Due to a massive stroke and various other health complications, my grandmother fell victim to paralysis on the entirety of her left body at the unjust age of 73, and my mother was handed the sole responsibility of tending to her needs, be it physical, emotional, or economic. My family’s life, and most notably my own mother’s, was irrevocably transformed and became centered around my ailing Gege.
On a chilling September day, as the leaves stained with their red and green and yellow hues had just began to fall, my mother made her way over to my grandmother’s townhouse in Lindenhurst. The previous night, they had made plans at nine in the morning for brunch at our house, a common activity for the mother and daughter duo connected at the hip. …show more content…
A typically funny and whimsical man, his solitude raised concerns in me, even as a second grader. It was evident at this point that something terribly wrong had occurred, and the sinking feeling in my stomach had only began. He told us to sit down on our green, welcoming and soft couch, but as soon as my butt hit the cushion it turned into a menacing seat of stiff wood. He was forced to be frank and commence the doom. Hot puddles cascaded down my cheeks, continued to my dripping nose, and landed in my mouth to imprint my heartbreak, as he tried to teach my little brain of why my grandma would forever be changed.
Resignation certainly did not take effect without a fight, but my grandma was never my grandma again. What little memory I had from her before the stroke was the opposite of the unforgiving body that she was forced to live in for over 8 years; she was my best friend, my confidant, someone that made me laugh, and quite possibly the most influential person in my life, besides my mother. During the 8 years, she was a ghost of the Gege I once knew, her pale skin sitting on her like a coat, and shadows of herself that were left behind in that townhouse
On a chilling September day, as the leaves stained with their red and green and yellow hues had just began to fall, my mother made her way over to my grandmother’s townhouse in Lindenhurst. The previous night, they had made plans at nine in the morning for brunch at our house, a common activity for the mother and daughter duo connected at the hip. …show more content…
A typically funny and whimsical man, his solitude raised concerns in me, even as a second grader. It was evident at this point that something terribly wrong had occurred, and the sinking feeling in my stomach had only began. He told us to sit down on our green, welcoming and soft couch, but as soon as my butt hit the cushion it turned into a menacing seat of stiff wood. He was forced to be frank and commence the doom. Hot puddles cascaded down my cheeks, continued to my dripping nose, and landed in my mouth to imprint my heartbreak, as he tried to teach my little brain of why my grandma would forever be changed.
Resignation certainly did not take effect without a fight, but my grandma was never my grandma again. What little memory I had from her before the stroke was the opposite of the unforgiving body that she was forced to live in for over 8 years; she was my best friend, my confidant, someone that made me laugh, and quite possibly the most influential person in my life, besides my mother. During the 8 years, she was a ghost of the Gege I once knew, her pale skin sitting on her like a coat, and shadows of herself that were left behind in that townhouse