My World Is Different Today

When I woke up this morning, my world was completely different than it was when I woke up yesterday morning. And it isn't because of the sudden losses in the celebrity world (Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcet, Michael Jackson - shocking and sad, for sure). Last night, someone of even greater importance to the world went to be with God in heaven: my grandmother, Neva. We called her Nana.

She was an ordinary person. A wife, a mother, a grandmother, a great-grandmother. A faithful parishioner of her church, a servant of Jesus who truly lived her faith. She was the kindest, most generous, most loving person I've ever known. I don't know of anyone who met her, no matter how briefly, who didn't instantly like her; who didn't feel more special for having known her. She just had a way of making every person she came in contact with know that they were special and loved.

And that was the amazing thing about Nana. We have a huge family - she had 5 children, 17 grand kids, and 12 great-grand kids. But I'm positive that every single one of us felt we had a unique, special relationship with Nana that no one else shared. And yet, we knew she was just as close to and loved everyone else equally. I don't know how she did it, but it's just who she was.

And when you were with Nana, you didn't have to be anyone except who you are. She appreciated every member of our family for their uniqueness and was always interested in whatever we were interested in. You always had a sense that every moment with Nana was precious, sacred, holy time. She was a great gift-giver, but I would trade every single gift she has ever given me to have more time in her presence. I'm willing to bet I'm not the only one who would say that.

Back in December, she was diagnosed, out of the blue, with stage IV lung cancer (she was not a smoker). Everyone was devastated and scared. I didn't want to imagine the worst. It didn't seem possible that someone who was so good, so dear to so many, and such a wonderful person would have to face a terminal illness as ravaging as this. Besides, people live a long time with cancer sometimes; sometimes diagnoses are wrong; doctors aren't right 100% of the time.

The doctors did indicate that it was inoperable, and there were relatively few options. She chose to do some chemo, in the hopes that it would buy her a little more time - months to a year maybe. Again, I didn't want to believe that there still couldn't be a good outcome here - a year, maybe more. Anything was possible, right?

Christmas was a little rough this past year. She was very emotional, obviously. Three of my cousins had babies on the way, due in March, April, and June respectively. I was also expecting our second child in July but didn't want to make it completely public knowledge just yet - we had a whole thing planned to surprise my parents later in the day. But I wanted to tell Nana, so I waited until fewer people were around and I got my son David to stand beside me. "Tell Nana what's in my tummy."

David softly said, "Mommy's baby."

"What honey?" Nana asked as she leaned closer.

"Mommy's baby." I think all she caught was the word "baby." Nana immediately started to cry, which made me cry. "I'm going to have four great grandchildren!" she said. I told her my parents didn't know yet, so to wait until after we left to say anything. She said she would.

The chemo worked, a little. But her quality of life declined and after a few months, she decided to stop it. It was right about this time that we had the 20 week ultrasound done. We decided to let this baby be a surprise, but the doctor printed out a picture with the sex written on it, put it in an envelope and sealed it. My aunt told me Nana's goal was to live long enough to see my baby. I didn't want her to feel like she had to fight to make it until that day if she was in pain, so my husband agreed to let Nana open the envelope and learn what we are having.

I will never forget that day. Nana didn't look too bad - tired, and a little more frail than a few months earlier, but otherwise she looked pretty well. We handed her the envelope and said we wanted her to know, but we still didn't want to know whether the baby is a boy or girl. So, she ripped open the envelope and pulled out the ultrasound picture, and got the biggest smile on her face. "I promise, I won't tell anyone," she said. And I knew she wouldn't.

By Easter, her health was starting to decline. She had lost weight and seemed sick. But she was still Nana. Still interested in what we were doing in our lives, wanting to know about the pregnancy, etc. Smiling, watching the kids play on the floor in front of her. Again, it seemed like anything was possible - maybe she could beat the odds, live for a year or more.

I have to admit, I didn't see her again for over a month. During that time, hospice was brought in and a hospital bed installed in her living room. Still, people can live on hospice for a long time. And part of me was relieved because going on hospice meant her pain could be managed. No matter what, I just didn't want her to be in pain. She is the last person in the world that should have to feel any pain. Ever.

I went to see her on Sunday. I was stunned by her condition. All her hair was gone, she could barely speak. Her eyes were blank, but there were moments of recognition. I took her hand and told her the baby is doing well, that it looks like I'll make it full term - the things the doctors were worried about don't seem to be happening. She was happy. She started making a motion around her mouth, trying to tell me something. I had to turn away, because I couldn't understand her and my tears were starting to flow. "Maybe she wants to feel the baby," my aunt said. So, she put her hand on my tummy. Unfortunately, the baby was sleeping, so she didn't get to feel any movement. I sat back down, not knowing what to say. Then, we had a moment alone. She motioned for me to lean closer. I haven't told anyone about the baby," she said. "I know Nana. I knew you wouldn't."

"I haven't told." She repeated.

"I know Nana. Thank you." I didn't know what else to say and I needed to get home. "I pray for you every day, Nana." All of a sudden, she had a lucid moment. "I haven't told anyone this," she began. " I pray every day to die. I want to die. Will pray for that for me?" My heart sank. The priest in me understood and knew what to say. But the granddaughter in me wanted to freak out and beg her to keep fighting - not to leave us.

I looked into her eyes. "Yes Nana. I promise I will."

"You'll pray that for me?" she asked again.

"Yes Nana. I'll pray for you." I told her I loved her and I kissed her. She seemed to be at peace. I raced out as fast as possible, and I was barely out the door when heaving sobs took over. I had made a promise I didn't want to keep, but knew I had to - somehow.

I got in my car, not sure if I could drive or not. Somehow I managed to get down the street and onto the freeway, still sobbing. My cell phone started ringing. It was my sister, so I turned it off. I was driving and its illegal to answer the phone, plus I wasn't in the mood to talk. The phone rang again, and it was my sister again, so I answered it. My aunt wanted to know if I could come back to give Nana communion. "I don't have a kit or anything with me." That's ok, my aunt had the stuff from church. "I'll go back." So, I took the next exit, turned around and went back.

I tried to pull myself together as I went back inside. Now my parents were there too. I wasn't there as a priest. Nana is a devout Catholic, so I had no intention of doing anything priestly so as not to offend her or my Aunts. I used the Catholic liturgy, and gave her the host. She had a hard time swallowing it. I remembered back to when I did CPE and had a little book of Catholic prayers for ministry to the sick. Some of the prayers were really beautiful. I think I kept it - I was wishing I had brought it with me.

By now, Nana was not very cognizant. She seemed to be in pain, although she said she wasn't. She had moments where she seemed to not be able to get comfortable, and she would moan and stare at the ceiling. Then my Aunt asked if she wanted me to read to her from the Bible. She said yes. What did she want to hear? "Whatever Jocelynn wants," she said slowly. We located a Bible and I started flipping through, praying for the right passage to come out. I believed what I was looking for was in 1 Corinthians. Then, there it was: the part where Paul talks about the resurrected body and how the body we will have in heaven is different from our earthly ones. She listened and moaned throughout. I don't know how much she heard or if it was even the right thing to read. But knowing what she had shared with me earlier, I thought maybe this passage would give her some comfort.

Again, I needed to get home, and I wanted other people to have their time with her. I kissed her again, and we made eye contact. I promised her I would pray for her. She nodded knowingly. And I left.

I don't know why she felt this was a secret - her prayer to die. But I felt I had to keep it and honor it. And so each day, I prayed that God would bring God's faithful servant home. It has to be one of the hardest prayers I've ever prayed because I don't want her to leave us. Selfishly, our world is a worse place without her. But she was suffering, and that was not fair either. And, she was ready to go be with the God she had loved and served so faithfully.

Just three days later, last night, that prayer was answered. I went numb when the call came: "Nana's gone," my sister said softly. I didn't know what to feel. My prayer - her prayer - was answered. She got her wish, and we are brokenhearted. I know she's in a better place and she's not hurting anymore. But I wish she had never had to hurt in the first place. I wish she did not have to be so miserable that she was praying to die. And yet, this was how her 87 years on this earth ended.

Apparently, her kids had spent the past few days putting the 'arrangements' in place. My dad told Nana yesterday afternoon that everything had been taken care of. Maybe that gave her the last bit of peace she needed to let go.

My world is different today than it was yesterday. Nana has left us, and although her spirit is always here, the hole that is left by the absence of her presence is immense. I miss her so much it hurts. It feels like nothing will be the same. I pray that our family - her beloved family - can pull together and support each other through this. I believe we will, even as each person deals with it differently. I thank God for Nana being in our lives. I would still trade everything for more time with her, but I know that's not possible. I am thankful that she is now happy, healthy, and whole once again.

I love you, Nana. We all do and we miss you so much. Thank you for being the most amazing grandmother in the whole world.