Grandma's Last Days


It all seemed to happen so fast. There was no time to waste. We all knew what was happening, and nothing could be done...nothing but to wait around for a miracle.
I remember the whole ordeal as if it happened just last week, when it actually took place about two years ago this October. It started out with nothing but a minor fever and ended up with something no one expected.
Her name was Mittie Nettles Sizemore and she was my great-grandmother on my mothers side of the family. Her name had a unique ring to it: "Mittie Nettles". That was what I called a 'classic'. She was born in 1920 and raised during the Great Depression...so she always had plenty of toilet paper, food, etc. to go around. I still remember looking behind her bedroom door and seeing the tower of toilet paper and paper towels. It was amusing actually.
She was a christian and member of the Church of God and loved it. She went as much as possible. Grandma is what I called her. She loved talking about the Lord and church.
I still remember walking into her house every Christmas Eve and smelling the wood stove burning and seeing her little silver christmas tree in the window with the presents on the table and floor beneath. Grandpa's chair was always taken...people loved it. (He passed away in 1991). The house was very small you could see every room in it if you were standing in the right place. Her kitchen was where myself and the rest of the grandchildren would play. The tiles on the floor were yellow and green and we made them into imaginary...anythings. We played hopscotch and tried to stay only on the green tiles. Her kitchen chairs were the kind that stuck to your legs if you sat there for a while. Her living room was full of people.
She lived in the bad part of town...but while inside, it seemed so peaceful. In the front window there was a gun shot hole...but I don't know who shot it. Across the street were apartments full of prostitutes and gang members.
I still remember her smell, but I couldn't describe it to you. It's something that has stuck in my head for a long time. I think all grandparents have a certain smell...in their house and on them.
We never saw my grandma much....actually maybe twice a year. And she didn't live but maybe fifteen minutes away. And it was kind of ironic that about two months before she was diagnosed with cancer that my parents were talking about going to visit her more. After all, she lived all by herself. We went to see her around July of that year. She showed me picture books and told me stories. I saw some neat pictures of her daughter (my mom's mom) and her wedding. I was afraid to ask for them...but she gave them to me anyway. My mom made some coffee and joined us. My dad was out in her yard, mowing for her. As we were leaving, grandma gave me a hug that seemed to choke me and last for a long time. She told me to come and visit her more often.
About three months later, grandma was staying with my mom's mom, who I call mawmaw (I'm southern, what did you expect?). And just in case I say it, my grandpa is pawpaw. Anyway, I remember going over to mawmaw's one Sunday and seeing grandma there. She was watching tv and seemed to be doing fine. She had come from the doctor and they told her she had a cold...or something like that.
It was about two weeks later that grandma had to go back to the doctor. This time they told her that she had something on her liver and they needed to check her into the hospital.
My mom, myself, my aunts, and mawmaw visited grandma in the hospital. She was pretty friendly and seemed like she was fine. But at one point she said something. Something I think everyone there will remember. She hadn't even been diagnosed with anything yet, but she said something that hurt our hearts. She told us all that we should all be very good and she'd see us in Heaven. It struck as to why would she say that...and it hurt us...bad. She knew what was going to happen to her. The doctor came in not too long after and told her that she had cancer and had about two months. We all were on the verge of tears.
Grandma was at the hospital for about a week. She was staying with my mawmaw for the time being. While my parents were visiting her one night at the hospital, they experienced something beyond explanation. When they got home, they tried to tell me what happened and why they were so late. They told me that she was singing church songs and was for sure there was an angel by the window. She told the people who were there that they couldn't leave...my parents thought then, by the way she was acting that she was leaving us that night.
She didn't stay at my mawmaw's too long. Maybe four days at the most. Hospice was helping to make her last days worth while. They provided a hospital bed, some oxygen, and other medical things. My family went to visit her at mawmaws and I can remember seeing a bag by her side full of blood. It was scarring me to see her just lying there, helpless. My mom and aunt tried feeding her, but she couldn't eat. It was pitiful. One of my little cousins was there as well and he went into the room she was in. She told him to be a good boy.
On October 9, my parents, two of my best friends, one of the girls parents and I went to the county fair. we rode all of the rides and played games. It was...I'm trying to remember...about 1:00 when a storm came by. We ran to the petting zoo, under shelter until it passed. It was when the storm was over that my friend heard an announcement over the loudspeaker for Randy and Brenda Boyd to come to the Information Booth. As we walked to the booth, my knees buckled and I was stiff. My throat got a lump in it and I was on the verge of tears. I felt short of breath and people kept staring at me. I knew exactly why they had paged my parents...I knew my grandmother had died.
I was only frightened of very few things then: death, graveyards, and needles. I guess you can call me graveyard-a-phobic? It's something I have no explanation as to why...I have always been that way.
When my parents recieved the call, they were ready to leave. I on the other hand was so weak and nervous and scared. I couldn't go to my mawmaws and see them take her to the hurse. I felt bad for staying, but I did. My friends parents took me to my mawmaws later that night. I walked in and saw all of my family. They were standing around talking. I was shocked to see them talking. I thought everyone would have been silent and crying. I was shaking when I slumped down into the couch. My great-aunt sat beside me and hugged me. I seemed to be fine, physically after that. Emotionally I was wearing away.
The next day I decided to go to school. As we were talking in the halls, a close friend of mine, Keisha, was telling me she knew how I felt. (Her father, at the age of 40 had died a week earlier). I started to think about my grandmother and I started crying. A lot of my friends came up to me and hugged me. One friend took me to the counselour.
That night was the funeral. I was so nervous about going. I was afraid. It was a fear I had to overcome. I walked in and saw the casket...a pretty good distance away. I stood as far as possible. It was so beautiful. The casket was white in color and had a variety of flowers on it and people were admiring them. As the night came, I ended up half-way over coming the fear. I had worked my way to about five feet from my grandma.
The next day we went to the church. As people walked in, they all walked by to look at grandma one last time. I didn't. That was what I felt the worst about throughtout the whole ordeal. I should've came over my fear and looked at my grandma once more. But I didn't. I sat down about four rows from the front. As the preacher talked, I looked around and noticed everyone crying. I felt bad because I wasn't crying. I couldn't figure it out. Even men were, but I wasn't. I was wondering if anything was wrong with me. I was sad and I felt like crying, I just couldn't.
As we were walking out of the church I just broke my pipes and cryed really hard. I rode with my aunt to the graveyard. It seemed to last a long. When we arrived, I saw my dad (who was a pallbearer) and the others take the casket out and place it on that holder. My cousin hugged me and took me over with one of my aunts and I stood with her. I turned while the preacher talked and looked all around the graveyard. It seemed so big. It was big. I wanted to disappear then, but I couldn't. I looked by my foot an saw my great grandfathers grave. My sister came up to me with two roses in her hand. She handed me one and we walked to the casket. It was the closest I had came to it and for that minute as I stood that close, I wasn't afraid. I walked to my dad and hugged him. He walked me to the van and I sat in it until we went home.
My grandmother didn't have a will, so the family went to her house the next day and picked out a few things we each wanted. I got some of her whatt-nots and some old pictures and a horseshoe my grandfather had gotten at Blowing Rock, NC.
It was hard for me to deal with my grandmothers death. It was really the first one I had known. I had only been to my grandfathers funeral, and I was small when I went to it. It was an experience I'll never forget.
Truthfully, I am still terrified to step into a graveyard....and I don't know why.
And these were grandma's last days.


I would also like to add that I hope that my 8th grade social studies teacher who has won her battle over cancer once before, become successful for her second round! I miss you Mrs. Brown! (She had cancer once before, beat it and now, two years later, it has returned. Get well!). You're a FIGHTER !

AAfter a five year battle with cancer, my 8th grade teacher, Mrs. Becky Brown, died of cancer on January 9, 2000. She will be dearly missed. :'(
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