Member-only story
Grandmother’s Day
I never baked cookies with my grandma. Not that she didn’t bake; her cookies are delicious. For some reason, we didn’t do it together. Nor did I help her with her flower bed, though she has gorgeous plants! I’m sure she read to me, but I probably didn’t sit still long enough for us to finish a book.
When I was a kid, my grandma set up a classroom so we could play school if we spent any time inside. My cousins and I ran around outside doing who knows what, probably messing with tractors or disturbing cows. If it was winter, we played tag in the basement, and grandma would have cookies waiting for us when we got hungry.
My grandma had ovarian cancer a few years ago. Surgeons removed a majority of it, and chemotherapy got rid of the rest of it. The doctors gave her a low chance of surviving, but she did. Last year, my grandma’s cancer came back. She began chemotherapy again.
A few weeks ago, my grandma had a TIA, a minor stroke. When having lunch with her sisters and my mom, her arm felt numb. My mom took her to the emergency room. It didn’t take long for the doctors to figure out what was going on, and a few hours later, my grandma was fine.
My mom wasn’t fine, and neither was I.
My grandma’s body is broken, and it’s only a matter of time.
