Grandma Teresa


So, I’m surprised I haven’t talked about this before but some people may have seen the connection between two posts from last week. My poem on Wednesday and the short story from Friday were both centered around my Grandma.

Now first thing’s first, my Grandma was one of the greatest people in my life. She was loving and kind and incredibly selfless. She raised four kids almost completely by herself and went on to look after another six grandkids.

Then about seven or eight years ago, she went to the doctors. She was having migraines, dizzy spells, and just generally felt unwell. After what felt like months but was probably closer to several weeks, the doctors found that she had a tumor in her brain.

Now I was still fairly young so I wasn’t sure exactly what happened, but from what I knew she went and had radiation treatment to kill off the disruptive tissue.

Unfortunately, they didn’t get all of it. And one night, while in the hospital, my grandma had a stroke.

From that point on, Grandma was unable to walk or talk. She couldn’t dress or even feed herself. Her beautiful mind was trapped in a body that was now a prison, chained to a machine to keep her alive.

It was torture for me to see and not be able to do anything about it.

My family would visit her often and for a while she stayed in my home so we could take care of her ourselves. But I hated seeing her like this.

I would sit next to her bed and hold her hand, telling her what happened in school that week and what I was doing with my friends. And she heard me, but she couldn’t even show it.

So her kids, my three aunts and dad, made the decision to take her off life support. The whole family knew that she wouldn’t have wanted to live like that. It was a painful thing to let go but not as painful as seeing her imprisoned in her own body.

Every year we celebrate her life, both on her birthday and the anniversary of her death.

I’ll admit that I miss her; and some days harder than others. But I like to believe that she’s happy, even at peace.

One day I was going through old notes and letters she would write me and saw that my handwriting is almost exactly how hers looked.

Who knows, maybe she’s been helping guide me. I’d like to think that she is.

To those of you who’ve lost someone, I wish you peace. It’s a trial that doesn’t get any easier over the years, but it is possible.

Until next time x

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