At the beginning of the year I posted about my grandmother and her poor health.
On Friday I was just pulling into the driveway when my phone rang. It was my brother asking what I was up to this weekend. I ran through the plans that Alex and I had made and asked him what he was up to. He told me I should come home. Our family had been told that my grandma probably wouldn’t make it through the weekend. He told me not to rush but that it would be a good idea to head home at some point. I called Alex in tears and told him what was going on. I said I would wait for him to get home and then we would head to my hometown. He told me to just go and that he would meet me there.
I threw an overnight bag in my car and left. I’ve never driven so quickly. The sobs were laying just underneath the surface. The tight chest, the swollen throat. Tears filling my eyes but never quite spilling onto my cheeks. I got to my grandmother’s house and she was in bed, lightly sleeping. My mom was sitting beside her holding her hand so I crawled in bed behind her and wrapped my arms around her. We laid there and just slept. She woke up and my mom asked her if she knew who I was.
“My girl,” she said, leaving me in tears as she drifted back to sleep.
I took my mom’s spot holding her hand and just sat with her for nearly an hour, just the two of us.
She’s still fighting. Still hanging on. Still holding all of us together. It was like a reunion, all of us ordering in Chinese and taking turns sitting with her. Laughing and telling stories in the living room. Enjoying each other’s company while our family still feels complete.