grandma

My Grandpa died when I was twelve. My grandma (Mom’s mom) died when I was thirteen. My grandpa (Mom’s dad) died when I was seventeen. My Grandma died in November of my nineteenth year, while I was a sophomore in college. Around five years before, during a routine doctor appointment, they noticed something strange in her mouth. It turned out to be a cancerous growth, caused by second hand smoke. They were able to remove it all and felt that they had removed all the cancer. Still, out of the desire to make sure the cancer would not return and eke as much as remotely possible out of her insurance, the doctor decided that it would be best to undergo radiation treatments. The radiation treatments worked. The cancer of her mouth never returned. Modern Miracle! However, within those few years, another growth of cancer was discovered. It was directly behind her right eye. This cancer was not caused by second hand smoke or first or third hand smoke, for that matter. It was determined that this growth was caused by the radiation that was used to kill the original cancer. It only makes sense. Once, so I hear, a woman swallowed a fly. She was kinky old bitch who couldn’t quite get up the nerve to experiment with gerbils, like normal people. The fly tickled her fancy for awhile, but soon she tired of the ecstasy that only insects can provide. The obvious solution? Move on to arachnids. She (stop me if you’ve heard this before) swallowed a spider. The spider did its job and rid her of her horny little fly. The eight legs caressing her from within sent her into spasms of pleasure. As with all things, this pleasure grew common place, so she transferred her desire to feathered foul. Of course she continues in this vein, consuming larger and larger living beings into her ever passion craved body. If only she had stuck to a gerbil. You see, there is always a cost. Always. Nothing is for free. They say the sun and the air is free. Don’t buy the lie. Suntan lotion gets expensive and the doctor bills brought on from the consequences of pollution and second hand smoke can be astronomical. My Grandmother’s cancer was no small news in my old little Missouri town. Everyone had nearly worshiped my Grandfather, who had died those six years before. To now have his beloved widow stricken in a similar vein was a tragedy. Not to worry, though. While we do not pray in tongues or sing praises to God while serpents coil about our bodies, we do believe in Healing—not in the Benny Hen, send me all your money and God will heal you kind of why, but in the Moses parting the red sea kind of way. Ask anything in true believing and it shall be accomplish was our motto. The church (and people across the country, honestly) united in prayer and believing for my Grandma. They prayed, anointed her head with oil, laid their hands upon her, were assured that God was going to show his power through a mighty miracle that would show his abundant love and grace so that many would come to believe in Him. __________________________________________________ It was while I was in my bedroom at college when I heard God. I was praying earnestly for Grandma. I was begging for her to be healed. I was praying for God’s will to be accomplished. I was asking for assurance of what would happen. ‘You don’t have to worry. I am going to heal your Grandmother. Everyone will know that I have worked this miracle. Your faith has been seen and honored. I will take away her cancer.’ It was like He was in the room with me. I heard it as clearly as I have ever heard anything in my life, before or since. I called Ashton, who still lived in Missouri, to tell him the amazing news. He was happy for me. “I want your Grandmother to be healed too. She is your last grandparent and such an amazing woman. I know that it is in God’s power to heal her. However, I don’t want to make you mad or hurt your faith, but. . .” “Ashton? What are you saying? But what?” “But, what if He doesn’t heal her, or what if His way of healing her isn’t the way you picture?” Meaning death. “No. That is not what He meant. He was very clear. He is going to heal Grandma.” “What if she dies?” “Well,” I pause, thinking. What if He doesn’t heal her? That isn’t even an option. God does not lie. “If she dies, then, I won’t believe in God anymore.” “Whoa, that is a big statement. That is what I am worried about though. I don’t want this to hurt your faith.” “It can’t. He will heal her. I know I heard him and I trust that. I know you are just trying to protect me, and I love you for it, but, wait, you’ll see. Everyone will!” I didn’t doubt it. Never. Not once. There was no more question about what he said than if he had stated that I had red hair. Anytime anyone would ask me about my grandmother or say how sorry they were, I would tell them to not be sorry. She was going to be healed. God had told me so. The last time I saw Grandma was on a long weekend from college. Dad and I flew home to Missouri. I don’t remember why Mom and Tristan did not come. (was it for j.i.’s funeral?) Dad dropped me off at Grandma’s house while he went to get some work done at the factory he still owned in our little town. I walked into her house. Grandma was sitting in her living room in one of the overstuffed chairs. She had her eyes closed and had both of her elbows resting on her knees. Clutched in her hands was this tiny, plastic cylinder type tube. In the middle of this tube was a black box with a nine-volt battery attached. I walk over to her. “Hi, Grandma!” She glances up at me and smiles. “What are you doing?” Her smile changes to one of embarrassment and she slowly shakes her head. She looks good. Tired, obviously, but good—not at all how Grandpa had looked. She looked like the same strong woman I had always known. “Oh, it is silly, really. Sherry-Lyn brought this over the other day and made me promise to use it. She hands it to me. I turn the contraption over in my hands. On the battery box is written some Bible verse about healing. I can feel the buzzing current from the battery as I touch either side of the plastic cylindrical handles. “What are you supposed to do with it?” I hand it back, and she resumes her position by grasping both handles and resting her arms in her lap. She laughs lightly. “You are supposed to hold it like I am doing, the battery current is supposed to do something to the cancer, and you focus on the Bible verse and trust in the Lord for healing.” “Grandma! Are you kidding? That is ridiculous!” “I know. But I promised her I would do it thirty minutes to an hour a day. Lots of people have brought such things.” She waves her hand at a pile behind her chair. There are several books, tapes, pamphlets, and other items similar to the one she was holding. “They are just wanting to help and wanting me to know that they have faith that I will be healed.” I am willing to bet these are the same people who came up to us and told us not to be sad when Grandpa died. ‘He is in a better place.’ ‘He is happy now.’ ‘God gave him the ultimate healing, be thankful he is not sick any longer.’ Yeah, well, Fuck you! and stay away from my Grandma! “I wish you wouldn’t waste your time and energy on these things. They don’t do anything! People are just trying to make themselves feel better by convincing themselves they are helping.” “Oh, sweetie, I know. None of these things will help, I know that. I do it just to be polite. God doesn’t need any of these things to heal me.” “Grandma, you are going to be healed. I know it. God told me. And, I don’t mean by dying. He is really going to heal you!” She looks directly into my eyes, seriousness enveloping her features. “I know he will. He has assured me as well. This cancer will not win.” Soon, we are sitting on the couch. I had gone down into the basement and retrieved a huge pile of old photo albums. I have always loved pictures. Grandma takes me through them, picture by picture. Grandpa in his old army clothes. Pictures of them when they were dating. Pictures of their first vacations. Pictures with them and several other couples who used to do thing together. Pictures of my dad as a little kid, and then pictures of his brother later on. Photos of Grandpa on one of his many hunting trips. Pictures of Mom and Dad getting married. Pictures of me as a baby and as a fat little kid. “Grandpa would be so proud of you seeing how you turned out. His world revolved around you.” She patted my legs. We went through pictures of Tristan’s birth, and of our little cousin. Half way through the albums, Grandma flinched and whipped her and towards her face. She let out a little yelp. “Grandma, what is it?” “It is just the growth. The pain comes and goes.” Tears are making their way out from under her hands and running down her neck. “I don’t know how long this one will last. It feels like it is going to shove my eye right out of my head.” Her voice was weak and strained. She was barely able to catch her breath. “Pray, Sweetie, just pray with me.” I place my hand on her leg as she rocked with the waves of pain. We prayed. Minutes pasted. She continued to groan and cry out occasionally. We continued to pray. Gradually, the pain subsided. She was trembling and tired. “I am sorry. I need to lie down.” We go into her bedroom and she lies down on the bed. I sit beside her. She talks a little more about Grandpa and then about Tristan. “You and I should go on a trip to celebrate this summer when you are off college.” “Ok. That is a great idea. Where do you want to go?” “We could go anywhere, but I have always thought it would be fun to take a cruise to Alaska.” “That would fun. Let’s do it. That will be a wonderful way to celebrate your healing. Just the two of us.” We both said it matter of fact. Neither of us was pretending or trying to be brave. We knew she would be healed and that we would go on our trip. “I love you.” She patted my hand. “I love you too, Grandma.” It is the only time I remember telling her that I loved her. She is the only grandparent that I spoke those words to. Neither of us said those words as a good-bye, even though that is exactly what they were. __________________________________________________ Mom, Tristan, and I were all in Tristan’s bedroom. Dad was back in Missouri with Grandma. She had been doing worse. It was the weekend. Mom was reading a book to eight year old Tristan, I was listening. We were awaiting the call that would let us know that Grandma had died. Well, in theory, anyway. I was awaiting the call that would say that the miracle had happened and Grandma was healed. The phone rang. Mom answered it. I held my breath. Her voice was calm, quiet. “She did? How long ago? When is the funeral?” I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. It made no sense. I didn’t really believe it. God had said. What about what I heard? What about how Grandma knew she was going to be healed too? What about our trip? What about the promise?