I was fourteen years old. Most of the time, I was just concerned with enjoying the summer and making sure I didn't look un-cool around the girls. I had just returned from a youth choir trip in Washington, D.C. and was pretty excited about that. I don't remember a whole lot, but I do distinctly remember sitting on the counter-top in the kitchen telling my folks about the trip. I remember feeling like something wasn't quite right though. As soon as my dad said, "Patrick, we have something to tell you," I knew exactly what had happened. My grandmother had died. We found out a few months earlier that she had terminal lung cancer, probably caused from heavy amounts of cigarette smoke when she was younger and before we knew its horrific effects.
I really only remember my grandmother smoking once, though. It was outside the hospital just before my little sister was born. There had been numerous complications with my mom, placing a lot of stress on my grandmother's shoulders. I guess I never really realized how stressful the situation was. I was only twelve. But then, my grandmother pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse, lit one, and apologized to me. Neither of us knew what that smoke was doing to her body.
I do remember lying in bed crying and getting on my knees to pray after we found out about the cancer. I remember asking God to heal her, asking Him to do a miracle. Everyone said that it was hopeless though. And, I remember watching her health decline with the chemo. I'm sure I have no idea the extent of its effect, but I remember playing cards in her kitchen, while the cold green oxygen tank sat on the floor beside us, small plastic tubes running up to her nostrils. I remember that it was hard for her to walk and then that it was hard for her to sit up, but I wasn't ready for her to go.
I remember the visitation and the funeral, crying because I knew that my Nanny would never be back to play cards or Yahtzee or dominoes. She would never be back to watch us swim in the pool. She would never be back to talk to when things were hard. She was simply gone. I cried because I missed her.
Death just has a certain stinging emptiness. It's a feeling that doesn't want to leave. It brings questions and doubt and loneliness. Looking back, I don't feel the same pain of Nanny being gone. I do miss her, but I've learned how to deal with it I guess. Still, it makes me wonder why life just seems to be so ravaged by death, why things must be so painful. Yet I know that we have a good Father who loves His children, and we must rest in His sovereignty as we joyfully await the promise that pain and death shall be no more.
Revelation 21:4
This post categorized under Personal Thoughts and Family.
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Monday, July 09, 2007 at 11:07 AM. I really only remember my grandmother smoking once, though. It was outside the hospital just before my little sister was born. There had been numerous complications with my mom, placing a lot of stress on my grandmother's shoulders. I guess I never really realized how stressful the situation was. I was only twelve. But then, my grandmother pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse, lit one, and apologized to me. Neither of us knew what that smoke was doing to her body.
I do remember lying in bed crying and getting on my knees to pray after we found out about the cancer. I remember asking God to heal her, asking Him to do a miracle. Everyone said that it was hopeless though. And, I remember watching her health decline with the chemo. I'm sure I have no idea the extent of its effect, but I remember playing cards in her kitchen, while the cold green oxygen tank sat on the floor beside us, small plastic tubes running up to her nostrils. I remember that it was hard for her to walk and then that it was hard for her to sit up, but I wasn't ready for her to go.
I remember the visitation and the funeral, crying because I knew that my Nanny would never be back to play cards or Yahtzee or dominoes. She would never be back to watch us swim in the pool. She would never be back to talk to when things were hard. She was simply gone. I cried because I missed her.
Death just has a certain stinging emptiness. It's a feeling that doesn't want to leave. It brings questions and doubt and loneliness. Looking back, I don't feel the same pain of Nanny being gone. I do miss her, but I've learned how to deal with it I guess. Still, it makes me wonder why life just seems to be so ravaged by death, why things must be so painful. Yet I know that we have a good Father who loves His children, and we must rest in His sovereignty as we joyfully await the promise that pain and death shall be no more.
Revelation 21:4
This post categorized under Personal Thoughts and Family.
