Grandma P.

Today is the 10 year anniversary of the worst day of my life. It’s hard to believe it’s been ten years already, but it’s also hard to believe that I had 12 years of her in my life. Ten years ago today I was having lunch at school with my best friends when I was called to the office. My mom was standing near the door, signing me out of school for the day. I was excited to be leaving school, hoping that we were about to take an unplanned shopping trip. But when we stepped outside I knew otherwise. I saw my sister sitting in the car, her eyes red. Mom hugged me and whispered in my ear: “Grandma Pettijohn passed away this morning.”

You see, my Grandma was only 65 when she passed away. I was 12 at the time and I didn’t realize then that 65 isn’t old. She was a beautiful, amazing woman that I miss and think about every time I look at my bookshelf, every time I play a memory game, and every day when I put milk and sugar in my coffee. I was so young when she passed away. I really had no idea back then how important my family is. And I took her for granted. I remember these little things about her. I remember drinking coffee with her, I remember her painting my nails, I remember reading books with her, I remember playing memory games with her, I remember watching Wheel of Fortune with her. But I don’t really remember who she was. No matter how hard I try to imagine the way she would feel or act around me now, I simply can’t. I don’t remember how she talked, I don’t remember her voice, I don’t remember HER. I never had the time to really get to know her and it breaks my heart.

And it makes me so angry.

The fact is that her death could have been avoided. She smoked for most of her life and she ended up dying because her heart wasn’t getting enough oxygen pumped to it. I hate that I am so angry with her about this, but I can’t help it. How could she sacrifice getting to see her grandchildren get married and have babies, just for a few minutes of relief from a cigarette each day? She didn’t even get to see us graduate high school. She didn’t even get to see me and two of my cousins graduate from middle school. She has three great grandkids now and she never got to meet any of them. And they’ll never be able to know her. I know she didn’t mean to, and I know she tried to quit. I just wish she had tried harder. And I wish I could stop being so angry about it.

I don’t want my grandchildren to be angry with me because they never had the time to get to know me. When I die, I don’t want anyone to have cause to be angry about it. I want to be old and in pain and immovable and I want to have time to tell my kids and grandkids goodbye one last time. I want to meet my great grandkids.

So you’ll never catch me taking a drag off of anyone’s cigarette.

And you’ll be seeing a much more healthy me over the next few years.