tyayia young

Ashland University Undergraduate Student

granddaddy

Every day at exactly four o’clock in the afternoon, my sisters, my mother, and I visit my granddaddy at University Hospitals. We have been coming for so long that I don’t need help getting to the room, I know exactly where it was. We all walk in and scream our hellos at our granddaddy and then proceed  to do homework. We sit with him until our mom makes us leave or visiting hours are over. Every day for a month, we walk into Learner Tower, up to the sixth floor and turn to the right to get to his room. We bring him food and keep him company until visiting hours are over, then we have to leave and wait till the next day to come back. I always wonder why we have to leave him alone through the night. At first, I assumed it was because the doctors need to do tests and give him medicine, until I realize they do that during the day while we’re there. I worry he was probably lonely and staying up worrying about us because that’s what I was doing: staying up and worrying about him. I worried that he felt alone. What if he was cold and couldn’t get the nurses’ attention? Was I concerned with his well being or was I just pushing off the fact that in the back of my mind I knew these are my last days with him. 

Instead I think about my best days with him. Having random sleepovers with him and my sisters on school nights, forcing my mom to get up even earlier to pick us up and drop us off. Getting off of the school bus and seeing his car in our driveway and knowing everyone has a pack of Now & Laters waiting on the table. Any time we see our grandaddy we get a small snack and climb over him like a jungle gym. The best days of all are when we pack everyone into his little apartment and laugh and play cards and until someone gets too angry or all the children fall asleep. My Uncle Rio insists everyone play another round, even while knowing my Uncle Corn has to be up for work at six am. My Uncle Marlon does not mind, he is already home so he would not have to take a long drive before going to bed. My mom knows we will stay since it’s a weekend so she doesn't mind staying a few extra hours since she will get to sleep in. As the adults play spades at the table we all linger around trying to interpret the game as best as we could, ultimately failing in the end. 

After a month at University Hospital, Granddaddy was transferred to Cleveland Clinic. I thought this was the best option because they are the best heart doctors in Cleveland. At least, that’s what I heard my mom, uncles, and some of his nurses say. 

“Don’t worry, surgery is better at Cleveland Clinic.”  Hearing my Uncle Corn say this put me at ease. He is always level-headed in situations, allowing him to make decisions quick and easy. He functions as a businessman in every aspect of his life. This may seem as if he is emotionally unavailable to others, but to us this is how he is able to lead us. He is seen as the leader of our family and is rarely wrong. Hearing him agree is the seal of approval we all need sometimes.

“We won’t have to worry as much now.” Hearing the way her voice shakes makes it hard to believe. My mother is trying to convince herself more than anyone else. She knew firsthand how bad his condition is--she is the only one constantly at the hospital with him. She is aware that this change is our last hope so she tries to hang onto it as long as she can. She knows she needs this more than anyone, my granddaddy is her lifeline. Not only is he her father, he is her babysitter, her shoulder to cry on, and her cheerleader. Everyone else is losing just a parent, she is losing her backbone. 

“He should be good now.” My Uncle Marlon sounds unsure, but I still believe him. I have no choice but to listen to everyone around me since I am only a twelve year old child. He is the only one who would not sugarcoat the entire experience with me. Whenever I had a question he would answer it honestly. I tried to believe him, but it was difficult. He was not confident in himself and I could tell, so it was hard to be confident in his answer.

Listening to these comments didn’t make me feel better at all. Why would we not need to worry as much now? Why did we need to be worried at all? Cleveland Clinic was supposed to be the answer to the problems I didn’t know my family had. Cleveland Clinic is the number one heart hospital so going there for end-stage heart failure gives a better chance for outcomes. I was grateful we wouldn’t have to visit my granddaddy in the hospital anymore after he received surgery. They told us he would be able to come home after about a week and he would stay with us.

I had been sleeping on the upstairs couch, so I could hear my mom leave. Sometimes she went to visit my granddaddy late at night and I would ask to ride with her, other times she was so quiet I didn’t realize she was gone until she got back. Late night rides to see my granddaddy became fun, like a little adventure. I would sit with my granddaddy as he slept, and eat McNuggets as my mom would talk to his doctor. When I heard my mom up this time I didn’t get the same feeling, I shook it off and just went to her room.

My mom was on the phone crying, bawling her eyes out and I just stared at her and waited. I waited for the explanation because I knew it couldn’t be the one I was thinking. I knew my granddaddy would not leave us. It couldn’t be what I was thinking because my granddaddy was stronger than this. I did not realize I was also crying until I tried to speak, no words came out. There was now a lump in my throat I hadn’t realized was there before and I couldn’t move. I told my body to move and I attempted to move but I couldn’t. If I moved it meant I had to realize this was happening, this was not a dream I would wake up from, it was real life. It was now becoming hard to see and I couldn’t understand why; then I realized I was crying even harder. I kept thinking to myself, “Why am I crying? There’s nothing to cry about,” then I looked at my mom crying and cried harder. She hurriedly  told the doctors she was on her way and she would bring her brothers also. I knew something was wrong because my uncles were also going to be there. I watched my mother leave and I went back to bed, telling myself nothing’s wrong, he’s fine. 

I got up a couple hours later and I was still crying. I couldn’t stop myself no matter how hard I tried. My sisters just thought I didn’t want to go to school and I couldn’t bring myself to tell them, “I think granddaddy is dying and that’s why mommy went back to the hospital”. Instead I continued crying. My chest heaved as I gasped for air, but I couldn’t breathe. I felt like a fish out of water: no matter how many times I tried to breathe I couldn’t, it was as if I was not allowing myself to breathe. I felt I was having an asthma attack, but I knew this was not an asthma attack. This was hurt, the hurt of having someone ripped from your arms with no warning and preparing; you go to sleep and wake up and they’re just gone. Hurt to the point that your everyday life has been rearranged, not just for a few months but forever. Hurt that I felt only one person could help me get through but now he was gone so I had to do it myself.

I finally got to class, still silently crying, I tried to stop, but my chest kept heaving and the tears kept flowing. 

“Tyayia?” I thought I heard someone call my name, but I was too focused on my thoughts to pay attention. 

“Tyayia, what’s wrong?” Once again I ignored them because how would I explain what is wrong? How could I tell them I believe my granddaddy is dying--no, at this point dead--without crying? How could I explain that I am hurt but I don’t have the evidence to be hurt yet; was my mom crying into the phone and calling my uncles evidence enough? 

When I finally looked up it was my friend. He looked concerned and asked me again, “What’s wrong?” My mouth was glued shut because if I talked about it I had to acknowledge it. I would have to face the fact that he was no longer alive, I would no longer be able to talk to him, no more weekends at Granddaddy’s house, no more holidays with him, no more anything with Granddaddy. I would have to admit to myself that he was no longer here and there was no way he was coming back. So, I kept quiet. It can’t be real if I don’t talk about it, so I pretended nothing happened for the rest of the day. I pretended everything was normal. I kept telling myself, “Just wait until dismissal and then we can go see him like every other day.” When dismissal came I had forgotten all about the phone call and was excited to see my granddaddy. In the back of my mind it still lingered that he was not with us anymore, but I pushed it away. It can’t be real if I ignore it.

When it was time to go home my aunty picked us up, this was the second sign of this day being off; she works twelve hour shifts and does not get off work until nine so, how was she able to get off so early? She said we would go see my granddaddy after we did our homework, so I just went with her. I didn’t object, at least we would still be able to see him. We sat at her house for seven hours. Yes, I counted because I grew anxious. Why was this day so different from the rest, why weren’t we allowed to go see him right after school and do our homework at the hospital like normal? Why was everyone acting so nice and keep saying are you okay? I kept screaming at myself in my head, “He’s dead, everyone’s acting this way because he’s dead Tyayia!” but I wouldn’t believe it. For some reason I couldn’t believe that he was dead. I was scared for him; how does he feel about being dead? Is he okay? Most importantly, I was confused, would I ever see him again? I knew I wouldn’t, but I felt for some reason it was possible.

When we finally got to my house my stomach dropped. There were so many people sitting on the front porch I felt something was off--my family never comes around all at once unless there is a death and a funeral--but I ignored it. I ran up to my Uncle Corn and Uncle Marlon and gave them a hug. I noticed first my Uncle Corn was crying, he never cries, it has not been a time I have seen him cry not even at a funeral. It sent me into panic mode, but I tried to calm myself down. Next, I found my Uncle Rio and noticed he was also crying, this made me feel a little better because he cries at anything. Him crying could just mean the surgery was taking longer than usual or that he was going to wake up later rather than sooner. 

Then I went upstairs to my moms’ room and my aunty and my cousin closed the door. The closing of the door alone made me breakdown. I knew coming in it was bad, but the door was the thing that hurt me. It was as if I was shut off from the fantasies I had created in my head about this day not being what I thought it was. When my mom finally told us, I just stared at her. I felt something in the deepest pit of my stomach churn. 

“Your granddaddy died this morning.” 

I felt as if my heart was being tugged on in all directions and ripped at the seams. I heard the words, but I wouldn’t let them register. I felt physically hurt but I couldn’t determine where the pain was, it felt as if it was in my stomach but just a few minutes ago I was hungry, so could that really be it? I figured it might be my chest instead, but my chest didn’t hurt, inside my chest hurt. I couldn’t explain it at first then I realized, I was heartbroken. All day I had known this was coming but that sentence being spoken to me by my mom made everything reality. I was now a child with a broken heart that could never be fixed because my grandfather can never return. Even now, seven years later, the slightest reminder of him can cause me to break down. I usually keep this information to myself because of how emotional it makes me; I only ever talk about my granddaddy with my mom, siblings, and uncles. 

After my grandfather's death I blamed the hospital and I vowed never to go back to Cleveland Clinic. It was almost as if I feared seeing the hospital because it would bring back memories I was afraid to think of. I was afraid to face my emotions. I couldn’t face the fact that my granddaddy was no longer with me. It hurt so much that thinking about it could bring me to tears. One simple thought of something he enjoyed could make me feel depressed. I later learned that was grief. I felt as if I would never get over it and I would be stuck in that same position for the rest of my life. Everyday was a struggle, I felt paralyzed with feelings of sadness--no, anger. I felt anger because how could the doctors not save him? How could they let him die? Why didn’t they try harder to help him? 

I was also angry at the fact that my mom was the one that had to make the decision to take him off life support. I learned to forgive her for this because it was not her call to make. Although she had to tell the doctors yes, it is what my granddaddy wanted. He always said he didn’t want to live on a machine, but I didn’t want to let him go. If he had to live on a machine at least I would still get to be with him. I started to resent her for taking him from me. 

Eventually I realized even on a machine he would be gone, he wouldn’t be able to talk or move or interact in any way, he’d just be there. It would be as if he is dead and that’s why he didn’t want to live this way. I have grown to live with the pain of losing him and I have taken that grief to help motivate me. My granddaddy may not be with me physically, but he will always be with me spiritually and that is better than not with me at all.

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TYAYIA YOUNG IS A SENIOR AT ASHLAND UNIVERSITY WITH MAJORS IN CREATIVE WRITING, ENGLISH, AND PSYCHOLOGY. SHE WAS BORN AND RAISED IN CLEVELAND, OHIO BUT CURRENTLY LIVES IN ASHLAND, OHIO FOR SCHOOL.