Life Flashes

five years before

Five years before I got the call, my mom stopped getting out of bed. Her own mother, our Grandma Peggy, had been waging a courageous war with cancer and had been in remission a grand total of three times. My mom said, "Third time's the charm, Nessa, third time's the charm!" for a while, her eyes full of hope and her mouth set in a determined smile. Three weeks later, Grandma Peggy's cancer came back with a vengeance, and three weeks after that, she came to live with us because we were her only family. Correction: Grandma Peggy came to die with us. Grandma Peggy had always been a large part of our lives and she had always been an incredibly strong woman, both mentally and physically. But that was not the Grandma Peggy who came to stay with us. This new person was frail, pale, withered, her face the face of death.

    One time, when our father was out as he usually was those days, my mother needed help with Grandma Peggy. She called up to us, trying to keep her tone cheerful but also commanding. She sounded strained to the point of breaking.

    "Guys! Hey, kids, can someone -- can someone -- can one of you guys come down here please?" Her voice cracked on her last word.

    My younger brother, Ben, and I had been lying upside down on the futon, our socked feet up in the air, trying to kick each other onto the floor. But when we heard our mom, we instantly sat up and looked at each other, fear and worry in our eyes.

    Looking back now, it's clear that thirteen isn't much older than eleven. We were both still just kids. But back then, I actually protected those I cared about. I was the big sister. It was my job to protect Ben, even if that meant braving a dying grandmother.

    I went downstairs to help every time Mom called, which wasn't that often since she wanted to do everything herself. Back then, I didn't know how she did it. Caring for Grandma Peggy was exhausting and draining and something I dreaded every time I heard Mom's voice. But Mom kept going, even when she was practically asleep on her feet.

    It didn't take long for Grandma Peggy to die, but it felt like months. We all knew the day was coming. It hung over our heads the whole time she stayed with us. But when it finally arrived, my mind was blank. I thought about all the emotions I should've been feeling: overwhelming sadness, hopelessness, unsurmountable anger, utter devastation, and I shoved them down. I clearly remember thinking very purposefully, I don't want to deal with this. So I didn't. At least not right then.

    I also thought that I should be relieved in some selfish way: now we would get our mom back. How naïve I was to think that death doesn't change a person forever.

    Two months after Grandma Peggy passed, my mom went to bed. Then she stayed there for what seemed like forever.