The Necessity of Visiting Grandma

My grandma is not really MY grandma. She’s my best friend’s grandmother, yet somewhere over time she went from being Miss Cindy to grandma and now I’m her and poppa’s little Mexican grandchild. It’s not racist, it’s a loving label. Visiting my grandma is a necessity for me. I, seriously, start to feel withdrawal symptoms to the point of tears. I don’t have much family to begin with and have none that lives nearby so it irks me to go long without some loving from grandma…and poppa, too, of course. My very serious boyfriend has lots of family and we often visit with the main people of his family so after so many visits with his family members, I NEED some time with my own minuscule portion of illegitimate family.

Grandma is quite possibly an angel. She has negative emotions like humans but then her negative emotions (i.e sadness, irritation) are so slight in comparison to the extremes I’m accustomed to that I can’t even consider them negative.

Yesterday, I got a phone call from my older half sister with bad news. Not just “aww, that’s too bad” news, but “omma gawd, you’re kidding” tears to the eyes bad news. My mother, who I’ve finally started to let back into my life on considerable terms, has been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. The cancer that I’ve dreaded for years. The cancer I fear will be my undoing. My maternal grandmother’s sister died of ovarian cancer between the ages of 38-42 and after her death, my grandmother was pregnant with my mother and diagnosed with ovarian cancer during the pregnancy. She underwent radiation and chemotherapy and was thankfully saved due to its discovery because of her sister’s death from it. However, my mother in utero became mentally damaged from the cancer treatments, which is why I cannot hold her entirely to blame for her abusive tendencies. My mother’s older sister had ovarian cysts from puberty onward until her one and only son’s birth. Then, they became more aggressive so she was forced to have a hysterectomy (surgical removal of inner female parts) and was therefore unable to bear any other children. My mother has up to this date shared no signs of discomfort to ovarian cysts but.. my mother lives in various realities so it’s hard to distinguish. The only way we even discovered my mother’s cancer is because, apparently, my aunt noticed that my mother had lost too much weight too quickly without her attempting to and so my aunt took her to the doctors and somehow they found out the bad news. Ugh, long story long, the reason I dread ovarian cancer being my undoing is not only the horrific history of it all but the fact that I, too, have had to struggle with ovarian cysts since puberty.

Anyway, how my grandma fits in is that even though the dark cloud of depression followed me all day yesterday, I went to see grandma and she made me laugh and smile and love life again. I don’t know how I would’ve reached a place of okay-ness with my mother’s diagnosis if it hadn’t have been for my grandma’s ability to lift my spirits on her angel wings as per usual. We didn’t even really discuss the bad news but talked of good things and how life despite its small or big hills is a blessing. I’m not religious by any means but the feeling of peaceful serenity I feel when grandma is nearby is unspeakable.

I love you grandma and poppa.

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