The Grandmother

You always think, "It won't happen to my family." If not consciously, at least subconsciously. "It happens to other people and their families. Not mine." Divorce. Rebellion. Cancer.

We've had a bunch of people (family) visiting the past two/three-ish (time has blurred) weeks, celebrating the Grandfather's 90th birthday (the ones in this post are just a very very few of the multitudes of pictures I've taken over the past weeks). What a milestone! And what a time of fellowship and catching up and reliving old memories and making new ones! We've literally worn ourselves out, preparing for all the company, staying up late talking once they got here, stress, excitement, etc. We're all tired, and a lot of us have come down with colds and other little sicknesses that could probably be related to the current state of life the past few weeks. 

So when the Grandmother also came down with a combination of exhaustion and stomach-ache, at first nothing much was thought about it. She's tired out and needs some extra rest.
But after a few days of taking it easy and 'laying low', as my Mom would say, she was only getting worse.
Last Saturday (Mar. 22) as she walked down into the family den where Mom, Trissy, an aunt, a handful of cousins, and I were all sitting chatting, resting, and enjoying each other's company, Trissy suddenly said, "Grandmother, you look orange!"

Our family doesn't just jump and go to the doctor for every little thing. But her symptoms pointed possibly to hepatitis (a sickness they'd had personal experience with during years of mission work in South America), and with more company expected in the coming days, she decided to play it safe, and consented to being taken.

They went Monday, and Trissy called me later at the restaurant. It wasn't hepatitis. It was cancer.

Cancer. That feared, hated word. That thing that had wrecked the lives of so many individuals and families.
The Grandmother. The center of our little world, our neighborhood. The Grandfather's main care-giver and support. The cheerful, teasing 'little old lady' who makes friends with complete strangers and 'collects' children and grandchildren among the people she meets in life, simply because of her cheery personality, goofy charm, kindness, and joyful spirit. The Grandmother has cancer.

I was numb the rest of the day. I felt like I was floating, walking mindlessly through a dream where I respectfully served customers, politely listened to my coworkers' stories and conversation, and sat watching my after-school kids at the academy without seeing them.
We flung ourselves into final preparations for the Grandfather's big birthday celebration and the last few guests who were scheduled to arrive in the next few days. With the Grandmother in the hospital, the big reception was canceled, and we 'downgraded' it to a time just for the family to be together. We still ordered the big cake (there were over fifty of us, after all) and went to Victory Rd.'s gym to spend the afternoon.

It was really a great time. The little ones had room and a place to run and yell together to their hearts content. The adults sat in the front and visited, or gathered in the gym to play basketball or roller skate. I wasn't feeling well, so slipped off and went upstairs to the game room where there was a couch, and laid down for a while. But other than that, we just enjoyed spending time together, and tried to ignore the big hole that The Grandmother's absence made.

Later my mind reeled, as, back at The Grandparents' house, I gazed around at all the many faces and listened to all the hubbub and busy-ness. It was a big deal, trying to feed and sleep so many, but it was working out fine, and Dear Lord, I prayed, what on earth are we going to do when they are all gone? when they're no longer here to distract us? What are we going to do when they are gone?