Memoir of Vivian Blount
By Desimone Carr
My grandmother never forced me to go upstairs. However, she always asked to see if I was ever going to change my mind. After weeks of making up excuse about why I couldn’t make it upstairs, I finally had a change of heart. The twenty stairs that I had to climb to get up to my grandmother’s room seemed like ten stairs the first time I went to watch her complete her dialysis. Eventually, I began getting used to her dialysis and I started helping her set up for it. I would race upstairs to her room, wash my hands, put on plastic gloves, a face mask, and help her get settled so she could start. I was convinced that it was painless when I watched her talk on the phone, watch television, and make jokes during dialysis. I still knew that my grandmother was sick though.
A lot of things changed after my grandmother began to get sick. There were no more cookouts or holidays spent at her house. Her body was weak and she couldn’t make dinner for the family anymore. I missed those days and tried to push my memories to the back of my head to prevent myself from breaking down. Not only did my father’s mother change, but my mother’s mother also had to give up cooking big family dinners when she suffered a stroke about 10 years ago. There would no longer be any family functions on holidays at either grandmother’s house.
“Thanksgiving is in two weeks ma,” I said.
“I know, what do you want me to cook?” she asked.
“We’re not going to grandma’s this year?” I asked, shocked.
“No, I don’t think so. It’s too much for her to cook for the entire family,” she replied.
“So what are we going to do this holiday?” I asked while holding my breath.
“I’m going to cook a small meal for us at home,” she replied.
My mother cooked small dinners for us at home for the holidays, but it just didn’t feel the same. I felt funny with half of my family gone. There would be no more family functions such as card games after dinner, cookouts on the fourth of July, or tables filled with food in which everyone brought a course to complete the huge meal. I remember how my mom always made potato salad, and my aunt would cook her famous lasagna.
My life took a major detour when I found out that my grandmother was in the hospital. I hadn’t been able to go inside a hospital without turning pale of nearly fainting ever since my father was admitting into the hospital about seven years ago. He had consumed too much alcohol one nigh, which caused seizure after seizure resulting to him having to stay in the hospital for a while. By the time I saw him, a nurse was placing wires in his hair that would monitor his brain in case he suffered another seizure. I have been scared to death of hospitals since.
I remember my grandmother taking care of my father in the hospital. She sneaked in cigarettes for him, cooked him meals everyday because he wouldn’t ear the hospital food. She seemed so strong then, not only taking care of herself, but a sick son too.
My grandmother was admitted into the hospital because she had stubbed her toe and it had gotten infected. She was a diabetic, and a diabetic body takes longer to heal than a non-diabetic body. Her toe never healed, causing her to have an amputation. After the amputation, my grandmother started to give up on herself. She didn’t want to eat, drink, or even go to therapy to rehabilitate her leg. A while after not getting out of the bed, my grandmother began to grow weak, sleep all day, and suffer from bedsores and infections. None of those things were good for her, but she didn’t want to help herself anymore.
My grandmother loved shows and had over two hundred pairs in every color and style. She had black, lime green, pink, tan, red strapless, pumps, boots, open-toed, clear, any shoe you could ever imagine she had it. As a child, I tried on almost every pair, tripping and falling in the closet over shoes that weren’t in boxes. After her amputation, she said to my father, “George, get rid of all my shoes.” I will never forget those words. It was like a librarian throwing away all of her books. It just didn’t seem right.
I remember when my mother came home from the hospital with bloodshot eyes saying that my grandmother had said to her, “I’m tired, Wanda.” I walked to my room and forced the pillow over my face so my mother couldn’t hear me bawling. I knew my grandmother was tired and didn’t want to suffer anymore. I still had faith in her and wanted her to pull through everything.
Just when everyone thought my grandmother was getting better, she suffered a massive stroke causing her to go brain dead. Everyday she just lay there lifeless on the hospital bed while we all crowded around her. The only sign of life from her was the sounds of her inhaling and exhaling. My mother and I talked to her, but she couldn’t reply. We knew inside she was listening though. It just broke our hearts to know she was alive and heard us, but no one could do anything to help her. Occasionally, she would make grumbling noises often to let us know she knew we were there. There was still life in her. After many days of her suffering, the doctors decided to take my grandmother off the dialysis and let her pass away at her own pace. The doctors said she would pass away within 3-5 days, but she lived 10 days.
The day my grandmother died, I was in seventh period in school. My mother called me and told me my grandmother had passed away and she was coming to pick me up. I immediately broke down and started crying. Through I knew it was going to eventually happen, I had still stored a little hope in my heart that she would make it through. When I got to the hospital my grandmother looked so peaceful and beautiful. My aunt had done her hair, and there was a pretty flower on the left side of her hair. I walked over to my grandmother and rubbed her face, which frightened me because it was ice cold. I had never touched a dead body before, but I wasn’t scared. I have her a kiss and told my parents that I wanted a minute alone with her. I said my promises and good-byes, rubbed her hair, and walked out the room on my way to a new phase in my life.
I still can’t believe she’s dead. Everyday I am reminded of her, causing a empty hole to form in my stomach. I wear one of her necklaces, two of her rings, and I used to carry her obituary around in my book bag everyday before my mom had it laminated and it was too big to carry around. I will never forget her. She is my angel and I feel that she is watching me everyday, hoping I will make mature decisions for myself. Growing up, my gave me a lot of advice, which I was too young to understand then, but I do now. I will put her words to use and let her voice live within me.
I have never experienced a death of anyone who was close as my grandmother was to me, and it hurt. But as a teenager, I will have to handle many obstacles in my life that threaten to bring me down. If my grandmother was still alive she would want me to continue to live my life and succeed and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. The death of my grandmother made me realize how short life can be. You never know when it is your time, so you should live life completely every day. My grandmother was a strong woman, but when her health took a turn, it killed her. This experience had made me a more mature person ho had found herself. I am starting a new chapter in my life in which I am on a journey to find out what life is like in the adult world.
Gone, But Still Here
Red,
Blue,
Green,
Teal,
No one has as many shoes as my grandmother
Had
Flats,
Sandals,
Three-inch heels.
The sound of her footsteps have faded away
My heart has fallen out of my body
Landing on the earth
Like a shattered glass
The woman who could make my mouth water
Without letting me
Taste the food first
My grandmother, Vivian Blount
Frying cornbread
Mixing potato salad
And seasoning chicken
From my heart she will always be missing
She spoiled me
Buying when asked
Many people will learn about my past
How she worked hard all her life
How she was special
She will be remembered during her afterlife
Now I will be her voice
My grandmother never forced me to go upstairs. However, she always asked to see if I was ever going to change my mind. After weeks of making up excuse about why I couldn’t make it upstairs, I finally had a change of heart. The twenty stairs that I had to climb to get up to my grandmother’s room seemed like ten stairs the first time I went to watch her complete her dialysis. Eventually, I began getting used to her dialysis and I started helping her set up for it. I would race upstairs to her room, wash my hands, put on plastic gloves, a face mask, and help her get settled so she could start. I was convinced that it was painless when I watched her talk on the phone, watch television, and make jokes during dialysis. I still knew that my grandmother was sick though.
A lot of things changed after my grandmother began to get sick. There were no more cookouts or holidays spent at her house. Her body was weak and she couldn’t make dinner for the family anymore. I missed those days and tried to push my memories to the back of my head to prevent myself from breaking down. Not only did my father’s mother change, but my mother’s mother also had to give up cooking big family dinners when she suffered a stroke about 10 years ago. There would no longer be any family functions on holidays at either grandmother’s house.
“Thanksgiving is in two weeks ma,” I said.
“I know, what do you want me to cook?” she asked.
“We’re not going to grandma’s this year?” I asked, shocked.
“No, I don’t think so. It’s too much for her to cook for the entire family,” she replied.
“So what are we going to do this holiday?” I asked while holding my breath.
“I’m going to cook a small meal for us at home,” she replied.
My mother cooked small dinners for us at home for the holidays, but it just didn’t feel the same. I felt funny with half of my family gone. There would be no more family functions such as card games after dinner, cookouts on the fourth of July, or tables filled with food in which everyone brought a course to complete the huge meal. I remember how my mom always made potato salad, and my aunt would cook her famous lasagna.
My life took a major detour when I found out that my grandmother was in the hospital. I hadn’t been able to go inside a hospital without turning pale of nearly fainting ever since my father was admitting into the hospital about seven years ago. He had consumed too much alcohol one nigh, which caused seizure after seizure resulting to him having to stay in the hospital for a while. By the time I saw him, a nurse was placing wires in his hair that would monitor his brain in case he suffered another seizure. I have been scared to death of hospitals since.
I remember my grandmother taking care of my father in the hospital. She sneaked in cigarettes for him, cooked him meals everyday because he wouldn’t ear the hospital food. She seemed so strong then, not only taking care of herself, but a sick son too.
My grandmother was admitted into the hospital because she had stubbed her toe and it had gotten infected. She was a diabetic, and a diabetic body takes longer to heal than a non-diabetic body. Her toe never healed, causing her to have an amputation. After the amputation, my grandmother started to give up on herself. She didn’t want to eat, drink, or even go to therapy to rehabilitate her leg. A while after not getting out of the bed, my grandmother began to grow weak, sleep all day, and suffer from bedsores and infections. None of those things were good for her, but she didn’t want to help herself anymore.
My grandmother loved shows and had over two hundred pairs in every color and style. She had black, lime green, pink, tan, red strapless, pumps, boots, open-toed, clear, any shoe you could ever imagine she had it. As a child, I tried on almost every pair, tripping and falling in the closet over shoes that weren’t in boxes. After her amputation, she said to my father, “George, get rid of all my shoes.” I will never forget those words. It was like a librarian throwing away all of her books. It just didn’t seem right.
I remember when my mother came home from the hospital with bloodshot eyes saying that my grandmother had said to her, “I’m tired, Wanda.” I walked to my room and forced the pillow over my face so my mother couldn’t hear me bawling. I knew my grandmother was tired and didn’t want to suffer anymore. I still had faith in her and wanted her to pull through everything.
Just when everyone thought my grandmother was getting better, she suffered a massive stroke causing her to go brain dead. Everyday she just lay there lifeless on the hospital bed while we all crowded around her. The only sign of life from her was the sounds of her inhaling and exhaling. My mother and I talked to her, but she couldn’t reply. We knew inside she was listening though. It just broke our hearts to know she was alive and heard us, but no one could do anything to help her. Occasionally, she would make grumbling noises often to let us know she knew we were there. There was still life in her. After many days of her suffering, the doctors decided to take my grandmother off the dialysis and let her pass away at her own pace. The doctors said she would pass away within 3-5 days, but she lived 10 days.
The day my grandmother died, I was in seventh period in school. My mother called me and told me my grandmother had passed away and she was coming to pick me up. I immediately broke down and started crying. Through I knew it was going to eventually happen, I had still stored a little hope in my heart that she would make it through. When I got to the hospital my grandmother looked so peaceful and beautiful. My aunt had done her hair, and there was a pretty flower on the left side of her hair. I walked over to my grandmother and rubbed her face, which frightened me because it was ice cold. I had never touched a dead body before, but I wasn’t scared. I have her a kiss and told my parents that I wanted a minute alone with her. I said my promises and good-byes, rubbed her hair, and walked out the room on my way to a new phase in my life.
I still can’t believe she’s dead. Everyday I am reminded of her, causing a empty hole to form in my stomach. I wear one of her necklaces, two of her rings, and I used to carry her obituary around in my book bag everyday before my mom had it laminated and it was too big to carry around. I will never forget her. She is my angel and I feel that she is watching me everyday, hoping I will make mature decisions for myself. Growing up, my gave me a lot of advice, which I was too young to understand then, but I do now. I will put her words to use and let her voice live within me.
I have never experienced a death of anyone who was close as my grandmother was to me, and it hurt. But as a teenager, I will have to handle many obstacles in my life that threaten to bring me down. If my grandmother was still alive she would want me to continue to live my life and succeed and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. The death of my grandmother made me realize how short life can be. You never know when it is your time, so you should live life completely every day. My grandmother was a strong woman, but when her health took a turn, it killed her. This experience had made me a more mature person ho had found herself. I am starting a new chapter in my life in which I am on a journey to find out what life is like in the adult world.
Gone, But Still Here
Red,
Blue,
Green,
Teal,
No one has as many shoes as my grandmother
Had
Flats,
Sandals,
Three-inch heels.
The sound of her footsteps have faded away
My heart has fallen out of my body
Landing on the earth
Like a shattered glass
The woman who could make my mouth water
Without letting me
Taste the food first
My grandmother, Vivian Blount
Frying cornbread
Mixing potato salad
And seasoning chicken
From my heart she will always be missing
She spoiled me
Buying when asked
Many people will learn about my past
How she worked hard all her life
How she was special
She will be remembered during her afterlife
Now I will be her voice