She was someone that I’ll never be able to replace. She gave me wisdom, humor, independence, and character. I have a strong will because of her. The courage that I find within myself, my sharp tongue, and many happy memories are all thanks to her.
She is no longer with me. It hurts to realize that every time I reach for the phone, intending to tell her something that only she would get a kick out of, she won’t be at the other end of the phone line. Words will never be formed by my lips or by my hand that can explain all that I hold inside for her. She left much too early and way too soon. I wasn’t ready to let go.
Tears roll down my cheeks whenever I write or speak of her significance in my life. Look now at the watery inkblots which lie upon this paper. They are proof that I still miss her, that I often feel lost without her, and that I’d give anything to have her back.
She is so much of who I am and who I will become. The love, respect, and other general feelings that I’ve given, and will eventually give, are greatly owed to her. I know who she wanted me to become and I strive to become that person everyday. I only want what would make her proud of me. I was her only grandchild, and she put so much into me.
The moment that we both knew she wasn’t going to make it is one that I’ll never forget. My mom, uncle R.H., uncle Earl, and I, were crowded into her hospital room. She laid in a hospital bed, so blown up with water and hooked up to so many machines. My uncles were facing the TV set, trying to ignore my silent tears. Mama was asking mema if she wanted anything to drink. I sat in the chair closest to the door, wanting to talk to her so badly, to tell her of everything I’d never said. But, I just sat there, yearning the courage to speak, crying a bit harder with every beat of her heart monitor.
It was hard for her to speak because of the oxygen tubes she had to use. Somehow, she found the strength to answer mama when asked if she wanted anything.
“Alisha.”
With that one word, my name, I walked over to her hospital bed. That wasn’t the bed she was supposed to be in! And those awful tubes weren’t supposed to be there! She was in decent health. How could a heart attack take her down like this? She lacked the life that was her trademark; she had no energy, her spirit was broken, and I knew that I’d never hear her laugh again.
I stood by her bed, holding her hand, running my thumb along the areas around her thumb. Her skin was still smooth, but even it lacked the aura that she once possessed.
I cried.
I cried so hard that I was no longer able to see. Everything was blurry. I kept my head down, ashamed of my tears. I was supposed to be strong. She hated tears; she always wanted laughter, but this was no laughing matter.
I finally held my head up and wiped a few tears away. Being able to see fairly well, I looked over at her. She spoke no words, but her expression said what no words could: I will be all right, baby. You will, too. I’m going to leave pretty soon, but I’m ready to go. You know that this isn’t where I’m meant to be. You’ll be fine. I’m proud of you, and you'll always give me a reason to hold my head high with dignity that you are my grandbaby.
It was then my chance to say everything that was welled up inside. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her. I wanted to tell her of my respect for her. I just wanted to say that she made up so much of my everything. But, I didn’t. The look on her face told me that this knowledge was something that she already knew.
I stayed around a few minutes later, but soon had to leave. I had school the next morning. Life was not going to go on hold simply because I wanted it to. I wanted to stay locked in that moment, where it was obvious that mema knew how I felt.
She stayed in this world for only a few more days; they were miserable for everyone. We knew she didn’t have long. She’d already decided she was ready to go. I wanted her out of misery, yet I still wanted her around. I felt that I needed her alive to radiate life myself.
Friday, December 13, 2002, my mema slipped on to something greater than this world that you and I occupy. No longer did she have to suffer.
She lived her life as best as she could--taking each moment for all that it was worth. She gave every emotion she experienced all that she could. Her loved ones knew of her unconditional love--it was the kind of love that will never be replaced or repeated.
My last words to her were, “Goodnight mema. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget that I love you, okay?”
I know that, had she been strong enough to talk, she would’ve said, “Alisha, don’t forget that I love you, too.”
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