Elephant in the Room

"It's the elephant in the room
And we pretend that we don't see it..." (the truth by kris allen)

...and were all great pretenders, we have to be. No one wants to admit they're thinking it, not even to themselves. But I have to admit it or it's going to incapacitate me. So hear goes nothing...this could be Grandmas last Easter.

Having the family around, everyone together, gives everyone this bitter sweet taste in their mouths. We love being together but were faced with the reality of losing the one that makes us feel complete. Today I wondered, if we sacrificed spending holidays together could we somehow lengthen Grandmas time. An unrealistic notion without a doubt, but sometimes potentially devastating times call for thoughts of impossible measures.

The worst part about this whole situation is not that my grandmothers dying, but the fact that she has a hard time enjoying the things she should. She knows all too well that her days are numbered and she can't forget, she can barely pretend otherwise. While the house is full of headache inducing commotion (that we wouldn't trade for the world) the truth can be ignored, there's plenty to distract you. However as everyone says their goodbyes and head for their respective homes, the silence settles in. And with the silence comes the truth. My grandmother has this unmistakeable look, it's the one that tells me she's thinking about everything she wishes she could forget. She had that look all day long. When all the family was finally gone she said everything the rest of us couldn't. This could be Grandmas last Easter.

We worry about what this family will look like when the one who makes us feel complete is gone, though none of us would admit that. The hardest part for us, is that she worries about it too.

Dont Be Afraid to Share

About a month ago we learned that the clinical trial medication my grandmother was taking wasnt working, the CAT scan showed that her tumor had grown. We asked the doctor what the chemo options were, we scheduled an appointment for the day that she would start it, had the prescriptions filled, and then waited for that day to arrive. However at this doctors appointment no one wanted to ask the only question that was really important, what her prognosis was if she did nothing. I had to know. The doctor said, "at best, one year" and then he apologized. I had to walk back into that hospital room so I couldn't call apart...but I wanted to. One year at best. Not surprising, but not easy to hear either. Later that week I told my cousin. Her initial response was that we knew that already, that's what the doctor said the first time around. My cousin is like me, we don't wear our hearts on our sleeves all the time, in our family it's not a luxury we have nor is it one we would take advantage of even if we did. My cousin and I were headed out for some drinks with a friend, and somehow we landed on the subject of our dying grandmother. At that point the tears were inevitable. She looked at me and said, "it's not much time". 

Sometimes it's better to say nothing then to try to find comforting words, and so I said nothing. I felt the same way, and I knew that there was nothing that I could hear that would make me feel better, so why bother? However, that statement resonated with me, I couldn't shake it. There was so much more to be said, but what? It took me a few days to shed even the slightest amount of hope through the finality of this situation, but finally I did. What you will read next is my attempt at finding the silver lining...


One year.

Maybe less.
But not more.
One year.
It's not much time.
With life in the fast lane years pass like days.
One year.
One birthday.
One Thanksgiving.
One Christmas.
One less then we thought she'd miss.
One year.
Maybe less.
At most, 365 days we can choose not to take for granted.
One year.
Maybe less.
But not more.
One year.
It's not much time.
But maybe it's enough.
One year to say 'i love you'.
365 days to say 'thank you'.
8,760 hours worth of memories.
525,600 breath taking moments.
31,536,000 seconds you'll never have again.
One year.
Maybe less.
It's not much time.
But maybe it's enough.


Initially I posted this on my blog "Sweet Silver Lining", I was skeptical to post it on my facebook because I'm friends with all my family, and I wasn't ure of their reaction. It's a touchy subject as you can imagine. However I had this nagging thought that I should and run this risk of offending someone. It's God's way of reminding me that I wrote it for a reason, my cousin sparked something, but left it in a hopeless state, and I was supposed to bring it full circle with my words. I posted it on facebook and I asked that no one comment on it. Tonight my cousin read it. Afterward I got this text, "just read 'maybe it's enough'. i love your words and i love you." This situation needs hope, and if I have that I can't be afraid to share it!

Life Ends with Death

Death is definite, there are no "sort of's" or "maybe's", it either is or it isn't the reality. And if death is the reality then it also means you'll be faced with an indefinite number of goodbyes void of a hello.


As a kid I never thought about my grandmother dying and not that I was unaware of death, my first funeral was at age five, but when someone has always been there you don't imagine them gone. But here I am, pushing twenty-three years old and looking after my dying grandmother. Now don't get me wrong, I'm doing it willingly and I love it, but it's hard sometimes. Currently she has a doctors appointment every tuesday, after which I make my round of phone calls: one cousin, four aunts, and my parents. It's during those calls that I wonder how much longer until I make the call that no one wants to get? When she naps during the day I'll go check on her and sometimes I can't tell if she's breathing and I don't want to wake her so I'll stand and watch until I know it's okay to leave. I wonder if she'll die at home or in the hospital, if it will be painful or if she'll pass in her sleep, peacefully. I wonder if I'm the one that will find her. I try not to think about this at all, for one she wouldn't want me to, and two, I would go crazy with worry. But sometimes I can't help it.


No matter your age (or theirs) death is never easy to deal with and at age five I never dreamed that eighteen years would pass and I would find myself here. I will never be sorry for the decision that I made, but that doesn't make it easier.


Heaven and hell aside, life on this earth end wih death and that is forever...