It’s worth a nickel

My grandmother passed away tonight.

I feel extraordinarily fortunate that I saw her on Monday, and that she was having a good day when I was there.

I feel extraordinarily fortunate that she died at home, on her terms.

And I feel horrible for being in Austin, TX, 2000 miles away, and not being able to do anything to help.

My grandmother has decided to discontinue her treatment and has entered hospice care. The treatment was, in many ways, worse than the disease itself: robbing her of any quality of life and leaving her miserable. Her prognosis is not good, and the doctor gives her less than six months to live.

As much as this knowledge hurts me, I support her decision. It’s the kind of courage and strength I would expect from her and my grandfather.

Yesterday Paul and I went down to New Jersey to my aunt’s house for a barbecue in celebration of Independence Day.

My primary motivator for going was to see my grandmother, who was diagnosed with brain cancer in April and has since undergone a six-week course of radiation (5 days a week) and oral chemotherapy every single day. The chemotherapy will continue for the rest of her life.

It was wonderful to see her looking so well, considering the circumstances, but she was having a difficult day.

She wore a hat to cover her thinning hair, which she is losing. She cried several times throughout the day; that’s something I had never seen her do before. When I hugged her hello, she couldn’t let go of me, and so I held her for a couple of minutes until she calmed down.

My grandmother has always been strong, always funny, always loving. You can see her personality is still strong, unchanged … but her body is simply exhausted. It was really hard for me, but I made sure to talk to her and my grandfather just as I always have. I wanted her to know that in my mind, she’s still here with us. She’s still alive.

Some of the super drama queens in my family insist upon emotionally burying people at the first hint of an illness. Despite my own penchant for drama, I won’t be one of them.

I let the living remain among the living, and I do my crying privately. My grandmother and my grandfather don’t need to see it.

I found out today that my grandmother has brain cancer.

She went into the hospital on Tuesday after having a small seizure, and we’ve been waiting all week to find out what’s what.

It had seemed it was contained to a small tumor, and we had hoped that it would be benign, but the doctors this morning said that they believe it’s malignant.

My grandmother is 82 years old, and I’m not sure how well she’ll tolerate a battery of surgery, chemotherapy and radiation.

I don’t know how to feel.