grownup goodbyes

The distance between my mother and her mother was two decades of angry silence. What closed this gap was something more monumental than a distance being crossed: it was an apology, and a plea to have her mother back in her life, so that her daughter could have a relationship with her grandmother. 

The car I was in when I received a call from my aunt was what closed the physical distance between my childhood and the place where I would become an adult. My aunt was crying and could barely speak, but she managed to tell me to meet her at my grandmother’s house before she hung up. As my breath began to quicken and tears started to fill my eyes, my thoughts immediately jumped to the worst conclusions. When we arrived at my grandmother’s house my uncle led me into the front parlor and told me to wait, as my grandmother was close, and wanted to say goodbye. 

During the wait, my thoughts drifted back to the past few months. In January of 2014 my grandmother was diagnosed with stage four melanoma cancer; it had spread to her lymph nodes and she was terminal. One month later, my mother was diagnosed with stage two breast cancer. Undergoing chemotherapy, my mother had no hair, couldn’t eat much, and spent most of her days curled up in a chair in the living room trying to sleep.

What brought me back to reality was my younger brother. He had entered the front parlor shaking and terrified, unsure of what was going on. When we explained the situation he nodded and looked at the floor, doing his best to hide the tears streaming down his face. As the minutes passed, he slumped deeper and deeper into his chair—closing up on himself, unwilling to acknowledge the sorrow that had filled the room. It was in watching my brother that I realized how fast he had grown up, and how proud I was of the young man he had become. Rising out of my chair, I went over to him and did my best to comfort him. After countless years of squabbling, it was finally time to put our differences aside and be there for each other. 

When it was our turn to say goodbye, my brother and I entered the downstairs bedroom that had been transformed into a hospital room. Between labored breaths my grandmother told us that she loved us, and that she was proud of the amazing people that we had become. She recounted the happiest moment of her life: when for the first time in over twenty years she heard my mothers voice. With tears in her eyes, my grandmother told us how her daughter had called to announce her pregnancy and to apologize. She revealed how the apology was in hope of making amends—so that my mothers unborn child would know their grandmother. It was in recalling this moment years ago—when my mother decided to close the distance with a phone call, an apology, and the announcement of her first pregnancy—that my grandmother made us promise to always stay together as a family.

My grandmother died the next day, and as I watched my mother grieve for the loss of her mother, I acknowledged life as something that is only temporary. While the sorrow that resonated within my heart was crushing, the solace we found within one another made me realize I had become an adult. It had allowed me to recognize the necessity of appreciating the time that I have with the ones that I love, and to never let distance come between us, whether it be figurative or literal.