This writing is the final installment of this series. It is, of course, dedicated to my beloved Granny. If you missed the beginning or any part of the series you can go here, here, here, here and here.
Praise the Lord, she did not go home in the cargo hold of any airplane. She did go home, and I went to see her. I was there for a day or two. There was another treatment option (a last ditch effort) in Birmingham, and she decided to check it out. I would meet them there. It would give me another chance to be with her.
That Monday, I met them at the hospital in Birmingham. She met with a neurosurgeon and had a few small tests. They had her touch her nose with her finger, remember a few words that they would ask her about later and then they had her count backwards from a hundred, by fours! Are you kidding me?
She did it. They had to tell her to stop.
She was to go home and come back the next week for the surgical procedure. She was very nervous at the prospect of them cutting holes in her skull and then her brain. She wasn’t very comfortable with the idea, but she was willing to give it a shot.
As we went to the parking garage, they went to their car, and I headed toward mine. She told me to drive careful and that she loved me. She smiled and waved as they drove off. They headed to Alabama. I headed to Georgia.
I called her the next evening, and she said she was feeling great. She had had a great day and was actually eating a Popsicle. I already knew it because I could hear her sucking on it as we talked. She was slurping the yummy frozen juice from it and talking at the same time. I laughed at the sound of it since I don’t ever remember her eating a Popsicle before. Ever.
She was feeling good. She was smiling as she talked (I could hear it in her voice). She was hopeful. She’d had a good day.
I told her that I loved her. She expressed her love for me.
It was the last time I ever heard her voice.
She died the next morning. She passed from this earth into the loving arms of Our Father, quickly, quietly, and thankfully without the horrendous pain the doctor predicted.
She died on my Grandaddy’s birthday.
She was my Granny. She was always very special to me, and I miss her so much. I continue to wear that necklace. My own grandchildren have sat on my lap and pushed the small, delicate diamond through the little teardrop.
It is life continuing, even in the loss. It is remembering and reminding.
It is family. It is love.
Evelyn Miller Griffin
October 28, 1917 – December 3, 1997
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