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Grandma's Song by Nicole M. Robinson On January 5, 2002, my grandmother passed away of cancer. From time to time, everyone thinks about possible events that are simply unbearable. Lots of times an unexpected event, such as the death of a parent, is quite impossible to fathom. My grandmother leaving me was one of those impossible events. Being raised by a single parent was one of the reasons. While my mom spent most of the day at work, I would stay home with my grandmother. I believe my grandmother taught me more in those years than in all the years of my schooling. She taught me how to spell my name, how to count to a hundred, and finally how to say my ABC's. It was no wonder that by the time I was ready to head off to my first day of pre-k, I was already ahead of my class. My grandmother always stressed the importance of education, but she also taught me that family came first. I remember one day back in kindergarten, I came home crying because a fellow classmate had hit me with one of the toy bricks in the play area. This boy was my worst enemy.. I informed my grandma of the incident, and the next day she was ready for action. She calmly packed my bags, grabbed my lunch, and we walked hand in hand to the school grounds. Upon arriving to the school, she asked me to point out the culprit. Shyly, I extended my small finger to the boy sitting in the corner. She then proceeded to go to the front of the class, and informed the teacher that she had an important announcement to make. "If anyone messes with my granddaughter again, they will have to deal with me. I'll teach that child a lesson they won't soon forget," she stated, "and if anybody's parents have a problem with that, I'll teach them a lesson too." She then walked out the class as if nothing happened, but from that day on I felt my self-esteem rise a hundred percent. Although we never talked about the situation again, I always knew that she was looking out for me. From that day on, I knew that she'd always be there. Believe it or not, the only person who could cook in my household was my grandmother. My mom cleaned, my grandmother cooked, my grandfather watched the football game on the big television in the family room, and I constantly took time out from my toys to ask when dinner was ready. That was just how things worked in my family. Occasionally, when I got a bit older, my grandmother would let me come in the kitchen to see how things worked. She'd show me how to make macaroni and cheese, meatloaf, cornbread, and every other recipe her southern heart could cook up. To this day, I can only cook how and what she showed me during those special moments as a child. Ask me to cook anything else, and I'll look at you like you shot somebody and asked me to be your cover up. I was my grand mommy's baby. I was her youngest grandchild, and on top of that I lived with her. She could see me, and spoil me on a daily basis. Whenever I did something wrong or needed a partner in crime, my grandma was there for the job. I recall the day I broke her flower pot in the front yard. I was outside skating during the early months of spring, and I began to fall. I attempted to hang on to the flower pot for balance, but that feat proved unsuccessful. The first person to see was my mom, and I really got it. The first thing out her mouth was that I couldn't go on the school trip to Burger King that week. I was so devastated that I cried the whole day. "Grandma, grandma please let her change her mind. Why is she being so mean? I didn't mean to do it." I whined. "Hush, let granny take care of this." This was all she said. The next day after my mom had left for work making sure to remind my grandma about not letting me go on the field trip, my grandma did the opposite and signed my permission slip. She gave me detailed instructions on how to act when my mom came home, and that I should never tell her what went on. I swore that the day's events would stay between us. Eventually, after my grandmother died, I did inform my mom on what actually happened. Ironically, she said she already knew! Now nearing my 20th birthday, I gather it was mother's instinct. Either that, or she knew more than I did about my grandmother's shenanigans. However at the time, I felt powerful. I knew something that my mom didn't, and my grandma was on my side. My teacher found my permission slip suspicious, and asked why my parent hadn't signed it. I told her that my grandmother was considered my guardian as well. I mean, she did always tell me I was her child and that my mom had simply adopted me out of loneliness. My teacher walked out, and came back ten minutes later saying that my grandmother had admitted to signing it, and that it was ok for me to go. At first, her illness began as mere back pain. Seeing that she wasn't one to complain, my family and I didn't think much of it. However, upon going to the doctor about a month later, it was found that she had a growing tumor in her side. She was then given chemotherapy, but the chemo made her so weak that by the time she was rushed to the hospital, her legs had completely given out. Unfortunately, this was also around the Thanksgiving holiday. Being the matriarch of the family, my grandmother was the one to do all the cooking and hosting during special occasions. While my aunt tried her best to fill in during her absence, we were all missing her presence and her down south entrees. I would call to check up on her, and she would reassure me that everything would be ok. I took her word for it, and tried to focus on other things besides her illness. This being my senior year of high school, I was working extremely hard so that she could attend my graduation. However, it is with great sadness that I report that my grandmother did not physically make it to my graduation. I did not get to see her in the rows of my school auditorium as I shook hands with my high school principal, and was handed my Regents diploma with honors. Nonetheless, I do believe she was there in spirit. For the past two years, I have been depressed over this great loss. I am still grieving, but in the past I always found ways to ignore my true feelings. Whenever I felt sad, I would always occupy myself with other things to do. I stopped being social by locking myself in my room 24/7, and only coming out for food, or occasional trips to the bathroom. This was how I was determined to live out the rest of my life. Even when I came to college, I found myself in a small dorm room with no one to talk to. I tried consuming myself with work, but I soon found out that it was nothing but a quick road to exhaustion. I had to find a social life, but that was so hard to do in a world full of people who don't understand. They don't know what it is like to live in a different world. When someone that close to you is gone, it feels like a part of you has died along with them. People don't comprehend how hard it is not to breakdown in tears simply because you hear the sound of laughter. To you, it seems as if it is impossible to believe that without that person, laughter could possibly still exist in the world. It is impossible to believe that life continues. It is a never-ending task trying to retrain yourself how to laugh, and how to be truly happy again. There has been so many times where I just felt like giving up. Everyone would say that she is here in spirit, but that is so hard to believe because I am use to seeing her physically on a daily basis. I would assume that my depression became worse because of false hopes. Although this may sound crazy, I would convince myself that if I stayed at school for a long time, when I finally came home she would be there. I especially did this type of thinking around holidays and birthdays. I would convince myself that if I really needed her, then she would somehow magically appear. I was clearly not ready to live without her. For this reason, I hate to be around other people. My resentment towards her absence slowly spilled over into my everyday life. I turned into a very mean person, and it took me awhile to accept God's will towards the situation. Everything was always why me and I hate life. Little things like people walking too slow when I was in a rush to someone trying to hold a conversation with me when I didn't feel like being bothered would spark anger. I'd blow up at just about everybody for anything I could think of. During high school, this type of distance was relatively easy. I went to school, came home, went to my room, did my homework, and went to sleep. However, in college, it was the total opposite. The fact that I have to constantly deal and compromise with people has added stress to the mixture. I am one who likes to be alone almost a hundred percent of the time, and having a roommate who stays in the room 24/7 has not given me any space to breathe, let alone cry when I feel the urge. It doesn't make it easier living with three other females in a small college apartment. Some days I close my eyes and just wish everything and everyone around me would disappear. During those times, the only person I want to see is my grandmother, and if that is not possible then I don't want to deal with anyone else. This may seem like a typical story of grief over the loss of a loved one. However, if you think so you are gravely mistaken. You see my grandmother, along with the majority of my family members, smoke. You always see fancy tobacco ads on television, and even in magazines devoted to people my age. What the tobacco companies don't put in print is the damage that cigarettes cause to people like me. People who choose not to light a cigarette, but still have to live with its consequences. Everyday that I wake up, I will always wonder if it wasn't for the devil that is nicotine, would my grandmother still be alive today? If it wasn't for all the formaldehyde, tar, gasoline, and all the other carcinogens in cigarettes, would my grandmother have seen my graduation? Would she have been in attendance at my wedding, or when my children are born? She was barely a senior citizen, but I do believe that cigarette smoking stole many years of her life. Therefore, every time I walk past someone with tears in their eyes, my tears will flow for a different reason. I am also very close to my mom, and she smokes as well. It has been extremely hard to get her to quit, but I continue to fight because I cannot stand to lose anyone else to smoking. Now in college, I plan to obtain my Bachelor of Science degree in Professional and Technical Communication. I am focusing on Biomedical Computing, so that one day I can write programs and work with medical applications that will in turn help cancer patients. My ultimate goal is to write a book based on this very experience. Hopefully by doing so, I can honor the life of my grandmother, and in turn change the lives of others. If I could only touch one person, make one person aware of the dangers smoking does to them and their loved ones, then I will believe that everything was worthwhile. I am slowly healing, but I believe that God knows what he is doing. There is a season for everything under the sun, and there is a reason for why things happen. I am determined to turn this into a positive experience. I accept that God has a plan for my life whether my grandma is here with me physically or not. My goal remains the same. My grandmother was a fun, strong, loving, and caring person. She was always one to believe that the meaning of life doesn't just revolve around the self, but focuses around how you can make yourself useful to those around you. No one will remember the materialistic things you owned, nor the exact words you said to them, but what they will remember is what you did for them. My grandmother brought me laughter, she gave me strength, and bestowed her wisdom upon me. She was my guidance, my provider, and most importantly my inspiration. Granny, this one is for you. Nicole M. Robinson |
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