A bit of a tribute.

My grandmother was the greatest person I’ve ever known. Not the ‘great’ you use when talking about someone you just enjoy being around, but the emphasized ‘great;’ meaning anyone who meets her can see it instantly. Ever since I was tiny, I called her Nana, and after a while it became permanent and was used by my younger sister and all of my little cousins. She held our family together with her spirit and confidence, never letting the rough times tear us apart. If we ever had any problems, she could solve them, or at the very least, give us comfort by acting as if everything was under control.
I remember the day my Aunt Tina lost her very first baby to a miscarriage. Her expression was still in a daze from the harsh realization that she was no longer a mother, and I could feel the back of my throat clench painfully, urging tears as I sat in the living room and watched her stare off into nothingness; pinkish puffy bags under her eyes from long periods of crying. When my Nana suddenly came through the front door, arms instantly open as she walked towards my Aunt Tina, I could feel the relief spread, and a feeling of control slowly return.
My Nana mothered us all. She gave out a special sense of security that my entire family became dependant on. But now that she’s gone, we have nothing but ourselves and each other to turn to. None of us are as strong as she was. She was strong in her faith, she was strong in her trust for others, and most of all, she was strong in herself. She believed in herself and everyone else around her. She had no doubt that even the most insecure person on earth could reach goals higher than their own expectations. Her belief made her shine in the eyes of everyone who knew her, and her confidence was inspirational.
My Nana was a very fashionable person. She always had her nails done in a different color every few weeks, and her hair was always highlighted. She had a ringing ‘southern belle’ tone to her voice and a huge grin that matched it. Her grin was her trademark. It was deep, real and highly polished. It was the kind of grin that stated loudly “I’m completely happy with my life and nothing can bring me down”. Even through her last two years; her long two years of pain and sickness, she held it. She held it because the rest of us couldn’t.
She had a tumor–a type of cancer in her kidney that was causing it to shut down and quit filtering out her blood. Her blood was becoming poisoned, the kidney was removed and because of that she couldn’t make it through any chemotherapy. She went through surgeries, radiation therapy, medications, and weeks on end in the hospital. They would think they had gotten out all of the cancer but more would show up. Her health was like a yoyo, constantly rising and falling. We thought we had lost her so many times, then suddenly her health would be regained and she’d keep holding onto her grin.
I regret saying that through most of those two years, I hardly saw her. She raised me the first few years of my life and I probably only saw her a few days during the time her life was shattering. Of course, the last few months of her life are what press on me the most. Her pain had increased so much that even the medications constantly pumped into her body through tubes wouldn’t cover it all. It couldn’t block out all the pain. Her body was shutting down on her and the cancer was spreading.
I remember watching my mother break down and cry when she heard from my great grandmother that my Nana was being sent home for good, with only four months to live at the most. The doctors had done everything they could. I was supposed to visit her in a week. Spend time with her as I had been eager to do.
After about 2 days of her return home, the phone rang early in the morning. I picked it up and it was my Nana,
“Is your mother there?”
I answered with a bit of surprise, “Yeah she’s here, I’ll go get her…”
I ran to go get my mother and she said she would be there in a second.
When I picked up the phone again, I hesitated slightly, wondering how she was taking everything. It was almost awkward to talk to her again.
“She’s coming now” I said.
“Okay, hunny” She replied cheerfully.
There was a small pause.
“I love you Nana”
“I love you too” she said happily with a bit of emphasis. She sounded so cheery, as if nothing was wrong. I had no idea that that would be the very last time I ever spoke to her again. I had told her I was going to see her in a few days, but I never knew.
Two days after the phone call, my nana called my grandpa into her living room. She had been isolated to her recliner with an IV machine giving her food, medications, and pain reliever. She could no longer eat. The IVs fed her, and all she could consume through her mouth were small sip of drinks. On top of that, she had developed a painful staff infection. She told him she didn’t want to live like this, stuck in the recliner until she passed. She asked him, solemnly, to authorize the unplugging of all the IVs and machines except for her pain reliever. She was leaving it up to him, to let her go. I don’t think there was anything my grandfather went through that even came close hurting to him as much as that did. My grandfather was a war hero. He had fought long and hard in the Vietnam war and became a top sergeant and a Green and Black Beret. He had braved through many things but he easily admitted that none of them even came close to strength he needed for my nana’s request, and all the pain it brought him. When he had finally arranged the unhooking of everything but her pain relievers and the doctors had packed it all up, he turned to her sadly, “Well,” he said, “It’s all done…Do you still love me?” She made her last shiny grin and stated plainly, “You betcha.”
Patricia Toole Foreman died the next day at 4:56 PM, October 25th, 2005 at the age of 64. When me and my mother were informed, I had to stand and watch her cry her eyes out to her two brothers who had closed her in between them in a hug. Unable to stomach the site, I ended up running. I ran as fast as I could, cutting through the alleys until I reached Cedar Street where my Nana and great grandmother’s houses were, right next door to each other. I was on the verge of collapsing on the porch but with the help of my great grandmother, I was able to steady myself into her porch swing, where she rubbed my back soothingly as I tried to catch my breath. From there I looked across the yard to my nana’s porch and watched as men carefully wheeled out the body of my grandmother, who was covered from head to toe with a dark blue velvet blanket that I instantly recognized. At that moment I had finally broken down, never looking away from them until they had all left her driveway. It was a terrible day that as long as I live, I know for sure, I will never forget.
This is the final section where I should put a brighter ending...A conclusion to lessen my tears...telling how I believe she could be in a better place. But how can I?...I don't know for sure if there is a better place. And I know I can call myself selfish for I strongly believe that when someone dies, by that point it is not they who are affected, but the loved ones left behind. I want to kick my bedroom wall again and again, scream at the top of my lungs, cherishing the highest pitch of my vocals as I rant and rave about how she had no right leaving us alone. But I just lay in the darkness, and feel my muscles tighten. Anger overwhelms me once in a while, but I just breathe...take it one lagging second at a time. Eventually I'll reach blindly in the darkness until I reach the familier surface of my escape. My CD player. I find that music can save your life sometimes. It can express everything for you, soothe and heal...if only temporarily.
Now that I've plugged my headphones into my ears, currently lulling to ((Dare I say it)) The Lord of The Rings soundtrack, I can set this ending right. My grandmother was truly a hero. Even though she left me, she left a huge scar that no one would ever dare to heal. She brought us together, and without realizing, showed us how to believe. I know for sure that I will never forget everything she tried so hard to teach, or the opinions she so confidently bestowed upon all those around her. And I know for sure, I will never take any part of my life for granted.

Me and Nana
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