I didn't know what the Pancreas did, much less understood how serious was the diagnosis.
My grandmother and grandfather were two of the most influential people in my life. My grandfather had died a few years earlier, and my grandmother was just beginning to come out of mourning.
She had taken a computer course and was looking forward to spring time flowers blooming. Had she lived longer, she may not have acted on any of the plans she was speaking about at the time, but just speaking of plans was a great signal that she had begun to emotionally turn a corner.
Pancreatic Cancer progresses fast. We enjoyed almost one year after diagnosis. Some people only have a few days, depending on the stage the cancer is discovered.
I knew death was not going to be an easy process for my grandmother. For years she didn't want to acknowledge the reality that death is part of life.
Approximately one month before my grandmother's death, I had the opportunity to stay with her overnight during her last hospital visit. We had the opportunity to talk by ourselves.
"Are you afraid," I asked.
"That's a difficult question to answer," she said after a few introspective moments. "It just seems that after all the prayers from family and friends, this has continued to progress worse and worse."
I told her that part of God's plan sometimes meant not answering our prayers with what we expected. "Don't worry," I said. "Remember, Christ came onto Earth and experienced all the things we have. He understands how it feels to not have your prayers answered. Remember, he was in the garden of Gethsemane and prayed for God to use a different plan if it was his will and avoid dying on the Cross. So, Jesus understands what it feels like to prayer so hard for something and have the outcome be something you don't necessarily want. He isn't going to hold it against you if you are disappointed."
A month later the cancer had progressed to the point that my grandmother's body had begun to shut down. The last weekend she was alive she was comatose. She didn't open her eyes, eat, or move. She simply laid in the bed as the hours ticked-tocked by.
My grandmother denied the inevitability of death her entire life. She never wanted to talk about death. She never wanted to acknowledge that some day either she or my grandfather would die and the other would remain alone.
I understood how difficult it must have been for my grandmother to face her mortality. It is something we all must face. Our lives are like a flash of lightening that barely leaves a mark on this earth.
During that last weekend, each time I visited with my grandmother I wanted our conversation to help make the transition and death easier for her. I felt a responsibility to try and prepare my grandmother as best I could. Thankfully, the words and ideas came to me and helped me through this difficult experience also.
"Granny, what are you still doing here," I asked. Other times I would hold her hand, "Granny, I don't want you to be afraid. Soon an angel is going to come and take you to Heaven. Don't worry. Go with him. Soon you will be in Heaven and get to visit with Grandfather and all your friends and family who have gone before."
As I spoke, my grandmother's facial expression changed. She would purse her lips and frown. You could tell she understood what was being said and it was hard for her to hear it spoken. On a couple of occasions she opened her eyes and looked at me. A few times when I was going to leave and let her hand go, she would try to grasp it and hold it tighter. My aunt witnessed her doing this once and remarked that she hadn't done that for anyone else.
Our last conversations - really it was just me doing all the talking and she was doing all the listening - centered around the transition and helping her feel comfortable to let go when the time came.
"If you want to stay, that's fine. But if you have to leave before I come back then don't worry about me or anyone else. We're going to be just fine," I told her.
On Sunday, my wife and I returned to our home knowing the end was near. My grandmother and I had our last conversation. But since I was surprised she had lived during the whole weekend, who knew when God would decide to call for her?
to be continued...
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