Grandparents: My Backbone of Resilience and Love

"No, I'm sorry your grandfather will never be strong enough to withhold surgery." I heard from a deep voiced man standing across the room from my mom and I. When I was younger I lived with my mom and grandparents. My mom was a young, working, single mother with an alcohol addiction. My grandparents helped her tremendously. They were like a second set of parents just a little bit better because they would give me chocolate milk, the real chocolate milk! My grandma was a little sick but she still did everything for everyone. She taught me how to cook, bake, sew, garden and also how to swim. My grandpa on the other hand was my best buddy! Everywhere he went I went whether it was to the store, down the street to a neighbors house, or even to mow

the lawn after lunch. He was an amazing sign painter, that's how he made a living. Some places in Lockport today have his hand painted sign for their companies. He did smaller ones to for families He did most of his painting in our basement or "dungeon" as he used to call it when I was a kid, I had my own little paint station. I remember it so clearly. The stairs and walls and even the floor had paint everywhere and the thick aroma of paint thinner. Painting was one way we bonded closely. He was such a family man, just loved so intensely. Even when he was mad he still had the kindest heart of all hearts! He was the type of person that had the mindset of "Every stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet." Every one he met, he always put a smile on their face and could find anything to talk about. As time went on, I got older, they moved down south to North Carolina to retire in warmer weather since they had been in New York most of their lives my mom and I moved in with her boyfriend at the time. I still called and talked to them everyday. Like it was clockwork, 3:30 on the dot. Usually it was my grandpa that answered, we would talk about school, homework, my favorite classes, just about anything to be honest. I would visit them for the summers. I would leave after school was over and then they would make a trip to New York when school started in the fall. It was like a yearly tradition almost. Then one year, 2012, it was about two weeks before we were going to have to leave and he wasn't acting the same. He was tired, very tired and I had thought maybe it was the heat and then the shortness of breath came about, but he still insisted on going up there and we drive of course so I was nervous being he was the only driver. The trip took a very long time almost 24 hours when it usually takes about 12 to 13 hours. But we kept truckin along! But he was worse by the time we had gotten there and just kept getting worse until it was inevitable that he had to go to the doctor and get his heart checked out, he had a history of three heart attacks and congestive heart failure but he wasn't fond of the doctor at all. We got him an appointment at the local cardiologist through a friend of my moms. He had determined that he needed and ECG and an angiogram. So it was Friday September 21st, we were walking into Mercy General Hospital in Buffalo and he was instantly taken from the waiting room for his vitals and soon after that they started the procedure. It took two hours and forty five minutes! So we knew something wasn't right. He spent about a week in the hospital and for a couple of days due to not getting the right medications, at first we were told he wasn't coming back home with us and to spend as. Icy time with him as we could. But on the eighth day, he was discharged into a program called Hospice! One of the best home based programs I've ever heard of. The nurse, bishop, social worker and support system was absolutely amazing. They became part of our family honestly. They told us he had about six months.

They were right, I cherished every single day for five months and then I woke up Monday morning September 18th and I just knew something wasn't right. So I got home from school and everything was fine. My mom and I stayed with him until about 8 o'clock that night. We arrived home and 10 minutes later my aunt called and said to come fast, she can't even stand him up to use the bathroom because of the dead weight. In that moment, my entiRe world came crashing down and I felt my heart break into millions of pieces. I packed my bag and greased up there and prayed the whole way to let me get one last I love you. I did on Saturday September 23rd when I woke up in the middle of the night, he was gone. We all stayed in the same room for a week straight. Helping him to ease the pain and saying our last goodbyes Watching someone you love slowly slip away over a stretched out period of time is undescribable and you wouldn't know the feeling until it's you, until it's your family member. But it also helps you remain humble as well as cherish who you have with you until God says times up. You go through many stages of grief, which also makes you so strong. But the one question always left with no answer,

why?