My Grandmother's Death

The morning after my grandmother was released from the hospital to go back to our house, my aunt called me out of my room because my grandmother wanted to tell me something. I went, excited because she hadn't spoken in three days, as she was heavily drugged. I walked into her room, smiling. I was so confused because my aunt was in tears. "This was a good thing. She's finally getting better," I thought.

I thought wrong.

"She wanted to say goodbye," my aunt sobbed.

I was in disbelief. I screamed at her to take my grandmother back to the hospital. She said it was too late and nothing could be done.

My grandmother finally died of cancer three days later, even through my stupid denial.

My grandmother began raising me after my mother's death

I knew from the moment she told me "I have cancer, but everything will be okay," that I was going to lose her, even though I, and everyone around me, was in denial.

My grandmother is the only person in my life that never left me of their own accord, be it moving away or what have you. For a year and a half, I watched the one consistent source of gaiety fall to the darkness that consumed the outside world when I never thought she would leave me. With her death came the moment I knew that I would have to mature because I no longer had any parents to lean on. It was a painful abyss and a loss of innocence.

The day after I lost her, I breathed. I went on as normal. I even smiled. I knew that there was nothing that being sad could do about her pain or passing. I knew that I had to do one thing for her because she dedicated 17 years of her life to me, which was live my life and never give up. No matter what happened, I knew that I could never just break down. No one would be there. Through her death, I learned to be independent and strong. Even though I would do anything to have my grandmother back, I've come to realize that her death shaped me into a person much more powerful than the coddled child that I use to