My daughter Lilly has allowed me to share this paper that she has written for her English 101 class. It is powerful and heartbreaking. I admire her honesty and humility. I hope that writing this down will help her in her healing and grieving process.

Lilly Runion

Sadie Shorr-Parks

English 101

September 27, 2017

 In Sickness and In Health

            I spent the last two years of my life watching my grandmother, whom I once viewed as unbelievably strong and independent, become absolutely helpless. After she began noticing an inability to say certain words and communicate articulately, she was diagnosed with primary progressive aphasia. In the Spring of 2015, my family was faced with the reality that there was no cure to this unforgiving sickness, and her symptoms were worsening rapidly. This rare disease caused my once exuberant grandmother, who I called Baba, to completely lose her ability to enjoy life the way she once had. She was the most popular person I knew, and her captivating personality unfailingly lured people towards her. I could not tell you how many times I attempted to make a quick run to the grocery store with her that ended up lasting hours because of all the people she would stop and talk to. I was used to it though, because her and my grandfather were like second parents to me. They lived right at the top of my driveway, and due to my parent’s burdensome work schedule, I was often picked up from school, taken to dance, fed, and helped with my homework by my grandparents. Baba even went on every family vacation we took, and because my granddad hated the beach, he would always stay home and take care of our dogs for us. When I was not on vacation during the summer, I was up at Baba and Granddaddy’s house baking, playing Barbie’s, running around outside, or even just lying on the couch with them watching the Hallmark channel.

When Baba became ill, I realized that it would be impossible for me to do things with her that I once had. It started as just an inability to speak efficiently, but over time the disease began to deteriorate most of her basic motor skills. Her left leg was not receiving signals from her brain effectively, so she was unable to take the longs walks that she had once always taken. She was also no longer able to write in her journals because she lost the ability to write. These things that she lost were what made her who she was prior to her disease taking over. There was nothing that upset her more, however, than losing her ability to speak. Trips to the grocery store no longer took hours, because she was unable to have those long conversations with everyone she knew. My grandmother, who was once such a socialite, could no longer even say the word “hello.” Over time, she frequently became too embarrassed to even go outside of her home, so she began to isolate herself. She was always such a vibrant force before, and she did not want people to see her in this despaired state. This was the natural, human reaction, considering that everything she was once passionate about was taken away from her. Baba’s favorite place to be was the beach, and she planned to travel the world now that she was retired. These experiences were taken away from her though, because of an unprovoked illness. Luckily, my family is extremely close, so she was never alone, but it was still not the quality of life that someone like her deserved.

I actively regret the decisions I made during this heartbreaking time in her life. She was persistently trying to stay positive, but I was weak, and I struggled to be there for her. Seeing someone who I once viewed as indestructible become feeble so quickly was too hard for me to accept, and I ran from the situation because, at the time, it felt like the easier choice. Since she lived right up the road from me, I could have easily spent my evenings with her, doing my homework and watching television. Instead, I was a coward, and hesitated to spend time with her because I did not want to see and accept her as she was. I wanted her to be herself, and although she persistently wore a smile on her face through everything, I could tell she was sad, and she was not the spirited woman she once was. I did not consider that despite all the pain that I was feeling, she likely felt more desolate than I could have even imagined. I should have put aside my distress and been there with her, to keep her company and let her know that I was there for her. To this day, I feel uneasy when I look back at all the opportunities to spend time with Baba that I wasted. She was a second mother to me, and I was cowering away when she needed me the most.

My beautiful Baba passed away peacefully at home on August 16, 2017. It was such a beautiful day; the sun was out and the air was warm with a light breeze. Walking outside to the sound of birds and wind in the trees, I could not believe such a devastating thing had just occurred. My family was completely heartbroken, but we knew she did not want to live in that miserable state anymore. Towards the end, she could no longer even swallow, and to physically move any part of her body without assistance was nearly impossible. Baba would not have wanted that dismal life, so I know she let go for a good reason. She was tired of fighting, but selfishly I sometimes wish she would have held on a little longer, because I was not ready to be without her. My entire family was in despair, but there was one person that I felt especially sorry for; my grandfather. He had spent the last fifty years with Baba, had lost his lifelong partner. The woman whom he asked to marry after only three months of dating, raised his three children with, and spent every waking moment of the past two years taking care of, was now gone. He was truly beside himself after losing her, yet comforted by the fact that she passed peacefully and painlessly. While trying to process her passing, I became so overwhelmed with the realization that my grandfather had done so much for her during her illness. Taking a step back from the situation, I could see the heroic sacrifices that he made. Instead of going out to baseball and football games with his friends, Granddaddy was home beside her. Fixing her meals, getting her dressed, taking her to the restroom, and making sure she was always comfortable was all he did for two years. The amount of heartache he experienced from watching her suffer was never seen by the people around him, and I admire him greatly for that.

I did not realize how much Granddaddy had actually sacrificed until about two weeks after Baba’s death. He had recently revealed that he was feeling a lot of discomfort all throughout his body, so he went for a checkup with his doctor. After some irregular test results came back, he was admitted into the hospital, and it was revealed that he had stage four pancreatic cancer, one of the deadliest forms of this gruesome disease. There were tumors everywhere, and he had obviously been quietly suffering for a long time. My family was shocked. Our patriarch, who was supposed to be mourning the loss of his wife, was now fighting for his own life. It did not take long for us to come to the realization that Granddaddy had not spoken up about his agony for a reason. He completely dedicated his life to taking care of her up until her death, despite being in what had to be unbearable pain. He had a job to do, and once she had peacefully passed, he was ready to deal with his own illness. I had never seen a more heroic act, and I knew it was now more important than ever for me to be there for him.

Every day for two weeks, I went straight from school to the hospital to be with my grandfather. I did my homework and watched television every night with him there, something I regretted not doing with Baba. I usually hate hospitals, but being there with him made it easy to forget I was inside of one. He was in a large room on the oncology floor. The bland colored space had many comfortable chairs, so my family could all be there together with him. There were also two large windows looking towards the mountains. Just like with her, it was horrifying having to sit there with someone you love knowing they are in unbearable discomfort. However, I believed that I had to be there for him, because he was so courageous to stay beside Baba during her fight. He deserved the same care and loyalty that he showed her. Also, because of my remorse for not being there for Baba as often as I should have, it was very important to me that I was there for him. It almost felt like I was trying to make up for the time I had not spent with her. There was no greater role model than him in this particular situation. I had to then take inspiration from him, and put my reservations about seeing a loved one suffer aside. Today, despite my irreversible regret about not helping with Baba as much as I could have, it brings me some comfort when I consider the time I spent with my grandfather before his passing on September 7th.

Through all of this heartache, all my family and I can really do is move forward. We have suffered so much loss, so confusingly close together, but we now have the inspirational story of how powerful my grandfather’s love for my grandmother really was. He took his vow to be there for her in sickness and in health very seriously. Not only did he vehemently care for Baba through her sickness, but he fought his own ailment off for her as well. No matter what happens, no one will be able to take the pride I feel in him away from me. Granddaddy has genuinely inspired me to see this tragedy in a different way. Instead of being angry and thinking that he was not repaid for the love and care he showed Baba for years, I have to accept that he simply could not be without her. The amount of times he told me that he missed her during his time in the hospital was proof enough for me that life was not worth living, for Granddaddy, if she was not there too. I learned from him the value of sacrifice. When he passed, we were able to say that he was a hero for all the time he spent tending to her needs. I can only imagine the amount of comfort it brought him to know he did everything that he could for her. He taught me that pushing through the discomfort of watching a family member suffer is worth it, because the remorse you feel otherwise will be even more painful than watching them in pain. It may seem scarring at the time, but in all actuality, you are preparing yourself for the day that you can step back and say, “I did everything I possibly could to be there for them.” I will carry the lessons this experience has taught me on forever, and will undyingly stand by the existence of eternal love. The example my grandparents have set is pretty remarkable, and I am comforted by the fact that they have taught my entire family to love in a way that will get us through any challenge.