Dearest Family,
There is no easy way to start this because I remember how awkward it was for me… so I will just start. I don’t remember the date exactly, but earlier that day – that oh so fateful day – I had been out with my boyfriend. He had graduated two years before I did, but we came from the same area. I had lied to my parents and took their car to visit him. Being young and having seduced my boyfriend on a picnic blanket and once again in the back of the jeep (remember, I was less wrinkly then). One of my father’s friends had been on a run, and I glimpsed him as he passed by us on the dead end road. When I sauntered through the doorway to the garage, I heard muffled whispers coming from the kitchen. Luckily, we had tile and not wooden floors. That day is seared into my memory and is why I am writing this.
The entire drive home, I had wondered if the friend had noticed me inside the jeep pinned beneath a naked man. We had a blanket, it was flannel with neon greens and pinks. It wasn’t a family blanket, my boyfriend had brought it for our picnic – he had prepared sandwiches and a bottle of wine to watch a meteor shower. I can’t remember the name of the shower, to be fair, he was mostly in the way of the sky. The sex was alright, I remember a pinecone was poking my back and it had gotten cold. So, we moved to the jeep to finish up. For some reason the windows didn’t fog up, and I remember the taste of tuna and red wine on his lips – it was oddly erotic. Then came the friend, he glanced in, my eyes widen, but he kept running. My boyfriend got concerned when my eyes grew in size – he had missed the stranger running by our parked car. Based on survival of the fittest, he and I would be dead if we were copulating in an area with predators. A runner is way louder than a cougar, just a friendly note from G-Ma.
So here I was, a cougar preparing to close the gap on my prey. Instead of sustenance, my goal was to pull vital information from a hushed conversation. I was a spy, but would I be Hale or Tallmadge – one failed and was hung and the other succeeded in running the Culper spy ring. I’ll never forget the proceedings of that night, or perhaps my memory has already been obscured by age. I do know that the content hasn’t changed.
Either way, I walked right into a cliché and trap, “We need to talk to her about it.” Immediately, I flashed to me moaning and clawing at the small tuffs of hair on my boyfriend’s back – they were like little steel wool bunches. One time, I tore a patch out. Sorry, I digressed.
“She is too young.” It was my father. I was his little girl.
“We don’t get to choose when it happens.” Thank god they didn’t know about my first time in high school. It had been at a youth camp for church. I’ll never forget that little Aussie and his blonde pubes. We were so young, and he missed a couple of times… but he eventually got it.
“We both have to agree if we’re going to talk to them about this.” I was the eldest, my brother was two years my junior but my dad raised me to be a man. At three, he taught me to split a log with only a knife. At eight, I was starting my own fires with a flint and steel. At twelve, I gutted my first trout. Even with all those experiences, I never figured he would have the talk with me; I assumed mom would.
“You have too, we all have to talk about it!” Alright, there were obvious issues that my stupid brain couldn’t comprehend. First, I was of legal drinking age and my parents weren’t stupid. Second, I failed to realize that they wanted to have a talk with a much bigger group of people than just me. Third, did I mention my stupid brain? I was so self-centered, I thought my virginity would be a family emergency.
“When do you want to do this?” My father had given in.
“Now”—it was grandma and she spoke softly—“who knows how long I got.” Her tone was stern, it had been five years since we lost grandpa to a vicious case of prostate cancer. I moved closer to listen, but forgot that the tile I was standing on was loose. It kinked forward and a slight tap echoed in the hallway. Grandma spoke again, “Looks like one of them is here.” I swallowed and entered into the room, and grandma continued, “Tessa”—she wore a soft smile, it was unnerving—“how long have you been there.” I am embarrassed to say, but I was still thinking that we were going to talk about my whoo-ha. The wood seemed cold as I pulled out the chair – from the legs, two lines originated in the carpet. Her wrinkle face smiled as she began, “I am sick, baby.”
My brain had to readjust from a conversation about sex to one about death. Before I could speak, my father had stood and walked towards the stairwell; he was getting my brother and other sister. It is odd, in that time, I noticed the oddest things about my settings. Grandma was in her favorite Christmas sweater and jeans but looked amazing. Her eyes were vibrant, her lips colorful, and her skin slightly weathered. She reminded me of a queen from a tropical zone (probably all the trips to Florida); all she needed was scepter, crown, throne, and new outfit. But none of those things mattered, her inner demeanor exuded authority. She was everything I dreamed to be, she was a matriarch that commanded the family. My father stood no chance, neither did my mother, she had decreed that we – the children – would be privy to information and the conversation. Once the order had been signed by the sharpness of her tongue, her servants began their duties. My mom was preparing her tea while my father finished fetching the rest of us. By the time the tea was on the table, my brother and sister were sitting beside me. My mouth hadn’t opened even though my brain’s readjustment had been completed.
My little sister was complaining, “Dad, dad”—he ignored her and looked down at the table while clenching his jaw—“dad!” Her shoulders slumped as she pursed her lips.
Grandma was smiling and looked from one of us to the other, and then she dropped a bomb, “I am dying. I am going”—she held up a finger silencing all of us—“to refuse treatment. This little meeting has been called to discuss what is going to happen and how it is going to happen. So, we are going to do this like it’s an elementary school”—she had been a teacher in elementary school—“raise your hand.”
I was first out of the gate, with a nod I was given permission to speak, “What, what, are you even sick?”
Her soft smile melted my heart, “I have ovarian cancer that has spread.”
There was no hand, I spoke out of turn, “When did this happen?”
“I just found out a week ago. I thought about it a lot, and well, I decided not to participate in treatment.”
During that time, I had retreated into my own brain to question her suicidal decision making. My brother and sister continued to pester her about treatments, science, and technological advancements. Like grandma always did, she smiled and nodded. The entire time, she knew that they wouldn’t sway her. Unlike us, she had strategized how to defend her position and fight off our attacks. There was no way she would allow us to prolong her life. All I could think was: my children will never meet their great grandma. It was selfish, but it was what I was truly contemplating.
Eventually, I came back to the conversation and heard my grandma’s reason, “Treatment will maybe prolong my life for five years. They believe I have two to three years active without treatment. My doctor is pushing for treatment, but I don’t need to stick around that long. What, spend a year or two in treatment? Stuck here, living with all you and defecating”—she never said shit or crap in the entire time I knew her—“in a diaper? I rather be traveling and enjoying the rest of my life. So, which one of you will take me to the airport tomorrow morning?” We were all crying at that point, but we all decided to take her. With that smile and twinkle in her eyes, she responded, “Excellent!”
One of us squeaked out, “Where are you going?”
Her tone turned happy and excitement was bubbling under the surface, “I booked a trip around the world! I got a lot of inheritance to blow through. I should be back sometime.” I loved that answer, sometime. She had been selfless for the family, but now, now she was going to be selfish. None of us realized she had signed all of her paperwork and gave power of attorney to one of her friends. We couldn’t legally save her life. And I am glad we didn’t try, but that feeling, that thought, didn’t appear until my mom – your grandma – was sick.
Grandma came back from her trip ecstatic, she lived a full life and then passed in her sleep from heart complications. Then there was my mom, I believe you all remember visiting her in the home. We all hated it, it is safe to say it. She never remembered us; she was kept alive on machines; she needed help from two full time nurses; she died never knowing where she was or if anyone loved her. I remember her eyes swinging back and forth as she was laid up in the ICU. Eventually, she passed, and I was actually glad.
That is what this is, this is my letter to you explaining why I am doing what I am doing. Of course we’ll have the talk. Don’t worry, it won’t be about your whoo-ha’s or ha-ha’s. It will be so you can all ask me questions about what will be happening over the next couple of years. First, I will be taking a trip around the world on a sailboat. I promised my Grandma I would do that when I was dying – Nick, if you make a crack about how we’re all dying I will throw things in your direction (you have been warned). After that, let’s call that gravy time where you guys get to watch me put my pants on backwards and drink a lot. But, I am sure that you all want to get back to what you are doing. I hope to see you all at Sunday dinner.
Sincerely,
G-Ma
P.S. Sorry about the sex stuff, just remember I was less wrinkly back then.