My favorite person
This is my example of how abruptly things can change in life affecting the feelings of people. As I grow older the memories become fewer. All my life my grandma was my best friend and the person I confided in. I remember as a small child I used to get up and watch the news with her. The chair we sat in was this hideous black and orange checkered chair from the seventies. We used to sit on her back porch on an old wooden swing and tell stories to each other about animals for hours. The first time we had ever told these stories I think I might have been 6 years old. We had Characters named Bucky Beaver and Sally Snail. I remember we had a lizard that would hang out on the bay window while we ate dinner at the table, we named it Lizzie. There are so many fond memories of that house. The day we moved out of my grandma’s house was a sad day for me. Not only were we moving but we were moving all the way across town, at 9 years old that is an eternity away from my favorite person.
Growing up around the Broadway and Harrison area in Tucson, my mother moved us to Wetmore and Stone. I remember I would stay the weekends at my grandma’s house every weekend well into my teens. At about 12 or 13 years old my grandparents moved to Tennessee, I was heartbroken. Around 15 years old I started hanging out with some very rough people. I was drinking and smoking and I was not talking to my grandma as often. At the time I didn't think they would move back, but around my 17th birthday they decided to move back out here. They didn't live in the same house though. They had a fifth wheel travel trailer, pretty decent size, and they lived in an RV park. My family and I would visit on the weekends. There wasn't enough room for me to stay the night anymore.
At age 19 I moved out of my mother’s house and went to live on my own. I began to call and talk to my grandma more and more. She and my grandpa moved to a closer RV park so I started to ride my bike over there. We would just hang out and talk for hours. As I grew older I kept contact with my grandma quite frequently. She would always listen when I had a problem she would always give me a place to stay if I needed to just get away and for that I am extremely grateful. Then one day I called and I got the news that my grandparents were moving back to Tennessee. I was heartbroken, but my great grandma needed my grandpa so he decided to move back.
My great grandma was 97 years old when they moved back. At first they were there to help her around the house, but as time went by she faded into this mean person that nobody had ever known. It ate my grandpa alive, first time I had ever heard him cry. After my great grandma passed away at 99 years old, my grandpa and grandma stayed as they attempted to sell the house. After 4 years they finally sold the house and planned to move back. I was so happy I could barely contain myself. When they moved back I was the first to go visit, I remember begging a friend to drive me over there. I had my grandma back and I was talking to her quite often again.
Now all my life I have dealt with anxiety and my grandma was the only person in the world that didn’t make me anxious. In 2009 I had an accident at work which rendered me disabled. After a few months of realizing all the things I could no longer do I began to slip into a very deep depression. I could no longer hold my son, I could no longer go hiking with my friends, I could no longer play sports or do anything active really. The longer this went on, the farther into deep depression I fell, and my anxiety worsened. I stopped talking to any friends I had, I stopped calling or visiting anyone in my family, and I started talking to my grandma less and less. At one point I only talked to my grandma on the phone, maybe once a week, usually more like once a month. My mother called me one night to tell me that my grandma had had a stroke and was in the hospital. My world started to crumble even more so. Life had become so overwhelming because of depression and anxiety, and now my favorite person in the world was hospitalized. I immediately went to see her, she was hooked up to a bunch of wires, and it was like a bad dream. It was so difficult for me to see my grandma this way. She was coherent and talking so I knew this was not the end. However after that it became very clear to me that I was not yet ready to lose my grandma.
I went my entire life knowing one day she would pass but I never really prepared for it. A few months went by and she got better, but then just when we thought she was doing well, she had two more strokes, one on each side of brain. These left her very lethargic and disoriented. She could barely speak and her memory just didn't work right. I remember calling her that day and as I tried to talk to her I could tell something was not right. She was having trouble saying simple words, she was having trouble remembering what she was talking about, and she sounded very weak. I told my grandpa to take her to the hospital and he informed me that he had been trying for several hours to convince her she needed to go. I freaked out and I called my mother, I told her to go check on grandma because she didn't sound well. My mother drove straight to my grandma’s house. When my mother arrived she found my grandma half-dressed and quite disoriented. She got a shirt and instructed my grandma to go to the hospital with her immediately with which my grandma complied. After they got to the hospital and got checked in my grandpa called me and with a break in his voice he thanked me for calling my mother and sending her over. My grandpa isn’t the feelings type, so for him to call me, I mean was absolutely huge. After our conversation they told me to wait until the next day to come and visit because of how late it was. With much reservation I agreed and waited. It was the longest night of my life. The next morning I went straight to the hospital. When I arrived my mother informed me that she may not know who I am. She had been calling my mother Judy all day which is my grandma’s sister, but my mother looks like my Aunt Judy so it made sense. She was calling my sister by my mother’s name, so we figured that she would call me by my uncle’s name. When I got into the room my grandpa looked at my grandma and asked her, “do you know him?” and he pointed at me. She looked at me and she looked back at my grandpa and she said, “of course I know who Patrick is!” My grandpa laughed a little and said you’re the first person she has recognized. I knew it was our unbreakable bond that we had grown over my lifetime. Since then she has recovered and is back home.
She is different now; she is not the same free spirit, fun person she used to be. I still talk to her and I go to her house as often as I can. She is doing a lot better, she is remembering a lot more and she can hold a conversation really well again. This is the most difficult thing I have ever tried to cope with. How does one get past or even through the loss of a loved one, especially if that loved one is as important as my grandma is to me. People lose loved ones and friends every day, it is a part of life, but really how do people go on for the rest of their lives knowing they will never be able to call them or go see them again? This is a heart wrenching subject that every person in has to deal with at one point in their life.
Growing up around the Broadway and Harrison area in Tucson, my mother moved us to Wetmore and Stone. I remember I would stay the weekends at my grandma’s house every weekend well into my teens. At about 12 or 13 years old my grandparents moved to Tennessee, I was heartbroken. Around 15 years old I started hanging out with some very rough people. I was drinking and smoking and I was not talking to my grandma as often. At the time I didn't think they would move back, but around my 17th birthday they decided to move back out here. They didn't live in the same house though. They had a fifth wheel travel trailer, pretty decent size, and they lived in an RV park. My family and I would visit on the weekends. There wasn't enough room for me to stay the night anymore.
At age 19 I moved out of my mother’s house and went to live on my own. I began to call and talk to my grandma more and more. She and my grandpa moved to a closer RV park so I started to ride my bike over there. We would just hang out and talk for hours. As I grew older I kept contact with my grandma quite frequently. She would always listen when I had a problem she would always give me a place to stay if I needed to just get away and for that I am extremely grateful. Then one day I called and I got the news that my grandparents were moving back to Tennessee. I was heartbroken, but my great grandma needed my grandpa so he decided to move back.
My great grandma was 97 years old when they moved back. At first they were there to help her around the house, but as time went by she faded into this mean person that nobody had ever known. It ate my grandpa alive, first time I had ever heard him cry. After my great grandma passed away at 99 years old, my grandpa and grandma stayed as they attempted to sell the house. After 4 years they finally sold the house and planned to move back. I was so happy I could barely contain myself. When they moved back I was the first to go visit, I remember begging a friend to drive me over there. I had my grandma back and I was talking to her quite often again.
Now all my life I have dealt with anxiety and my grandma was the only person in the world that didn’t make me anxious. In 2009 I had an accident at work which rendered me disabled. After a few months of realizing all the things I could no longer do I began to slip into a very deep depression. I could no longer hold my son, I could no longer go hiking with my friends, I could no longer play sports or do anything active really. The longer this went on, the farther into deep depression I fell, and my anxiety worsened. I stopped talking to any friends I had, I stopped calling or visiting anyone in my family, and I started talking to my grandma less and less. At one point I only talked to my grandma on the phone, maybe once a week, usually more like once a month. My mother called me one night to tell me that my grandma had had a stroke and was in the hospital. My world started to crumble even more so. Life had become so overwhelming because of depression and anxiety, and now my favorite person in the world was hospitalized. I immediately went to see her, she was hooked up to a bunch of wires, and it was like a bad dream. It was so difficult for me to see my grandma this way. She was coherent and talking so I knew this was not the end. However after that it became very clear to me that I was not yet ready to lose my grandma.
I went my entire life knowing one day she would pass but I never really prepared for it. A few months went by and she got better, but then just when we thought she was doing well, she had two more strokes, one on each side of brain. These left her very lethargic and disoriented. She could barely speak and her memory just didn't work right. I remember calling her that day and as I tried to talk to her I could tell something was not right. She was having trouble saying simple words, she was having trouble remembering what she was talking about, and she sounded very weak. I told my grandpa to take her to the hospital and he informed me that he had been trying for several hours to convince her she needed to go. I freaked out and I called my mother, I told her to go check on grandma because she didn't sound well. My mother drove straight to my grandma’s house. When my mother arrived she found my grandma half-dressed and quite disoriented. She got a shirt and instructed my grandma to go to the hospital with her immediately with which my grandma complied. After they got to the hospital and got checked in my grandpa called me and with a break in his voice he thanked me for calling my mother and sending her over. My grandpa isn’t the feelings type, so for him to call me, I mean was absolutely huge. After our conversation they told me to wait until the next day to come and visit because of how late it was. With much reservation I agreed and waited. It was the longest night of my life. The next morning I went straight to the hospital. When I arrived my mother informed me that she may not know who I am. She had been calling my mother Judy all day which is my grandma’s sister, but my mother looks like my Aunt Judy so it made sense. She was calling my sister by my mother’s name, so we figured that she would call me by my uncle’s name. When I got into the room my grandpa looked at my grandma and asked her, “do you know him?” and he pointed at me. She looked at me and she looked back at my grandpa and she said, “of course I know who Patrick is!” My grandpa laughed a little and said you’re the first person she has recognized. I knew it was our unbreakable bond that we had grown over my lifetime. Since then she has recovered and is back home.
She is different now; she is not the same free spirit, fun person she used to be. I still talk to her and I go to her house as often as I can. She is doing a lot better, she is remembering a lot more and she can hold a conversation really well again. This is the most difficult thing I have ever tried to cope with. How does one get past or even through the loss of a loved one, especially if that loved one is as important as my grandma is to me. People lose loved ones and friends every day, it is a part of life, but really how do people go on for the rest of their lives knowing they will never be able to call them or go see them again? This is a heart wrenching subject that every person in has to deal with at one point in their life.