April 25th 2017- this day will continue to be one of the hardest days for me... the day my grandfather was diagnosed with stage four cancer. He is given 3 to 6 months without chemo, 1 to 2 years with chemo. He wants the time with his wife, three sons, six granddaughters and one grandson. They age from the oldest being 18 to the youngest being 2.

A little while later- the four older grandchildren are told (m-18, c-17, b-16, and me-14) it’s hard on all of us, but we handle it in different ways. Some of us sit in silence, while others walk out in tears. I knew there was a possibility this was coming, but I was hoping and praying that we weren’t right. The hardest part was when he told us the promise he had made when we were born, that he would see us all walk across the stage for graduation. Now it comes to reality that he might not get to fulfill that promise as he planned.

The next almost year- we had lots of ups and downs. Grandpa had many dietary restrictions on the chemo as it affected his digestion. We had lots of visits, lots of lasts that we hoped wouldn’t be lasts, and lots of fun memories made. A few surgeries, a few nights with no sleep because we knew grandpa wasn’t doing well, but we all tried our hardest to focus on the fun.

April 11th 2018- The last day- I knew it was the end. When my mom woke me up at 1 am and said that her and my dad were going over to see grandpa. I asked if he was okay, she told me no and then held me as I cried. I knew what was coming. I was told I could come, but I didn’t have to, and I chose not to go right away. I went to my other grandparents for a while and slept on the floor in my aunts bedroom. We got up and I decided I really did want to go. So my mom came and got me. She tried to prepare me for it the best she could, but it’s hard to prepare for that. When you walk into a house that’s always loud, and the dogs that always bark don’t even bark, you know. My sister and older cousins were in the spare bedroom. I went back with them and we tried to distract ourselves, but it was hard.

We were told it was the end. We all gathered in the living room around papa. Our youth group leader prayed with us, and as we prayed for god to give him strength and reassurance that he could go and we would be okay, a lonely tear rolled down his face and he took his last breath.

Now- I’ve tried to write this before and just couldn’t. I figured now, at 1:45 am on July 15th was as good a time as any. I’m glad he’s not in pain anymore, but it’s still hard. I where some of his old shirts, and I think about him almost everyday. I’ve had a hard time with anxiety the past year and a half. I’m not officially diagnosed with it but it runs in my family. I’m having a hard time managing it, but my mom doesn’t want me on meds for it, and I understand her reasons why. I just need to share this story.