On June 8th, 2013 my grandmother took her last breath, so, obviously, this June marked 3 years since this world lost her. I've lost other relatives before, but I was never as close with them as I was with my grandma. When my parents deployed or had to go TDY, she was the one who took care of me and my sisters. She would fly to see my cousins, and even moved to Kwait to live with my aunt, uncle, and closest cousin. Her death had a huge impact on my family.
With her uphill battle against cancer for my entire life, I never realized how much pain she was actually in, she never showed it. When I was young, probably 3 or 4, I used to not let her leave the house without her hat to hide her bald head; for the longest time, that's what cancer was to me, just a bald head. That was just her first cancer, renal (kidney) cancer. She was put into remission.
Later down the road, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Cancer was no longer just a bald head. Cancer became pink ribbons, mastectomies and of course: bald heads. I was still too young to is understand what cancer really was.
These two cancers are not what took her away. When I was in 8th grade, her, my cousin and my aunt went to see a movie, and as she was trying to order what she wanted, she couldn't, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't. This pulled a red flag, just as it should if anyone, all the sudden, couldn't speak what they were thinking. This moment, is what made cancer a monster to me, not the bald head, not the ribbons. She got a tattoo of a blue and yellow butterfly to remember that she conquered breast cancer. 
She was diagnosed with brain and lung cancer and was only given six months to live. At the time, six months to live meant that she would never be able to meet my youngest sister, and I think that's what kept her fighting. It was always us, her family, her kids, her grandkids, that kept her fighting.
We kept getting told all these different amounts of time expected for her, that being another thing that began to really affect everyone. She became weak and tired and had this cough that was the most terrible sounding thing I've ever heard.
Come 2013, my mom was finishing her masters degree at CSU. At her graduation, she turned to my cousin and I and said: "I did. I made it. I saw her graduate." That was the first time that I realized why she kept fighting: it was never for her. 
When she was diagnosed with Renal Cancer, she fought for my cousins Ayla and Maggie, and for me. The second time it was for my twin sisters and my cousin Dan. And the third time, it was for Logann. After Logann was born, I think she looked really hard for something to fight for: it was us, it was her family, her kids, her grand kids.
A few days after my moms graduation, Ayla and I were volunteering with our old dance studio for recitals, we left early because something didn't feel right to me. I was right: on our way home, my aunt called my cousin to tell us that Nana was admitted and asked us to bring some stuff to them.
At the time, we didn't think anything of it, it was just a few nights in the hospital and that our Nana would be back home. Within the next couple of days, my family had to make some really big choices. Nana was done fighting, her wrist was decorated with a purple band that read: "DNR," which meant do not resuscitate.
My family from Illinois essentially dropped everything to come say good bye. This was the first time in years that everyone was together. My aunt had shaved her head in support for my grandma and to prove that "it's just hair".
On June 8th, the entire family sat in the hospice basically waiting for her to pass. I walked in to her room to grab something when I looked at my mom, my aunts and uncles all huddle around the bed, my aunt looked at me and said with tears running down her face: "it's time, go get the rest of the kids." Cause of Death: Renal Cell Carcinoma.
All of the kids chose to go in, except me, I had said my goodbyes to her earlier in the week. I waited outside of the room as my cousins came out one by one because they couldn't watch. When Ayla came out, she immediately buried her face in my shoulder.
Sometimes, I don't really think of it much, until something big happens. My high school graduation was a big one. My first tattoo that was in tribute to her. Or when I randomly ended up rooming with her husbands (she became a widow when I was young) granddaughter for my freshman year of college and all I wanted to do is tell my Nana. My wedding will be one of those time (I always asked if she would make my dress just like she made my moms), when I have kids, when I graduate college and so on. I will never stop missing her, but I am happy that she is finally out of pain.
Rest in Peace Nana.
