Raye Halabuza
I have not witnessed a lot of bad things in my life. I feel as if I have been shielded in a way; which isn’t always a bad thing. Not a lot has hit close to home, until about a year ago. Some say when a loved one passes away the first Christmas is the hardest; and that may be so, but it is definitely hard if they go close to Christmas.
My grandma passed away on December 1st, 2017. The whole family knew it was coming of course, just we didn’t think so soon. She had been diagnosed with cancer, stage four be to exact. It was about two years ago we got the news from her. Everyone was crying, except for me, which made me feel weird in a way. Like there was something wrong with me. Why did I not feel it like everyone else? It didn’t sink in; I didn’t feel sad. I felt awful, since everyone had tears, and I sat there tearless.
She had surgery a little later. My parents, sister, cousins, aunt and I sat in the waiting room, waiting for the news that would come soon. But the news was not what we were expecting. Apparently the cancer had spread, and the doctors couldn’t remove it all. They then gave her two years, which is what she would get to. Still, that didn’t sink in to me. I cried because others were crying. I didn’t feel anything, not like everyone else felt. I was numb. But I tried not to dwell on it.
After the surgery, she tried to get rid of it herself. She went through chemotherapy, and that helped a bit. She also went to this specialist and she gave her certain vitamins to take, and told her which foods to eat and stay away from. That worked for awhile as well. She was in remission, and we all thought she might get through this. But, with stage four cancer, it is never completely gone. It always came back, like a boomerang, but less playful.
It began to escalate, it got worse and worse. Eventually my grandparents and aunt came over to our house, with news we really didn’t want to hear. She had just had an appointment that day, and the doctors gave her six more months. Six more months to go out. To spend time with friends, with family. Six more months to be happy, to breathe, to live. But she would not last that long. She became very sick very fast. Not leaving the house at all. She became bones, which looked very brittle. She did not look healthy any longer. She barely ate; she needed help with everything, and was in pain half the time. This was all hard to watch. Disturbing to see.
The family tried to visit her as often as they could. But for me that wasn’t often. I went to see her maybe twice every two weeks; unlike my sister who went almost every day. However that didn’t mean I loved her any less than my sister, I just felt I was more busy. Although I had never been that close to that side of the family. Well, those grandparents anyways. Not as close as my sister was. But even now I don’t greatly regret not spending more time with her, not as much as I thought I would. I did spend the last two days with her, however I had work and school that I felt were more important at the time, but now I know these things were not as important. I had other things in my life, which now that I am typing this it sounds as if I’m trying to make excuses for myself. Excuses as to why I didn’t visit my sick grandmother more often.
She tried some “medication” to try and take the pain away, and that helped a bit as well. Although it was eating at her. It grew and grew and wouldn’t give her a chance to breathe. The pain wouldn’t stop she would say, and that was terrible. Terrible to hear. Terrible to think of.
The day came when she told us she would not last the six months, for she applied for M.A.I.D: Medical Assistance In Dying. Or another term used to describe it, assisted suicide. She had been so doped up on medication we didn’t know if the doctors would let her. Her consent might have not been valid. But she had begun to lose it, not knowing exactly what was going on around her, which is scary to think this could happen to all of us when old age takes us. But the nurses let her. They believed she was capable of making that choice for herself. However then, the question would now be whether or not she would back out last minute. Although, now we know she wouldn’t do that.
During that week, I didn’t go to school on the Thursday and Friday, the family spent the day with her all Thursday. People dropped and stopped by. She made this speech to everyone how she would miss all of us, and tears begun to pour. Even the family members I had never seen cry began to sob. This was a very odd sight.
“Are you crying?” I found myself asking once or twice, which now thinking of it was not a great thing to ask at that moment.
I still remember my grandma’s tearful face as she looked at me with sad eyes. Eyes that were saying, “I won’t be here to see you any longer. I won’t see my youngest granddaughter grow anymore and graduate high school.”
We looked at pictures that day, and spoke of memories we all had together. And I think we were all surprised my grandma spent the whole day with everyone. At those days she usually didn’t like much noise anymore; and became tired quickly. But she spent the whole day with us, without taking a break from the noise.
It became night time, and she then was asking to be brought to bed. One by one we all went into her room and said goodnight to her. I was one of the first ones. As I walked into her room she looked as if she was already asleep. We shared a few tears, like everyone had once they walked out of the room.
“Don’t cry,” she said to me, as we both cried some more. A pause stumbled over, and then came my line.
“I will be thinking of you when I graduate.”
At the time I didn’t think anything of this line. But after it was all said and done I realized how stupid that had sounded. I wouldn’t just be thinking of her when I graduate, I will be thinking of her always. Maybe not every second of every day, but I will be thinking of her during moments in my lifetime, not just at grad.
Although nobody wanted the next day to come, we all knew it had to. That Friday was the day the nurses would come and take her away from us, something that she wanted. But not to be taken from us, she just wanted the pain to be over. We would miss her, and she would miss us, but this is what she wanted for herself, and I just wanted her to be out of pain and to be happy once again.
It happened at 12:00pm. We got there around 11:00am, and spent the last hour of her life with her. Not to sound dramatic, but that’s what happened. More tears filled our eyes as she was taken into the spare bedroom and lied down as the nurses first explained to us what would happen. They would first put an IV line into her arm, and “medicines” as they called it would flow. The first one would be to make her go to sleep. The second one would put her into a coma, and the last would stop her heart. The process would be quick they assured us, and would be a peaceful process as well. And it certainly was. It seemed very peaceful.
We all crowded into the tiny bedroom, surrounding the bed where my grandma lied. The nurses by her side asking quick questions.
“Are you ready Barb?” One of the kind nurses asked.
“I’m ready,” her final decision would be.“Goodbye everyone,” she then said right after, that being her final words. That was what set off the water works for everyone. The flood gates that held the tears some of us were trying to hold back. And just those words she had said, was definitely hard to hear. But those words still stick with me. I can still hear her quivering voice saying it.
“Goodbye.”
A few moments later the nurses announced she had passed, which every person in that tiny room held each other for what seemed like a very long time. Not believing that my grandma was really gone, that I would not see her kind, loving face again.
“No more pain,” my grandpa said as he was still holding onto my grandma’s recently deceased hand.
Eventually we all left the room, and thanked the nurses as they began to leave. Some of us went back into the room later to say our goodbyes, but I did not do this. It creeped me out in a way, as terrible as that might sound. Knowing that she was gone and it was only her body left behind; a shell. She would begin to get cold and the colour would drain from her face, turning her more into a corpse as she would grey out. And another thing, it was weird to think she was no longer in there. The part of her that made her who she was, her soul, it was no longer there.
“I don’t have a mother anymore,” my mom cried as she held me close.
“She will always be with you,” I explained to her, like the saying everyone says when they lose someone. But that isn’t a dramatic expression, it is true. You will always carry them with you; they will always be a part of you. How they impacted your life, especially if you are related.
The funeral home didn’t come to get her for a few hours. This continued to creep me out even more knowing her body was lying in the room next to us.
“It just looks like she’s sleeping,” my cousin of age 19 told me as she came out of the room after I had told her why I refused to go in there.
“But I know she is not,” I explained next again.
The whole rest of the day we spent time with my grandpa. We stayed until late that night, speaking about fond memories we had yet again. The room gave off this warm feeling, as if she was still there with us. She might very well have been, but none of us would know that for sure.
By the time that week was over, we were all sick of sandwiches; considering we brought too much food over and had to finish it up. It was too much for my grandpa to eat, so we ate sandwiches for breakfast, lunch and dinner, trying to polish them off.
Soon the days became weeks, the weeks to months, the months to a year, and here we are now. And everything feels weird again. I can’t seem to shake this feeling. It still hasn’t fully sunken in even though a year has passed. I don’t think it ever will. I know she’s gone, but it doesn’t feel real in a way, if that makes sense. We have now gotten use to some things. Like not having to ask which grandparents my parents are talking about, since I now only have one set. And also getting two grandparent cards, now we are just buying for one. Celebrating her birthday is different as well, as that date is only another day on the calendar. The small things are still sort of weird, but they have passed a bit, and have become the new normal. We have moved on from this grief, and life has continue. You don’t stop living once you lose someone.
However something odd hit be awhile back, something I have already mentioned. It was sad not seeing her on my graduation day. Convocation. She didn’t see me graduate, and we did not get to spend that happy day together. I like to think she may have been there in spirit, for I believe in those types of things. Ghosts I mean. But even if she had made it to June, she would not have been able to see me anyways. She would have been in worse condition then she was at that point, and she would have not been well enough to join. But she would still have been there but I could imagine she would be in more pain and suffering more, and I wouldn’t have wanted that. As bad as it sounds, I’m glad she went this way, instead of slowly fading out. She left us with dignity, the rest that she had. And now she can finally rest and is at ease, something I wanted for awhile now.
Memories have now come to the surface again, ones I have not thought of in a long time. Like for instance, when my cousins and I would sleepover at my grandparents’ house and my grandma would take us to the toy store. A store we would scream out loud when she asked us where we wanted to go that day. Now thinking of it, the store was a little hole in the wall. Dinky toys filled in cardboard boxes. Rows upon rows of dumb little toys, which would be shoved into the corners of my room and became long forgotten. Toys that my mom would eventually throw out claiming they were “junk that I never played with”. But nevertheless, we loved that store. We loved the times we spent together. All together.
Like I had said before, I had never felt I had been as close to those grandparents. The others, in my small, child mind were better in a way. Although now that I am older, I know that is not true. None of them are better than the others, they’re just different. Everyone is different, and that is a good thing.
Another memory came back when we were in the car. Every time a song would come on, my grandma would move her hand in a way to the rhythm. She wouldn’t dance like most people do; she would just wave her hand to the beat. It was quite funny to see. It looked more like a leaf blowing in the wind than a wrinkled hand.
I remember when I would see her I would run up and give her a hug and kiss on the cheek.
“I’m never going to wash this cheek again,” she would say in a gentle tone as she held the same cheek I just planted a kiss.
“Oh grandma,” I would say back as we both laughed. That was the routine every time I saw her as a child. A routine I laugh at now, as a warm smile is present on my face whenever I think of my recently deceased grandparents now.
She also had a thing for roosters. Many people like collecting certain things, and like specific animals. I for example like elephants and have many elephant decorations and figures in my room. My grandma liked roosters. She had figures of them and decorations everywhere. I now too, have one in my room. As she left she wanted us to take at least one, and I of course took the one that looked the nicest; if there is a thing as a nice looking rooster. My cousins and I liked to count the roosters from time to time. I got to 80 I believe once. But the joke we liked to make was:
“Out of all the animals to be obsessed with, why roosters?” I heard my mother ask once. They were not at all the prettiest.“They’re quite ugly,” my mom would say after my grandma would not respond, probably wondering herself what it was about them. And after that comment, laughter would emerge from thin air.
These are the memories I like to think about; not the ones in the end. The days she looked sickly and was in pain. A few weeks later we had her funeral, and we put out pictures of her from years back, when she looked healthy and happy. I was surprised to see them, forgetting all together that she had once looked like that. Now thinking of it, I don’t even remember her looking like that. All I see now in my memories is her skinny face, and the tears streaming down on the last day, as terrible as that sounds. But she was still there; the grandma I had remembered and thought of. She was still in there, but maybe not in tip top shape.
I never know how to quite end these true stories. This isn’t exactly made up; if it was, writing an end would be easy. But how do I end something that is still in the process? This story is more of just memories, things I have witnessed.
I think one of the weirdest things out of all of this is that we actually got to say goodbye. Most people, when someone passes away, don’t have a chance to say goodbye. It can happen so sudden; out of the blue perhaps. Death can be on its own clock. However this was something else, we were actually present when she passed away, and we actually got to to hold her hand as she left us all behind to join others. Others who have passed before. Going back to where this, our lives had all started.
I don’t know if I could have done it if I were in her shoes. I can’t imagine being put to sleep forever, and that is the end, you don’t wake up. I am not scared of dying per se, however what I can say I am afraid of is not knowing what lies beyond death. Where does one go? What is after this world? I think everyone has thought of that very thing once in their lifetimes. I cannot imagine being the only one with that thought. But really, what lies beyond life? Is there truly a God somewhere, a holy spirit that watches over all and everything on this earth? In our lives? I’m not entirely sure what I think, for I have been stuffed with ideas and other’s opinions on what there is after life. So many different ideas and takes on “heaven” that I can’t clearly think of the topic anymore without other peoples words getting to me. And the truth is to those unanswered questions, no one knows what there is after this world, except the ones who have left us and joined that afterlife. Although they cannot very well send postcards, that would be something if they could. But one day we will all experience what is beyond life, and those unanswered questions will eventually have answers.
My grandma seemed so sure of her choice; the way she didn’t even flinch when the IV was put into her arm, as she peered towards the flat ceiling in the tiny room, tears soaking in her eyes. But those tears were not from sadness or happiness, but crying tears from a survivor who just wanted her battle to be over. To come to an end. And it soon did come to an end, all within grieving and ticking moments. I can imagine my grandma didn’t care about that question, as to what was on the other side of life. All she knew for sure was that she would finally be out of pain, and finally at rest. If I had to choose I would have wanted her to stay. I would have wanted her well once again, and not to leave. However I loved my grandma, as much as I didn’t tell her, or say it too often, I most certainly did love her. And for that, I would have supported any decision she made, including this one. She just wanted this fight to be over. And she knew all the pain would disintegrate soon. And now it has, but that pain has transferred to others close to her. Although this pain is not the same; it will pass with time, as long as we have each other. Each other to hold close and to support, especially when the times get tough.
