Flashlights

I've been missing my grandma a lot lately. She has been gone a little over 3 years now, and while the pain of not having her here has slowly gotten better, I still enter into times when I just want to hear her voice. I want her to comfort me and tell me everything is going to be okay. I want her to crack a completely unfunny joke, and then I want to hear her laugh at said unfunny joke.

Before Jason and I decided to have another baby we approached my grandma to see if she would be able to babysit the baby while I was student teaching. She was babysitting Tripp part-time and had a very special bond with him, but we knew that she was getting more and more tired. We assumed it was because of her diabetes and getting older in general. She agreed to babysit this one last baby- she had cared for many, many children over the years- but said that he or she would be her last.

When I was 5 months pregnant we found out my grandma had pancreatic cancer. My entire family was devastated. What would we do without her? Surely there was a way she could beat this disease. We hoped and prayed and researched.

My mom, my aunts, and I were at the oncology appointment with her when she decided that she was not going to be doing chemotherapy. She wanted to enjoy the life she had left, and she worried that the chemo would make her too sick to do so. Meanwhile, the rest of us were afraid for her. Would she start suffering? Was there anything we could do to help? Should we look into alternative options? But we were also afraid for ourselves. Afraid that we would be losing a mom and a grandma way too soon.

When I was little I was raised in a home that, looking back seems like it would be straight out of a Hollywood film showcasing a huge, mish-mashed, group of family, working in a bats in the belfry type of way through this life together. My mom, my aunts, my grandma, foster kids, dogs, and cats all lived in our little house on Latham Lane.

As I got older, one by one, the people in that house started their own lives and left the nest. My grandma herself remarried and moved away from our home. But that didn't stop me from wanting to be with her as much as I could. We had countless memories together.

She took me to see Pikes Peak in Colorado, Mount Rushmore in South Dakota, and Old Faithful in Wyoming. We would get into the car, pop in a book on tape, and drive and drive. She would stop along the way at little creeks she found or antique shops dotted along the highway. One of our favorite road trip pastimes was to find dilapidated cemeteries and do crayon rubbings of the oldest headstones we could find. To this day I haven't been able to find anyone else to do that one with me!

I would spend the night at her house at least once a week. We would go to movies, or out to dinner at Fuddruckers. If I was really lucky she would take me to Tippins, because as she knew, pie was my absolute favorite treat.

During the summers I spent countless hours at her house- climbing trees, creating detective companies (thank you Mary-Kate and Ashley), starting businesses (bead lizards, anyone?), and playing with popsicle sticks and her hot glue gun. She taught me very important life skills, like how to sew and how to appreciate day time soap operas (Is Stefano still alive, y'all?).

My grandma was so much more than a grandparent to me.

When I was sad, or angry or hurt, my grandma always knew exactly what to say to make me feel safe. She had the softest hugs I have ever felt. When she folded me in her arms the warmth and peace were almost instant.

And I was losing her.

Four months after my grandma's original diagnosis my mom called me and told me that my grandma was in the hospital. She was feeling very weak and tired and they admitted her. They ran tests while we all waited for answers. It wasn't long until they found that she had yet another primary cancer in her colon. She decided to come home, and to set up hospice services.

I remember being 7 months pregnant and not feeling well. I went over to my mom's (where my grandma was living at the time) and curled up on the couch. She came over to me, laid my head in her lap and stroked my hair. Even when she was battling two different types of cancer, and having to come to terms with the end of her life, she was still comforting me. I cried and cried and cried because I knew that this might be one of the last times I would ever have this comfort.

By the middle of April she was getting weaker and weaker. I selfishly begged God not to take her before Easton was born, but she was in pain both emotionally and physically. I went to my moms one morning and she was sitting in her wheelchair in the kitchen, crying. I hugged her and told her how sorry I was, and she whispered "me too". It was one of the most heart-wrenching moments of my entire life.

On April 29th, 2015, my grandma lost her fight with pancreatic/colon cancer. My mom, aunts, and I were at the house the entire day. We sat with her, laid with her, and held her hand. We gave her morphine so she would not feel any pain. Even though her eyes were closed and she had not spoken in over a day, we talked to her like she was still able to hear us. When we started noticing her breathing becoming more labored we sat around her and told her it was okay. We told her we would be okay.

The problem was, it wasn't okay. I felt lost without her. I relied on her so much- to diagnose any ailment I had, to offer me words of wisdom, to remind me how many tablespoons of chili powder needed to go into Fiesta Soup, to just be there.

While looking through old journal entries the other day I found one that I wrote on May 1st, 2015. I was so obviously broken and reading my words of sadness reminded me of how empty I sometimes still feel without her. But then, I read something that made me smile. This is what I wrote:

"I asked Noah yesterday (through my tears), if he thought there were trees and flowers in Heaven. Everything has just started blooming and becoming very green, and I knew she wanted to enjoy the nice weather. Being diagnosed in the winter when it was cold and frigid was not ideal, but really, when would be?

Noah assured me that there were trees and flowers, and anything else that Grandma would want. Then, he held up a flashlight that he was holding. The flashlight had two sides. When he touched the 'on' button to one of the sides it didn't work. He told me that Grandma was a lot like the flashlight. She had run out of batteries here on Earth. Then, he flipped it to the other side and hit the 'on' button and the flashlight lit up. He said, 'this is what happened to Grandma when she went to Heaven. Her batteries were recharged.'"

He was eight years old at the time.

While I am not sure if missing my Grandma will ever get easier, I think of Noah and his infinite wisdom at eight years old. Her time here on Earth was up, but she is not gone. I will see her again, and she will hold me again. And every time I see a Cardinal or a Hummingbird I am reminded of her. I like to think that she gives me these little nudges from Heaven to let me know that she is alright, and that I will be too.

Until next time,

XOXO Aly