors would talk about options– they would be ending treatment. He left. I sat there in silence, emotionless. My grandmother didn’t move or flinch. She took a deep breath and said, “Well, looks like we will find out more tomorrow. Leigh, God has better timing than you and I do. Hold my hand. Everything is going to be okay.” I interrupted her– I don’t remember what came out of my mouth, but I remember it had “DENIAL” written all over it. A little while later, my step-grandfather came back. All I was thinking was, “Where have you been?” Looking back— I am SO glad she and I were the only ones in that room when the doctor became the barrier of bad news. It showed her true Faith and Strength. I watched a 78-year-old woman, who weighed less than me and was in so much pain the last few weeks that she paced the floor at night (and my mother and I NEVER knew about until the last few days of her life) I watched her get the news with dignity and an understanding of God’s plan. I don’t remember a whole lot from the rest of that night. I probably told her stories of the children I babysit. Eventually, my mother was walking into the door. I’m pretty sure my Grandmother told my mother as nonchalant as she had my step-grandfather. “It’s not looking good." We moved to a room around midnight. The next couple days were a blur. We talked with her doctors, and doctor friends. It was terminal– that we knew for certain. That week, I was told my grandmother took the second round of palliative treatment– against my mother and father's advice– for pain management and buying time. She had HOPE, but she knew what He was doing. ”Sure hated to go, but thought it was best that she didn’t stay here,” she said. Her first week in the hospital was enjoyable. They managed her pain. If I wasn’t with the kids, or taking a summer class– I was there. Holding her hand, rubbing her back and talking. I remember the laughter my mom, my grandmother and I shared. I stayed with her one of the first days she was in the hospital. I slept in her hospital bed most of the night. She asked if there’s anywhere I would go and who I would see, who would it be? I asked her. She said Nashville– to see country stars. It was one of those moments that you see on TV. But no, this was real. It was one of my sweetest moments with her. In fact, one time during the night— I decided to get on the couch. The second I laid my head on the pillow, she asked me to come back. “Where do you think you’re going? I sleep better when you’re right here.”
The second week in the hospital was rough. That Saturday was the first and only day I didn’t visit my grandmother. I begged my mom, dad and Nathan to let me drive out there– before we left for BamaJam. The answer was no– you need a break from the hospital. My mom said, “see I’m taking one too,” like it was going to help me change my mind. I didn’t see her that day. The following morning, I am at home relaxing. My parents went to check on her early in the morning. My father runs into our home and yells to me to jump i the car. He told me he and my mom had been calling me over and over.We hopped in the car. My father said, “Leigh, we don’t know what’s going on, but she keeps calling your name. Maybe this is it, we don’t know. She wants you!” {Let me tell you, before I finish this story…. nothing has ever made me feel most special in my life– nothing! } My father drops me off at the entrance. Running to the elevator and into the room, she asks for me again. The nurses and my mother tell her I am in the room, now. I grabbed her hand, told her myself I was there and she calmed down immediately. It wasn’t the end of her life. So even now, I still wonder. Why me? Why then? Why? Why? Why? All so that I could hold this precious woman’s hand.
I took a math class that summer, which my grandmother asked about, a lot! She asked if I was keeping up with my studying, when I had tests, and why I was taking it during the summer. I never had the guts to tell her it’s because– I didn’t do so well on the first go round! One day while in in class, my mother and the doctors decided to sedated my grandmother. That’s when it got hard. Her sense of humor, character and personality were no longer.
Oh, how I wish I had one more conversation. The next thing I remember, a few days later: my mom called my dad, me, and Nathan to come to the hospital. A close family friend, who happens to be a doctor, stated she should have been gone a week prior. Her time was dwindling.
I asked myself a lot during those two weeks whether, or not, I would witness her transition from this life to another. As Nathan and I walked around the hospital floor to take a break from the waiting, he asked me if I made a decision. I thought about everything that happened during her illness. I shared some of my thoughts with Nathan. I thought about the time we spent together– which was a lot! The medicines I took her to get, the back rubs I gave, the memories we shared. I thought about her asking for me- calling my name because she wanted ME. And us, alone, in that ER room. I thought about her pound cakes, dinner rolls and gingerbread men. I thought about all the times she made me laugh and the stories she told me about her life. I thought about how she loved Nathan, so. Thought about my graduation she couldn’t attend and the Honor Society induction she would never have missed. And there was no doubt I would be there as she took this step too! We were all there– me, mom, dad, Nathan by my side, BB, and the nurses. Nathan chose to be there, too– he held my hand while I held my mom’s who was holding her hand. It was the most peaceful goodbye to witness. Her fight was lost, but her eternal life was won.
She was strong and knowledgeable. She was fiercely independent and did I mention strong— so darn strong! She was witty, hardworking, passionate and honest about life. She knew her life was ending– she was at grips with it. And sometimes I forget that I have this whole world in front of me. How can I ever? She showed me what life was— the reality of it— the fairytale of those moments that are so sweet like the night we spent together in her hospital room– she was AMAZING. And I know the family who just lost their loved one– they are thinking about how amazing their grandpa was, too.
It’s so damn hard to find the good in something so devastating as cancer! And the quote, “He doesn’t save us from the fire, he saves us through it!” hits incredibly close to home.
