My dad's dad passed away when I was just a baby. The only memories I have of him are pictures and stories told to me. When I was four years old, my grandma found a new love. His name was Jerry, and he quickly became an integral member of our large, slightly crazy family. From our annual vacations to Hawaii, to family dinners at Jerry's favorite Thai food restaurant, Jerry filled a gap I never knew I was missing.
Jerry had a heart condition; he spent much of the past few years at different doctor's appointments. About two weeks ago, it took a turn for the worst. Jerry was put on hospice and given a short life sentence. It was scary for me because I’d never experienced anything like this. I kept going to school and trying to act normal, but I was constantly afraid his life would abruptly end. I spent a lot of time visiting him in those ten days.
The first time was the day of this diagnosis; my family decided to spend the evening with him and my grandma. I was terrified to see him; I didn’t know what to expect. When I got there, Jerry was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for us. We all sat around the table, conversing as if everything was normal. Jerry was still his same self, full of smiles and joy, but a little more tired. He perked up as the conversation continued. By the end of the visit, he was even singing the song he had written for my grandma. I was convinced that he would be okay, and even though saying goodbye was impossible, I just knew I would see him again. He was too lively and strong to leave this earth.
Over the course of the next week, I watched Jerry’s strength wither. Jerry was moved into a hospital bed in the family room. He was now on oxygen, but still looked peaceful. He couldn't keep his eyes open long anymore, but he still had his sharp brain. He talked to me about the presidential debates and asked me what I was writing about at the moment; I discussed my busy schedule and college plans with him. Talking to him, I felt the fear and anxiety slip away; Jerry was still himself.
I tried to ignore the medical equipment that looked so out of place lying around the room I used to have slumber parties in as a child, but it burned a hole in my brain. Jerry wasn’t okay anymore, and it was time for me to come to terms with that. As I said goodbye to Jerry, I lingered a few seconds, hoping to be able to capture a lifetime of memories in one hug.
Jerry passed away on Wednesday, late at night. I had refrained from talking about my feelings and emotions up until that moment, but then, they all poured out. I cried more that night than I probably have in years, and I stopped bottling things up. I wanted to talk to people; I wanted the support. I sat down and started typing. I wanted to remember all of Jerry’s amazing qualities.
Jerry was an extraordinary person. He made the best out of every situation and always made me feel special and included. I can’t imagine having grown up without Jerry’s laugh and his love for frozen yogurt. He has truly helped to shape me into the person I am today and I am so lucky I was able to know him for so long.
