Almost 1 year ago::::::::
I didn’t even know she was having surgery.
I get a phone call on my cell, on a normal selfishly involved night in my boyfriend’s parent’s basement where I live. It’s my stepmom telling me that my grandma, my Mimi, is in the hospital. She is not well. My stepmom doesn’t know if I should be on my way to the hospital, she doesn’t know what’s going on.
Six months prior, Mimi had stents put in to help with blood flow. Rewind further and you will see that Mimi and Papa pretty much raised me for a while. Long story short, they were a definite constant in my life and in their 40+ years of marriage they still called each other “babe” and “hun” and wrapped their arm around one another and displayed nothing but true love as long as I have been around them. Even with my bio parents being divorced and re-married, this was more than they could provide and will stick with me more than my grandparent’s will both know.
Almost 1 year ago::::::::
I get the call from my stepmom. She tells me Mimi is in the hospital, she had stents put in today, (for the 2nd time, the 1st time I was aware of) and she’s not doing to well. I didn’t even know she was having surgery. Not wanting to scare me, they tell me they will call me when they get to the hospital.
Another call. It’s my stepmom. They are at the hospital. Sometimes I replay how I answered the phone with a cheerful “hello”.
My stepmom says “……..Hello? ……. She’s dead, Carly.” She is crying. I can’t hear anything in the background.
My Mimi is dead.
I can’t accept it at first. I cry in my boyfriend’s parent’s basement. Everyone in his house can hear me.
He takes me to the hospital. For some reason, it hasn’t set in. I honestly believe she will still be alive when I get there.
But she isn’t.
She is bloated. And pale. And stiff.
It’s only been an hour since she passed.
I’ve never seen my grandpa cry. He cried so hard that night.
I watched my grandpa try to lay her arm back on the table. She was too stiff.
He kept saying how she was “so cold, she’s so cold.”
I wished I wasn’t there.
They asked if she was an organ donor. My Papa said, “I don’t want to donate her, I want her back.”
I cried harder.
It was time to sign the death certificate. I watched him try to find the courage to sign it.
His hand circled around the signature line. It was if he didn’t know how to write his own name.
Finally, he did. And so did my father. And so did I.
I can’t explain what happened after.
All I can think of is the time I didn’t spend and the time I did spend.
Time, in general.
It will be a year in October. A whole year.
I miss you so much, Mimi.