Grandma’s Boy

As a child, I wasn’t able to develop a relationship with my mother. We had nothing in common and could never get along. Our relationship was toxic throughout my childhood. Thankfully, the love she couldn’t give me, I found in my two grandmothers.

Growing up, I’d get dropped off at my grandma’s house when my parents needed a babysitter. I had two grandmothers there: my dad’s mother, “Della,” and her mother, “Lucille,” my great-grandma. There was no greater feeling than knowing I’d be spending the day with them.

I always loved both of my grandmothers, but initially formed a stronger bond with my Grandma Della.

When I was a kid, my Grandma Della was the joy of my life. I clung to her, and she gave me all the love I was missing at home. We spent time together watching TV, playing board games, and just enjoying each other’s company. It was well known in the family that I was her favorite grandchild. She never had a lot of money, but she always helped when she could. When they handed out book catalogs at school, she’d give me money so I could buy a book.

My Grandma Della died of breast cancer when I was in Middle School. I witnessed her gradually lose her life. As her cancer developed, she became unhappy, lost weight, and began losing her hair. She went through chemotherapy, but it only helped so much, and like countless other women, she lost her life. I saw her in the hospital in her final days, bald with multiple tubes connected to her body. It was devastating to lose my Grandma, and I have no doubt that if she were alive now, she’d be my best friend.

Once she passed away, all the love and attention I gave her naturally shifted to my Great-Grandma. Even though I was closer to my Grandma Della, I still had a strong relationship with my Great-Grandma Lucille since they lived together.

My Great-Grandma Lucille, aka Mom, was a blessing to our family. Her nickname was Mom because she helped raise everyone and treated kids that weren’t hers like they were her own. She grew up picking fruit in the fields and spent most of her adult life working in a factory. When she retired, she loved to relax and watch game shows like The Price Is Right and John Wayne westerns.

Mom was loving and caring, and helped everyone however she could. She was the rock of the family, and more than anything, she loved spending time with the people she cared about. I don’t remember ever hearing her complain about money or material things.

The funny thing about our relationship is that we never had deep conversations about my personal life. She just loved me, and I loved her. There are some people in life you like being around because they have positive energy and a calming presence, and Mom was exactly that type of person for me.

There were times I felt like everything was going wrong and I didn’t have any friends, but she’d always be there for me, her presence steady despite the chaos surrounding me. In life, the most common type of love is conditional (I’ll love you as long as you provide x or do y for me), but what I felt from her was unconditional. She loved me, even during times I knew I didn’t deserve to be loved.

On bad days, I’d always go to her room and find her in her chair watching TV or quietly reading a book. Sometimes I’d lie on her bed and watch a Lifetime movie with her, even though I couldn’t stand them, just to be around her.

There was a time when I was a young adult and had to share a room with her. One night around 1 AM, I was lying there listening to Jay-Z’s song “Lost One.” In the third verse, Jay-Z talks about a loss in his family. For the first time, I really thought about what it would feel like to lose my grandmother. I listened to her breathing heavily in her sleep, and I started crying on the floor beside her. Until that moment, I hadn’t fully considered that she was in her 90s and that one day she’d die, and we’d be separated forever.

I developed a sense of urgency and made it a priority to check in with my Mom every day. When I got home from work, I’d go to her room and say hi, and before I went to sleep, I’d kiss her goodnight. Even if I was too exhausted to walk across the house, I’d call her and say goodnight over the phone.

I began to understand how much she meant to me. When I looked back on my life, it really sank in how much she’d done for me over the years. I have many family members who love and care about me, but she gave me the kind of motherly love that’s so important for a man to have.

As Mom got older, she needed more care and attention. It got to the point where she needed help getting out of bed and going to the bathroom. I worried about her all day at work, afraid she’d fall and hurt herself or be defenseless if someone broke in. Eventually, her daughter stepped up to take care of her. It was bittersweet. She had lived with me my entire life, and now she was moving a few hours away.

I knew she needed full-time care and made peace with the decision. I felt comfortable knowing she had someone there 24/7 to assist her. My family and I agreed to visit as often as possible and call regularly to check on her.

Mom recently turned 97 and is still doing well. Despite everything that went wrong in my life, I feel blessed to have enjoyed Mom’s presence this long and pray she’s with me even longer. I felt like giving up many times, but she inspired me to keep going.

2pac has a line in his song “Thugz Mansion” where he says

“So much pressure in this life of mine, I cry at times
I once contemplated suicide, and woulda tried
But when I held that 9, all I could see was mama’s eyes“

I understood exactly what he meant. There were times I felt hopeless, but knowing that Mom needed me kept me going. I’m forever grateful for my grandmothers and what they’ve done for me. Because of them, I know how important love is and how it can help someone get through life. Even though my Grandma Della passed away, I’ll always keep her in my heart, and I’ll continue loving Mom until her last day.

Update

In March of 2020, I called my Grandma to let her know I was visiting soon, but her daughter answered the phone in tears. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me my Grandma wasn’t doing well. I told her to stay strong and that I’d be visiting that weekend. The conversation left me with a bad feeling, but I assumed my Grandma was just having a bad day and my aunt was being a little dramatic.

I went to work the next day. Shortly after arriving, I got a text from my family that my Grandma had been rushed to the hospital. I gathered my stuff and left. Once I got home, my family and I drove to my aunt’s house before heading to the hospital.

Once we got there, we hustled to the emergency room. It was a long walk, and every step felt like an eternity. When we walked in, the receptionist asked us questions about our health to make sure we weren’t sick. This was around the time the coronavirus was dominating the news, and hospitals were beginning to implement strict rules about who could visit.

I waited my turn and was unsure what to expect when I got to my Grandmother’s room.

Eventually, one of my family members came downstairs and told me it was my turn to go up. I walked nervously to my Grandma’s room. When I entered, she was heavily sedated and in a comatose state. Her arms were bruised, and she looked like she was in tremendous pain. Tears rolled down my face as I watched my Grandma dying in front of me. I walked over to her and told her I loved her and that she meant everything to me. She couldn’t respond, but it seemed like she could still hear me, because when I told her how much I loved her, she smiled.

I left her room and headed back to the lobby. When I got there, a nurse was meeting with my family. She told us they were moving forward with hospice care at my aunt’s house. As soon as I heard the word “hospice,” it hit me that my grandmother was going to die. I listened to the nurse talk to my family, but I couldn’t focus because I was so overwhelmed.

After meeting with the nurse, everyone decided to go home and meet at my aunt’s house the following day when they transported my Grandma out of the hospital. They asked if we wanted to see her again before we left, and most of us declined. My Grandma looked nothing like herself, and I didn’t want my final memory of her to be like that.

I did my best to relax for the rest of the evening. Close to 1 AM, I got a text from my aunt informing me that the doctors didn’t think my Grandma would make it through the night. My family and I headed to the hospital, but on the way there, I got another text saying my Grandma had passed away. As a courtesy, the hospital left her body in the room so we could see her one last time.

We got to the hospital and headed to her room. When we walked in, I saw my Grandma lying in bed with her head tilted upward, her mouth slightly open, motionless and dead. We sat in the room silently for a few moments before leaving. On the way out, I kissed my Grandma on the forehead and could feel the coldness of her lifeless body.

The first thing I noticed after my Grandma passed away was the overwhelming sense of regret that attacked my mind. I should’ve called more. I should’ve visited more. Even though I knew I was a good grandson, I kept thinking about all the missed opportunities to see her. As soon as someone dies, we immediately start focusing on where we fell short in the relationship, no matter how big or small those shortcomings were.

We were supposed to visit my Grandma a week before she passed away, but my family rescheduled for the following weekend, which ended up being too late. I always warned them that it was dangerous to postpone visits because we never knew when she might die. So when she passed, the first thing I wanted to do was yell, “I told you so! We could’ve had one more visit, but because we rescheduled, we lost our last chance to see her.”

I held my tongue because I knew my family had no way of knowing my Grandma was about to die. If they’d known she only had another week to live, they never would’ve canceled the visit. Still, it hurt knowing my Grandma was taken away from me just days before I was supposed to see her again.

Even though I’m sad she’s gone, I feel blessed she lived to be 97 years old. I can’t really complain when most people’s grandparents never make it anywhere near that age. I’m grateful we had her for that long, and I’m glad I told her how much she meant to me before she passed away. I don’t think there’s anything worse than losing someone you love while knowing deep down you never told them how you felt. Death is real and unpredictable, so it’s important to say what you need to say while you still have the chance.

For now, my angel and I have been separated. If I’m lucky enough to make it to heaven, we’ll reunite someday. Until then, I’ll cherish our memories and carry them with me forever. She was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I miss her dearly. There will never be another person I love as much as her. Even though she’s gone, I’ll always consider myself a Grandma’s boy.