Losing Someone You Love Unexpectedly

December 8, 2016

I woke up in my room by hearing my mom's cellphone ringing in her room. I laid still, listening to her talk to my uncle about something that would change our family forever. I heard her get out of bed and walk into my room to tell me my grandpa had fallen and hit his head so bad that he had to be transported to our hospital from his so they could do a platelet transplant. I instantly got this sick feeling in my stomach that this would be the fall that would take him away from us. I got up and reluctantly got ready for school. Third period came around when the speaker came on asking for me to be dismissed. I met my mom at the back of campus and we rushed to the hospital, the entire time I had no clue what was going on. When we arrived to the hospital I walked to the ICU with my mom to be greeted by our pastor, my godmother, grandmother, and a neurosurgeon. The neurosurgeon explained to us that there was bleeding on my grandpa's brain and that he needed to have surgery as soon as possible. We called the rest of the family and by 11 PM everyone was there. We all shuffled into his room, three at a time, to tell him we loved him and good luck. The first surgery was successful, it was the days that followed that were a nightmare.

December 10, 2016

Friday came and went quickly so that Saturday my mom and I went back to sit with him. We were told to ask questions that would be simple for him to answer. Most of the day we asked him what his name was, where he was, and what year it was. He answered with slight difficulty, but a correct answer. Towards the end of the visit I had the courage he knew who I was, to my disappointment, he said no. I didn't go back on Sunday, and I will forever be regretful of that.

December 12, 2016

Sunday he went unconscious. Monday I was called out of class yet again to prepare for is second brain surgery. I drove the familiar route to the hospital, praying for a successful surgery. I got there before anyone else, standing in his room with my pastor and mom. This time was more risky, this time the surgeon said death was a possibility. My mom, pastor, godmother, grandmother, and I waited in the empty, dark waiting room yet again. To our luck the surgery was a success and we had hope for the first time since he fell. The hope didn't last long.

December 14, 2016

I woke up and went to school with a feeling that this would be the day something terrible would happen. The whole day passed without word from my mom until my fourth period class when she texted that I was about to be dismissed from class. As soon as the intercom came on I bolted out of the room to my car, rushing to the hospital, not know it would be the last time. I walked into the hospital, straight to the ICU waiting room and saw my mom and pastor sitting at a round table, in the corner, and with red eyes. Sitting down my mom grabbed my hand and without words I knew what she was saying.

By 5 PM most of our family was there, waiting for a conference room to open to discuss the outcome of the night. We were soon ushered into a junked up room with a large, oval shaped table in the middle. I was seated between my cousin and my godmother. I took notice to how the room looked in order to distract myself. There were three small tissue boxes strategically placed on the table, there was equipment moved to the side and a flickering light in the corner. It smelled of hand-sanitizer, dust, and the stereotypical hospital smell. It was cold and I remember shivering so my godmother wrapped a coat around me as we waited. Soon, two surgeons walked in and told us that the chance of him waking up was too slim, tears instantly filled my eyes. We were then told two options. One was to move to Comfort Care, which is basically taking someone off Life Support and making them as comfortable as possible until they passed away. The second was trying to get him through the unconscious state he was in, only to live the rest of his life in a wheelchair, with 24 hour care, more pills, and machines. No one said anything, but I let out a sound that can only be described as a heart that had been broken. Everyone turned to look, but I couldn't see, I just remember my cousin grabbing me and pulling me into a hug as his tears soon soaked part of my hair. We were given time to think, but the answer was the only one that would let my grandpa have dignity, so we decided to take him off life support.

Walking back into the room to say our goodbyes was surreal, I remember being angry with everyone, wanting to fight for him. I didn't verbally say my goodbyes, and now I think I should have. I grabbed his limp hand and just listened as my Aunt told him her goodbyes. Soon my tears dried and I found myself waiting in a family room with my cousin and her boyfriend, we didn't know when he would pass, but a part of me thought there was a chance he would open his eyes and crack a joke again.

I had fallen asleep until the door to our room opened and my mom and godmother walked in. I didn't want to admit it to myself but I knew what they were going to say. It was 11:37 PM on December 14, 2016 that he passed from a brain injury. Walking back to his room to get my stuff was the hardest part of the night, it was walking into a room where a soul had just left us. I grabbed my stuff and walked to my car, alone and cold. My first instinct was to turn on the radio to drown out my thoughts, "Outskirts Of Heaven" by Craig Campbell came on and memories flooded my mind. I don't know how I made it home safely that night, but I did.

In the weeks to follow, I went numb while everyone else grieved. I found myself shutting off my feelings and lashing out in anger that he was gone. When the service came it had been the first time I had cried in a month. When the military did the 21 gun salute and played taps I couldn't breathe. It had been like someone punched me in the gut and all the air was gone. When the service was over I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding in.

Things people don't tell you about losing someone is that it doesn't get easier, it becomes more bearable. You grieve differently and at different times about different things. Maybe you hear a song you used to listen to together and cry even though it's been a year. Maybe it's wanting a hat that he had when you were little and you can't find it no matter what you Google. But no matter how or when you grieve there will be lots of firsts. There will be the first time you want to call them about something exciting and can't, the first time you go back to the place they lived and they're not there, the first holiday or birthday without them. There will be the first family meal without them and their spot is empty because no one wants to sit in their spot. The memories haunt you, I can still smell the conference room and if I think hard enough I can hear his voice which is slowly vanishing from my memory.

Losing someone is unexpectedly is never easy, it will never be easy, it will simply become more tolerable and eventually you will learn to live without that person in your life even if it seems impossible.