I remember it like it was yesterday, March 30th, 2015. That was the day my grandmother, Earnestine Williams, finally lost her battle for life to cancer, her death took a huge toll on my family. Arguments broke out and no one got along for a good two weeks, my mother was extremely depressed, more than usual. When she's upset, she talks to everyone like they're absolutely nothing, she doesn't think correctly when she is in that state. I got over my grandmother's death a lot more easier than I expected, but I do get to where I want to cry when I think about her.
I know she was happy to go though, she wanted to see her family again. Her mother and her brother Raymond. I have absolutely no memory of my great-grandmother, Ava, she died when I was very young. Mawmaw probably wanted to see Raymond again too, the boy was killed by some teenage boys who decided to scare them with their car, but ended up hitting him instead. I feel bad about that too, but since I have never met Raymond I can't feel too sorry. I have visited their graves though, Ava was buried right beside Raymond. It's pretty upsetting to know the gravesite they're at is almost completely forgotten.
My grandmother was cremated after she died, and I'm kind of happy because I know she won't completely be forgotten. I remember when the family found out she was waiting on someone to tell her goodbye before she passed away, we were all trying to figure out who it was. The family we only see once a year was there, we wasn't sure if it were one of them or not. It turns out, she was waiting on my grandfather to tell her he'd be okay when she left this world, he told her that he'd be fine and if things got to hard he'd take Midnight, their dog, and leave. The only reason they have Midnight is because Mawmaw wanted her, it was pretty funny because Pawpaw didn't want a dog. They treated the little thing as if she were a human baby, their bond was unbreakable and Midnight never leaves her Pawpaw's side. It makes me wish my little dog was like that.
I remember the entire family gathering around Mawmaw's beside and watching her heart rate, all of us knew she was going to die and we were just waiting for the monitor to fall flat. My mind flashed back in time to when my two oldest Nieces and I played underneath the boat our grandparent's owned, we used tires as our beds and the boat was our shelter, we were happy and having fun until thunder rolled. We had made our way into the camper Mawmaw and Pawpaw lived in within exaggerating-ly two seconds. Mawmaw just laughed at us as we curled around the heater with towels. I hardly remember anything about my grandmother because she and Pawpaw were always on vacation, they returned when I was around ten and I was hesitant to get to know them. I wished I had actually wanted to spend more time with my grandparents, I only stayed over if my Nieces were there because I had someone to talk to. Mawmaw was always sitting in her usual spot at the table either quilting or playing on her computer.
My goodbye to her was hardly anything, Mom had gotten everyone out of the room and sat in there with me. "Tundra has something to tell you," I remember her saying and I looked at my grandmother, she had raised a brow and was waiting on me to tell her goodbye. I had felt my heart jump to my throat and I couldn't speak, I remember setting my head on her hand and muttering: "You can go now Mawmaw." I don't like to think that she is dead, my Nieces and I like to believe she's on a long vacation that she's never coming back from.
We like to think that she opened her eyes to see the family she's lost, we like to think she's walking the streets of gold, listening to the angels singing and living in her house by the waterfall, we don't like to think that she's dead.
YOU ARE READING
Pillar of the Family
General FictionSaying goodbye to someone you care about is very hard, it makes you wish you could go back in time and spend more time with them. This is the story about the death of my grandmother and my goodbye to her... Even now I still cry when I think about he...
