What We Thought

TW: Death

My grandmother, Wilda Parkinson, was a fire-spirited, sassy old woman. It was hard to picture her as anything else, really. Me and my two brothers called her Gram, and my cousins called her Gee. I don't know why, they were always a weird bunch, honestly.

So when Gram first got the call, we didn't think much of it. I remember what she had said the day after the call and the scan and the doctor's visit.

She didn't want anybody fussing over her. She had that ring to her, that she didn't really care what anybody thought. She'd battled all sorts of mental illnesses, postpartum depression after she had Mom, bipolar when she was a teen, and many others that I didn't know about. The last thing she wanted was to have people fuss over her, and to take more pills.

Gram told me this:

"Now, Judy, promise me that whatever happens to me, you will take you and Luke and Jonas and you will put them in their right places, and you must not shed a tear over my dead body. I've lived on this God forsaken earth for over seven decades. Trust me, hon, I've been through hell and back here; the least you can do is not act like my eventual passing is the worst thing in the world,"

She told me this in her snarky, old Gram voice that I knew and loved. She didn't sound sick at all. You would've never guessed that a tumor was currently prowling its way through Gram's brain.

I looked at her and smiled, trying to hide any sadness, any unwanted tears that Gram had forbid me of shedding. Luke and Jonas were my brothers, and they were twins. They were two years older than me, and pretty good to me.

They are always annoying, as older brothers are, but were nice in ways I used to never notice. They always gave me hot bottles of water and chocolate-covered pretzels when I was on my period, and would ask me everyday about how I was feeling and how Jake was treating me recently.

I don't know if I made a mistake or not telling them about Jake. When we started dating, I was an eighth grader and Luke and Jonas were sophomores. So of course they wanted all the happenings of my cringe, childish middle school love life. I'm a sophomore now, and they're seniors.

They are heading to the same college, though. They're both incredibly smart, and both got into Cornell, an Ivy, for very different majors. Luke was majoring in psychology and minoring in creative writing, he was always the empathetic, feminist, caring one of the two. Jonas, however, was majoring in engineering and minoring in environmental studies.

I don't know what I'd do without them, with Gram slowly dying (even though she would never admit it), Mom working all day- nights at the hospital and days at the grocery store- and Dad still being away, off in California with his girlfriend, Meg.

They'll be all the way off in New York, and me, Gram, and Mom will still be stuck in Illinois. Luke and Jonas always tried hard, but I think they both just wanted to get out of Illinois. We lived in Rockford, Illinois. Fifth largest city in Illinois, with a population of roughly 147,000 people.

When Gram dies, that will make roughly 146,999 people.

Truly, I believe that Luke and Jonas just wanted to get out of Illinois. They were tired of endless land, snow, and cold winters. Not that it was any warmer in New York.

I talked to them when they told me their final decision.

"You guys can't leave me," I said, my eyes welling up.

"God, don't start crying," Jonas said.

"Hey, it's okay, we'll be home as often as we can be- during all the holidays and breaks and stuff," Luke said.

"Why don't you just go to like, University of Illinois or like, Northwestern?" I asked, my voice wavering.

"Because, we studied too hard not to go to Ivy League, and Northwestern is way too expensive," Jonas said.

"Agreed," Luke said.

I remember hugging both of them tight, like they would blow away if I let go.

That same day, Mom broke the news.

She came up to me, mascara dripping down her eyes, and handed me the phone.

"Hey, Judy, it's Gram," Gram's voice cracked over the phone audio, and I could hear that her confidence was flickering at the slightest.

"Hey, Gram, is everything alright?"

"Oh, well, I guess so,"

"Gram. What is it?"

"I don't want to upset you, bear,"

"It's okay, just tell me what it is that you're keeping such a secret of,"

"Well... I got a CT scan today,"

"Wait. CT scan as in cancer scan?"

"Um, yes, bear, but-"

"Are you okay? Do you need food? Do you need help? Do you need anything? Say the magic word and I will throw myself into Luke's car and I will try not to crash into anything,"

"Whoa, hold your horses, bear,"

"I just need to know if you're going to be okay, Gram,"

"I am. I promise. You can't get rid of me, Judy. They've tried so many times, but they've never got me yet, bear. It's just a little tumor in my brain. Only stage two, it's not even hurting,"

"Gram! You have brain cancer, for God's sake!"

"Well, yes, technically, but-"

"There is no but! You have cancer, and I don't..."

"What?"

"I don't want you to leave me. I can't do this without you."

"Oh, bear,"

"I need you, Gram,"

"You have other people, Judy, I'll be gone soon, it'll be okay,"

"No, it won't! Luke and Jonas are going to be off in New York, at freaking Cornell, and Dad is in Cali, and Mom is just... She's never around anymore, Gram,"

"I will be okay, Judy. I'm a survivor of much worse. Stage four pancreatic breast cancer, stage three liver cancer. And I'm still here. Heck, they know my name at the cancer ward in Memorial,"

"Yeah, I know, but-"

"There's no but, Judy. I love you, and that's final. I love you and Luke and Jonas and your mother and I love my late cat, Oreo, and I love your dog, Caramel, and I love you again and again, Judy bear,"

"I love you too, Gram,"

"Good."

"Bye, I guess,"

"Yeah, farewell, see you soon, bear,"

"See you soon, Gram,"

And then we hung up.

I know she'd been through worse, but her body was old and brittle now, not like when she had gotten stage four at forty-five, and stage three at fifty-six. She was seventy-eight, and deteriorating by the second.

I wanted to hold onto her and never let go, for if I did, she and all her broken, strong bits would fly away up to the heavens.

For the next three weeks, it was hard to believe that Gram had any sort of sickness at all. Definitely not stage three, now, brain cancer. Yeah. It had gotten bad over the week, but Gram showed no hurt at all. The doctors said it was scary; but also impressive at how little pain she showed, despite already having two aggressive chemo treatments already.

Five weeks into the diagnosis, she started losing hair, and wearing silly, weird head scarves to cover it, although she had no shame in her baldness. This day, a particularly bad one, her head scarf had dinosaurs eating donuts. It was always the bad days that got funny head scarves.

Gram had three aggressive rounds of chemo in week six alone, and lost half of her body weight. The doctors said she had maybe four months left.

I cried, and Gram got mad at me.

Seven weeks in, I visited Gram on a horrible day. She weakly smiled at me when I walked into the bacterial-scented hospital room. "Hey, Gram," I said, slowly sitting in a plastic chair next to her bed. "Hey, Judy. I was looking forward to seeing you today. Chemo was alright."

"Glad to hear," I said, my breath hitching unnaturally.

"How are you doing, bear?"

"Oh, fine. School's been going good, and me and Jake had a date a couple days ago,"

"Ah, yes, that Jake boy,"

Gram smiled sheepishly at me, and I could feel my ears flaming up like red peppers.

Just like that, my phone dinged with a message from Jake. It read: "Where are you? Are you OK?"

I wondered what all of it was about. I didn't think we had any plans. I scrolled back on my phone, and saw it.

It was a text from Jake to me.

"Hey, Judy, do you want to hang and have dinner with me on Saturday?"

I'd replied: "Yeah, that'll probably work."

Oh shoot.

I was supposed to be with Jake right now, but here I was, with my dying Gram in a hospital room. Gram looked at me, concern plastered all over her face.

"What's wrong, bear?"

"Nothing, Gram. You just rest,"

"I literally can't, hon; the pills they've hooked me up on are like, anti-melatonin. No sleep, Judy,"

"Still,"

"Did Jake text you?"

"Oh my God, Gram!"

"Just a question,"

"Fine. Yes, he did. I had plans with him today, but I texted that I was sorry, that I had forgotten and was here with you. He said he would come over, so you can meet him,"

"Ooh, I'm excited!"

I rolled my eyes and talked with Gram until Jake arrived, car keys in hand.

"Hey, babe," He said, pulling my waist and pecking me on the lips. He did it so naturally, and I could feel the burn of Gram's laser eyes etching into my brain.

"Hey," I said, and then turned to Gram, who was smirking.

"Well, well, well; you must be Jake," Gram said, playing with her IV tube.

"Yes, ma'am, I am," Jake replied, his cheeks turning a shade of pink.

"I've heard a good bit about you, young lad. And I see you have manners as well? Judy, you picked well," Gram said, her smirk growing bigger.

"Well, um..." I said, coughing to break the awkward silence.

"Gram, I'm going to head out with Jake, if that's okay," I said, grabbing my keys. "Of course," Gram said, her smile stretching ear to ear. "Thanks, Gram," I said, bending over to kiss her forehead. She smiled and then me and Jake went out, hand in hand.

Week eight was better.

Week nine was horrid.

Week ten was the best.

Week eleven was the banger.

I walked into Gram's room, number 458, and saw her sitting there, looking as frail and skinny as a twig. I said hello, and sat down in the chair next to her bed. She could barely move her mouth muscles, but she still smiled.

"How are you feeling, Gram?" I asked, putting my hand over her bony, fragile one.

"Alright, just a little bit under the weather," She said, coughing slightly. I squeezed her hand as she wheezed, breathing with a few added tubes and machines.

We stayed in silence for awhile as Wheel of Fortune played on the television. The familiar sound of the host sang like a lullaby.

"Go ahead, pick up that million dollar wedge!" Pat Sajak said, and the audience and contestant cheered wildly.

The steady, slow beeping of Gram's heart monitor slowed, and I looked over at her, her chest rising up slower and slower.

"Gram, are you feeling okay?" I asked, and Gram's head barely could form a nod. I called a nearby nurse in, and she quickly called in other nurses and got to work, poking and prodding at both Gram and the machines. Gram's eyes fluttered open and shut, open and shut.

My mind was racing, as I squeezed tighter and tighter on her hand. Eventually, a nurse gently removed my hand to place a second IV cord on it. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Gram gave me a look that said keep going, so I made my final, dramatic speech, so she could hear it alive, not in a coffin.

"Gram, Wilda Parkinson, I want you to know how much I freaking love you," I said, my voice cracking, "and I just wanted to say that you were always loved, even when you didn't feel it, and when you're gone, which might be today, I want you to know that I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you, Gram. I will always be your Judy, your bear. Luke, Jonas, Mom, Jake, and even Dad, and I will always love you to infinity and..." I said, letting her finish.

This was our tradition, to finish the lyric.

"Beyond," Gram whispered, the word barely audible.

That was the last word she ever spoke of, finishing how much I loved her.

Loved.

The hardest part about losing someone is switching to past tense.

Would have.

Loved.

Cared.

Was there.

But Gram was always really with me, the whole time, looking down on me, protecting me and all that ghost/spirit stuff.

The funeral was on what would have been Week Fourteen.

Jake held my hand the whole time I gave the speech.

"Wilda Parkinson, or as I knew her, Gram, was indescribable. She was sassy, she was sweet, she was kind, she was knowing. There are so many attributes to describe her, and if I did, it would take all day and some more. But I won't.

"Because even though we're supposed to be mourning the death of a beloved mother, grandmother, and best friend, what Gram would've really wanted us to do was celebrate. Celebrate her life, and not mourn her death.

"The last word Gram ever spoke was 'beyond'. I had asked her a tradition, to finish how much I loved her: to infinity and..., and she replied with 'beyond'. Then she breathed her last breath.

"But I'm not here to reflect on that. I'm here to reflect on a life well lived by a truly strong person. A person who said ten was maybe a five. Who said that after a day of aggressive chemo, she was just 'a little bit under the weather'. The person who made each and everyone of us a little bit happier; a little bit of a better person.

"And now we've lost that. But we haven't lost her. Physically, yes, but mentally? Spiritually? Not at all. I'm not a huge religious person, but in heaven, I'm sure Gram is cracking jokes with Jesus and her old school friends. Because that is who we're celebrating today.

"Wilda Parkinson, Gram, Gee, Wilda, Parkinson, Crazy. However you called her, that is who we are celebrating today."

A wild round of applause erupted, and Jake squeezed my hand even tighter. I wiped away a tear at my eye, and I smiled brightly.

Because I loved Gram, and I still love her, wherever she is.

I love her to infinity and beyond.