It has been a year since my grandfather passed away from cancer. From the time he was diagnosed to the time he passed away marked the hardest year of my life. Not only did I have to learn that my grandfather was just diagnosed, but I was also just beginning my first year of college at the time. There was so much happening at once, and hearing the word “cancer” made everything a lot worse very quickly. To be frank, if it weren't for my family, I might be suffering from depression now.
Unfortunately and coincidentally, I had always made trips home when the stages of my grandfather's cancer progressed most visibly. The first visit was confusing and hard to digest. Doctors weren’t sure what it was. Was it gallbladder cancer or bile duct cancer? To this day we don't know. Then the social workers got involved. My grandfather had to choose whether to get a dangerous surgery that would give him a chance to maybe extend his life, or go without risk and let the cancer spread on its own. Either way, it was obvious that he was dying. Doctors said he could have a few months, but a year was practically impossible.
My second visit home, I ended up driving my grandfather to the doctor's office for a check-up. A few weeks later would be the last Christmas my family and I would spend with him. At the time, I still hoped he would get better. The naive child-like faith in me thought that God would send us a miracle, and somehow, just somehow, the cancer would magically disappear. Unfortunately, He had a different plan.
By my third visit home, I had experienced what to this day feels like the saddest two hours of my life. I was in the hospital with my parents, relatives, and pastors, just sitting and praying. We prayed because there were no other medical options, and this was the only thing we could do. The doctors said there was only a 20% chance that the surgery would be a success. We knew his chances weren't great, but we still hoped for a miracle.
When our pastor told us to come say our last words, I couldn’t. I cried. I cried out of desperation and fear and made one final attempt at asking God to save him.
My grandfather made it through surgery.
Once I came home for the summer, it was another hospital run, another frantic call from my grandmother saying that he was shaking uncontrollably and his body was getting extremely hot. We spent more hours waiting in the emergency room. He was transferred to another hospital where he’d have another procedure. I thought this would be it for him, but it wasn’t.
Procedure after procedure, medication after medication, nothing could stop the cancer. We say cancer sucks. And it really does. Waking up every morning unsure of what would happen next or when the next phone call would be was very difficult. How do you prepare yourself?
For his final birthday, 11 days before he passed away, I gave him the money I was making during the summer. We sang happy birthday, but it wasn’t happy at all. Birthdays are hard when you know there won't be a next one.
During his last few days, doctors and nurses were shocked with how little pain he was feeling; it was close to none. Although he suffered before and after procedures and surgeries, during the time in between he was full of life. He still celebrated the holidays, his grandchildren’s birthdays, his eldest grandson’s college graduation, the growth of his niece’s newborn, and his own birthday. It was definitely hard to watch, but I was actually thankful that out of all the times this could have happened to him, it happened then. He lived a long life, surrounded by people that loved him, and that's a lot for me to be grateful for, even though the end was a hard one.
The last image I have of my grandfather is his face covering my screen over facetime. He spoke to me in Korean. He called out my name and said, “I don’t think I’ll have much longer.” And all I could say was that everything would be alright. I hope he knew that I really meant it.
