Obviously being trafficked, having strokes, and loosing everything I owned to toxic mold was not easy. However, those things are a given. Anyone would struggle with those, and understandably so! These things are hard and complicated on many levels and for many reasons, and these things caused so many other things to happen. Aside from these massive things though, there have been other times in my life that I would consider hard. The hardest moment that comes to mind was loosing my grandmother.
My grandmother was the only person who I could depend on as a kid. Multiple times she tried going to the authorities to get them to take us from the abuse. Multiple times she went to the school to voice her concerns. Multiple times, she tried to save me from the suffering and abuse to no avail. She was my favorite person, the woman I looked up to. The woman I wanted to be, she was my idol. Little did I know, her life wasn’t great. I remember being a little girl and we would go grocery shopping and she’d let me push the cart. We’d play dress up, well she would watch me play dress up in her clothes and shoes. She would do my favorite puzzle with me over and over again. She was always awake before everyone, the smell of coffee and bacon flowing through the house waking me up with a good morning kiss. She would always let me mix the hot cakes (pancakes) and stand on the stool next to her as she cooked the bacon. Most of my most vivid memories are the times I spent with my grandmother. She was so funny and man could she sing! I remember her 80’s blond hair curled on the top of her head and then picked with the comb and sprayed with 7 cans of hair spray. It was a thing! I remember our schemes to scare my grandfather (which looking back she probably got in trouble for).
Then one ghastly night it was all gone. Her death wasn’t sudden or unexpected but it was far too soon. She had been sick for many months with Lou Gehrig’s disease or ALS. I watched her body deteriorate, all while her brain knew everything that was happening. I watched her anguish as she struggled to accept her new normal. She was not a woman who accepted, let alone asked, for help. I would walk into a room and see her crying and quickly wipe her tears away and enjoy those precious moments with me. I was 12 when she told the family she was sick and I was 15 when she passed away. I was with her on her last night. I made her laugh and then my grandfather yelled at her for being to loud and she started having a panic attack. Her Hospise nurse knew this was a sign she needed her oxygen, however this time it didn’t work. I called 911. This was the last time she’d have to endure my grandfathers abuse. This was our last moment of togetherness. This was the last time my grandmother would have to struggle.
My grandmother has been gone for almost 12 years and there is not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could call her and tell her about my day. There is not a day I don’t wish she could meet my wife. I know she’d be proud. There’s not a single day that I don’t miss her. There is also not one day that I don’t know she’s watching over me. She loved me, when no one else did. She wanted me, when no one else did.