In Memoriam

The vividness of the world in color has been ever fleeting since early this year. September 10, 2010 is the day when all shades of that color vanished. Everything is dark.

In June of this year my grandmother was diagnosed with lung cancer, the dormant result of 30+ years of smoking despite not having touched a cigarette for the last 10 years. My second mother, a woman who is indestructible, was already in Stage 4 by the time it was identified. While some may argue that traditional cancer treatments are the best thing we have right now, I will argue that they have done nothing but provide the healthcare industry and the government with an infallible financial cushion that will continue to be fed by individuals who are aware of no other option. Having changed her lifestyle drastically over the past decade, my grandmother attempted a holistic treatment that involved a very intense dietary regimen. After all, if you've done your research, cancer, like most diseases, is merely a deficiency of something in the body. The entire family sided with this decision because it is what she wanted, and has been proven to naturally cure without destroying everything in sight as chemotherapy tends to do. With the latter treatment people are simply given time, a delayed alternative to the undoubted ending of physical life. This is, of course, subjective, seeing as how different people with different bodies enter different stages of the disease and respond differently in every aspect. Nevertheless, my grandma, with the company of my wonderful grandfather, headed south to Mexico to a clinic that specializes in the type of treatment she was interested in. This quick trip brought them home with a variety of herbal remedies. And thus, treatment began.

Nobody is more optimistic than my grandmother, and seeing her confidence in this treatment provided us all assurance that we could begin seeing improvements in the near future. Seeing her terrific smile and hearing her one of a kind laugh in the midst of such a difficult time was enough to keep me certain that I would have this woman in my life for many years to come. It was not long, however, before her physical strength began to leave her and she was overcome by intolerable pain in her leg and in her arm. She described it as "an iron on my skin." Being confined to a bed is something that my grandma simply does not do. She always has a project, something unfinished, another thing started, and a million new ideas to follow. As her status continued to decline our optimism did as well. While she remained in good spirits, her strength was just not there. On August 22, I received the terrible news that my grandma had broken her hip. While this is seemingly common, I had no idea it would happen to her. Just when she was getting deep into her routine, this happened. My grandpa, bless his heart, had more than fulfilled his role as husband and provider for my grandma. He wanted to do everything for her, and he did. On August 22, everything changed. In the back of my mind I recognized that day as the start of a steady decline. My grandma underwent surgery on her hip; nobody was sure if it could even be performed. The doctors later said that the surgery was so successful because of how well she had stuck to her diet. They said the inside of her body was perfect, textbook. But the cancer remained, growing still deeper inside of her.

After the surgery she was admitted to a home where she could be cared for around the clock without my grandpa continuing to try to do everything. We saw this as a rehabilitation stage, where she could continue her diet and regain her physical strength to walk. Little did we know that she would be unable to continue her regimen. With the disallowance of medical marijuana and a dietary protocol that I still don't understand, my grandma was completely off of the treatment. With the beginning of hospice care, we all knew that she had well under six months left on this earth, but were still unknowing of exactly how soon it would be. The last two weeks have been a complete blur, one day blending into the next, sleepless night after sleepless night and a daytime apart from my grandma that seemed to last for an eternity. Her room, decorated with cards and stuffed animals, and a beautiful quilt representing our family, became the auditorium for her biggest fans and supporters. Each passing day I could see the strength continuing to leave her body, her voice becoming more and more faint. And yet, her sense of humor and optimism remained. Looking into those light blue, beautiful eyes that have seen so much recalled for me so many childhood memories of living next door to my grandparents. To have those memories is a wonderful gift. And to have been able to share them again, talking with my grandma was even greater. It was nice to see her eating whatever she liked: ice cream, coffee, chicken and mashed potatoes. The shutting down of the body is a very roller-coaster-like experience. Spurts of energy are followed by periods of heavy sleeping and lack of energy. On the morning of September 9, I was on my way to work, already running somewhat late. After another sleepless night, I woke up with a feeling of impending events. I debated stopping to see my grandma before work, and even though it was only a few minutes, it was the most important few minutes of my life to this point. I will never forget the dialogue between us that morning... I kissed her, and when I did she said, "Another." I kissed her once more. "I love you a whole bunch," she said, over and over. I shared my gratitude and love for this wonderful woman and then we said goodbye.

The evening of September 9 marks the start of the final stage of life for my grandma. No longer responsive, her breathing patterns have changed drastically and she cannot be awakened easily, but she looks comfortable. Our time together in that room, the whole family by her side, vanished so quickly. I fell asleep that night, waking up every two hours or so. The morning arrived early on September 10, my birthday, a sense of urgency along with it. At around 9:00am I stepped once again into her room where my grandpa and other members of the family could be found. The day is riddled with the arrival of family members that we have not seen in ages, all to see my grandma for perhaps one last time. The day wore on, getting late into the afternoon. Many people left to get some rest and take a break from the emotional events of the day; I was one of them. I awoke suddenly from a nap on the couch and something told me to be with my grandmother, something beyond instinct. Upon arriving I found only two other people in the room: my grandpa and aunt. Her breathing has changed noticeably again, and I know we don't have long. It was in this moment that we recognized the true strength of this woman, her urge to keep fighting. As her breathing became heavy, long periods of pausing followed in between each breath. The feeling of wondering if she would take another is the most painful anticipation I have ever known. Her breathing then became short, shallow... And then the three of us watched her take that last breath and leaned over her to pray. The feelings that follow I cannot describe with words. To me, the world had ended.

My grandmother and I share a birthday now, mine into this life, and her into her new life. I cannot explain the symbolism that is associated with this day, the events and the way they played out. God is an awesome God, and what he intends to be, will be. Her short life of 71 years will be recognized and celebrated until the end of time.

To the most inspirational and selfless woman I have ever known, I love you infinitely.

To my family, I love you all just as much and hope that we are never apart.

Your prayers and kind words have certainly been a blessing for the past few months, and we would not have gotten through this without you. During this period of mourning we hope to continue to receive your prayers and kind words, as we will need them to be strong.

Darlene Marie Howe, May 4, 1939 - September 10, 2010