I had my first dream about grandma Saturday night. I don't remember much about it, but I do remember when I woke up Sunday morning, I held my eyes shut as tightly as I could. In my dream she was alive. She was talking, and laughing, cooking fried chicken and making jokes. She was right there in the kitchen, and when I woke up I knew she wouldn't be there. I had to hold onto that image for as long as I possibly could.
At church, Mom Boo's pastor (who I swear is related to Dwight Shrute) asked, "How is Shirley?" My grandma, with as much strength and grace as she could muster, simply said "Better than we are" and walked away. I stared at him. How dumb could he be? He just made an announcement earlier in the service about prayers for our family. I wanted to slap his doughy face until I saw bruises and blood. I was mad.
That's when I realized, I'm not that sad anymore. For the first two weeks, I couldn't sleep by myself at night. Someone else had to be in the room with me when it was dark, or I would get panic attacks. My heart would race. I would sweat. I got dizzy and couldn't breathe. This is all very embarrassing to admit for a 20 year old girl who's slept in her own room since she was 5. I've only now been able to sleep with the lights off in no one else is in the room, but I do require the tv or the radio on.
I'm mad at my uncle. He can't get his head out of the ground for 10 minutes to realize what he's doing to his sisters, and the rest of his family. It doesn't help that his son-in-law is broadcasting all over Facebook how horrible his aunts are. I'm mad that uncle lied to Grandma. That he is too much of a coward to admit that he screwed up, big time.
I'm mad at the doctors. She had been going in for monthly blood tests since February. Why was this stage 4 cancer just being caught now? Why, in March when she had a colonoscopy, was the colon cancer not found? Why did it progress that quickly to her lungs, liver and brain? Why was this not found, when she went to the doctor at least 2 times a month?
I'm mad at her. I know I shouldn't be. She couldn't control any of this, only God could. But I'm still mad. I'm mad that she didn't talk to me for an hour this summer because I put Lady outside for 10 minutes. I'm mad that she got so upset at Mom Boo over things that could not be controlled. I'm mad that she asked me if I thought Grandpa would be home soon, and if I had seen her mother. I know now that all of this was caused by the brain cancer, and the dementia. Her personality changed so much. And it made me angry.
Mostly, I'm mad at myself. I'm mad that I ever got angry with her. I'm mad that over the summer, I thought once, "If she wasn't here, this would be so much easier. She'd be so better off. She'd be with Grandpa". I'm mad that over the summer, I didn't tell her more that I loved her.
I'm mad that I forgot to take a picture of myself with her. It hit me about 10 minutes ago that I'll never be able to do that. The frame I was saving for said picture will have to hold some other memory. That frame will be a constant memory of what I failed to do.
I'm mad at myself because I can't go into her bedroom. I want to shut the door, never see the green walls, the quilted bedspread she had just gotten two weeks prior. I want the room to become a museum.
I know I will never forget her, but I don't know if I can stop being mad.
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