When Grandma Died

Last Wednesday, before my relatives arrived, I sat alone with my Grandma for nearly two hours in her hospital room. We sat inches away from each other, and yet our lives were worlds apart. She was born in 1924. She grew up in Tennille, Georgia, picking cotton and dealing with a society so filled with the stench of inequality that the air must have been unbreathable.

Nevertheless, she emerged whole.

She was unbreakable, feisty, and strong-willed. I remember spending countless summers as a child at my Grandma’s house. I remember sitting on the living room floor looking out through the screen door at the rain in silence. She would always turn off the television during a storm and walk around the house singing songs about Jesus. She loved me fiercely. Her warmth covered me like a blanket , even when she disciplined me with a switch from her garden.

I was not ready for her to leave me. When her doctor told me that she needed to have surgery, it was unclear how slim her chances of survival were. On Thursday, the day of her surgery, she told me to make sure that the medical staff took good care of her while searching my eyes for reassurance. I could not save her. When I delivered her to the surgery team, my last words were simply, “I will see you soon.” I kissed her forehead and squeezed her hand. I would have said something more had I known that the operation would send her being on a path to its end.

After the surgery, in the intensive care unit, she gradually faded into the unknown — a place that only faith can reach. Then she was gone. Later, family members gathered around her body. Some cried uncontrollably like me. Others stood in disbelief. A sobbing relative begged my Grandma’s remains for forgiveness for a past transgression, but it was too late for apologies. All that was left was the insufferable weight of regret. I have regrets, too. I wish I had more time to absorb the wisdom that I found bothersome as a young boy. But I will have no more tomorrows with my Grandma. That thought will be with me for the rest of my life.