Teenager Struggles with Death of Grandmother
I was sixteen, and I didn’t enjoy visiting my grandma at the hospital. It was such an emotional place. My mom and my aunts were very sad, and watching them made me afraid that I was going to cry myself.
It wasn’t that I didn’t love my grandma. On the contrary, I loved her dearly. I often thought that I loved her best in the world. If she left, there would be a lot of little things to miss, like birthday cards and out-of-the-blue phone calls just to see how I was doing. Most of all, I would miss the security that she gave me.
On the drives up to the hospital, I’d give myself a stern talking to. You are not going to cry. I’d try to think of happy thoughts, like amusement parks and summer vacation – not of my grandma who was dying in the hospital.
When I had to go to the hospital, I’d stand by Grandma’s bed, and we’d talk about normal everyday things. I’d act like everything was fine. And when it was time to go, I’d pick up Grandma’s hand, lean over and kiss her forehead and say, “I love you, Grandma.” But I wouldn’t cry. Often when I walked out the hospital doors, my throat ached from swallowing the huge lump that had formed there.
The last time I went to the hospital, all my cousins were there too. We were all goofing off in the waiting room when Aunt Connie came in and said, “We’re all going to say ‘good-bye’ to Grandma now.”
My cousin Stephanie and I went in to say good-bye together. Grandma was asleep, so we stood at the foot of her bed, waiting for her to wake up. She finally did, and she smiled.
“Look at my two big girls,” she said.
My little brother, Bruce, came running into the room at that moment. He went right up to the head of the bed and flung his arm around Grandma’s neck.
“Grandma, I don’t want you to die,” Bruce said. He began blubbering pitifully.
I felt embarrassed for Bruce. How humiliating to cry in front of everyone! I was proud of how well I was holding myself together, even though a small tear did manage to slip down my own cheek as Grandma hugged Bruce back.
If I had a chance to do everything over again, I would have laid my head on Grandma’s chest and cried my heart out in that hospital room. My façade of strength crumbled during the visitation and funeral, and I cried plenty without caring who saw me. I wish I could have shed a few of those tears when Grandma was still here to comfort me.
By Ann Rowe