Dear Grandma,
It's been almost two months since you took your last breath here on this Earth. In some ways, it feels like it's only been a day and in other ways, it feels like it's been years.
Death is strange. I knew the day would come that you would no longer be here, but I didn't know just how soon the day would be that I would lose you.
The day that I received the call informing me that you had passed... I will never forget that day. I had just ordered a sub from the marketplace in the Union of my University. I had taken a bite or two and then noticed that I had a missed voicemail from my Mom. When I listened to it, it was my aunt, asking me to call her or my mom as soon as I could. Right away, I dialed my mom's number, thinking that something bad had happened to my mom. Was it a car accident? Had she experienced a heart attack?
My mom answered the phone and calmly told me that "Grandma passed away this morning." Those five words hit me like a brick. I was shocked. I didn't know what was going on. My mom was clearly devastated. I lied right away and told my mom that I was done with class for the day (I wasn't; I had one more class at 12:40 PM). I offered to drive down. My mom told me not to, saying that she didn't know what was going on or when the funeral would be. She then told me that the priest had entered the room she was in and so she needed to go. I hung up the phone, and looked down to my sub. Do I continue eating it? How can I go to class with this news? Should I tell someone? I need to go. I need to go down to Milwaukee. I need to be with my family. I need to go. Right now. First, I need to tell my work. It'll make it more real. I need to tell them I won't be coming to work tomorrow. I need to go now. I walk down the hallway of the Union to where the Administration office is located. Linda, my "office mom," is busy talking to someone. I stand there for what seems like forever, but realistically was probably only a few minutes. I finally then give up, realizing that I need to just go. As I trek up the hill to the entrance of my building, I begin feeling like I need to cry. Shouldn't I be crying? I just lost my grandma. Is this even real? I enter my bedroom, shut the door, and break down crying. Instantly, I start throwing clothes and toiletries into a blue hamper. I wasn't even sure what I was packing or if anything packed made sense. I just knew that I needed to go. With a few bags packed, I took off for the car. I got in, and began crying hysterically.
The drive from Oshkosh to Milwaukee is a blur. I just remember crying, asking why, apologizing for not realizing that I didn't have more time. Wishing I could have done more. Knowing I should have done more. I should have called her one more time. I should have gone over and seen her one more time. Was this really the end? And then there's my mom. Oh, I bet she'll be so mad that I am driving down right now. I have school. But does that even matter when I just lost my grandma? While driving, I send a quick text to James, 'My grandma passed away this morning..' I send another text to both Kali and Melissa, 'My grandma passed away this morning. On my way home.' Even after writing it three times, it doesn't feel real. Just as I am north of West Bend, I receive a Facebook message from my cousin Shannon. At the end of the long message, she asks how my mom is doing. For some reason, this confirms exactly what I needed. I need to go down and I need to be with my mother.
When I hit Lannon Road, I call my aunt to confirm that they are at Community Memorial in Menomonee Falls. They're not. They're at Froedtert. My Aunt tries to explain directions to me, where I should park, how I can get to the private family room they are in. I don't listen. I speed to Froedtert, drive toward the main entrance of the hospital, park in the parking garage that I've parked in so many times to visit my Grandma. This time, I won't be going to visit her. I'm going here to say goodbye to her.
I park the car, get out into the hospital, tears rolling down my eyes. I frantically enter each waiting room, anxious to see a familiar face. I don't see them. I call my aunt and she guides me toward the Adult ER waiting room. I enter and don't see them. Frustrated, I turn around and immediately hear my aunt call my name. I run into the private family room where I hug and cry with my dad, my aunt, my uncle, and then enter a room connected to the private family waiting area where my mom is standing beside a hospital bed where my grandma is.
I never knew that I would see the soul-less body of my grandma. I never thought that it would hit me so hard to see the lack of life in her body. It was your time. But why did it have to be so soon?
I would give anything for one hug from you. One more conversation. One more smile. One more moment. Just one.
You left and I feel so blessed to know that the last words I spoke to you were "I love you."
Thank you for almost 23 years of unconditional love, endless support, and wonderful memories. Thank you for being the amazing Grandma that you were. Thank you, above all, for bringing a little light into this dark world.
May you rest in peace.
Until we meet again, always and forever,
Your Granddaughter
AKA " (Self-Proclaimed) Number 1 Grandchild"
