If I were to know that five years ago the best part of my life would die, I would have cherished our moments together more. She had a sweet innocent soul, my great grandmother. Her fervent green eyes, always glistening whenever someone talks to her. She always had the most intense smell of hairspray drifting through the room when she walked in, everyone adored it. 

At night, my family and I were all sitting quietly on the couch watching television like normal people. My mother suddenly got a disturbing phone call from my aunt, Shannon, that in fact, my great-grandma was in the hospital. 

In my 11-year-old brain, I quickly rationalized that everything was going to be just fine because she is a strong person and if the situation was serious, I would know. 

As a family, we promptly got dressed and drove down to the nearby hospital. We arrived at Bronson and attempted to complete the steps of talking to people until we could finally see her. This was my first time being in a hospital, so I wasn’t familiar with what to do. Naturally, I followed my eager parents through the hospital vividly looking around at everything that was going on. There were nurses and patients scattered everywhere around the halls. The pictures that were hung up were mostly sponsorships supporting the hospital with messages along the lines of “your safe at this hospital” and “the most top rated nurses.” I thought to myself that I would never want to work in a hospital because of the appalling smell that wafted through the air. Looking around the hospital, I soon realized we had reached my great grandmother’s room. 

The nurse we were following directed us into the room and stated, “here you are.” 

I looked around the room profoundly eyeing everything I saw insight; the curtains draped around the bed, which had a weird green color; a slightly small bathroom with a sink, which had the door propped open; a whiteboard, with what looked like a list with checkmarks; and a monitor, which had a steady beating pattern. 

The nurse opened the curtains revealing my great-grandma. She was hooked with numerous tubes and needles, it was shocking. The tubes were as long as snakes, but clear. I knew that I would never be able to have any needles or tubes inside of me; the thought of it was nerve-racking. I then realized that my aunt and uncle were there standing alongside my great-grandpa. The doctor then came in wearing a long white coat, as you would see in the movies. The doctor pulled my family relatives out of the room and left my sister and me, while they whispered hush secrets. Loosely 5 minutes later, everyone piled back into the room. Studying the room, I concluded that everyone had a disturbed look on their faces. I wasn’t a part of the conversation; therefore, I didn’t understand what everyone was dreadfully worried about. The doctor continued to blabber nonsense in front of my sister and me. 

At my age, I didn’t have the awareness I should have had, so I heavily tugged on my Mother’s arm asking her what the doctor had just said. She deeply groaned and kneeled as every parent would to a tiny kid, “She has pneumonia, so they are transferring her to the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor for better care.”

I had remembered the day I went to the University of Michigan soccer game. I was about 10 years old and had recently joined a travel soccer team. I had been remarkably aroused to go with all of my new friends I met on my team. I was all dressed up in Michigan gear, waiting for the day I could be down on that exact field. Michigan ended up losing to Michigan State by one point. Thinking back, my emotions towards that game were reflective upon what I felt at the moment I found out that my great-grandma was very sick, disappointed. 

The following morning after being told by the doctors that my great-grandma was being transferred, we made a brief trip up to Ann Arbor for the next couple of days. Another hospital full of sick, struggling people, fighting for their lives. The thought of it made my stomach twist and turn. 

There is a memory that is elicited in the back of my brain, that I will never forget. I was 8 years old and I was spending the night at my great grandma's house while my Mother and Father were out of town, probably off somewhere at a theater show or dinner. Either way, I was having a terrific night with my sister, Madison, who is always immensely quiet around people; my great-grandpa, JD, who remains in his office working; and my sweet great-grandma, Bonnie, who is consistently keeping my sister and I occupied. The night was induced by doing each other's makeup, hair, nails, and eating pizza with orange juice. I was genuinely the only one who ate the pizza with orange juice. Don’t ask me why, but it was unusually delicious. As you may have inferred, I got food poisoning that night. Throwing up is not an incredible feeling, particularly because it was food poisoning. What made the experience more bearable was how I was surrounded by massive amounts of sympathy from everyone around me, and I felt comforted.  

Back at the hospital, we were there for what seemed like forever. Madison and the rest of my family went down to the cafeteria to eat. I passed up on the opportunity to eat hospital food. Even though it might have looked good, judging that it was actually hospital food, made me not want to eat it. Later that day, I strutted down to the cafeteria out of boredom, and I must have had a change of heart because I ate vanilla yogurt that was offered to me by one of the nice ladies in the cafeteria. 

Around July of every year, my entire family goes camping up north by Big Rapids. The week consists of staying in cabins, which is our luxurious way of camping; sitting by the fire, which is surrounded by my family members playing card games; and tubing, which is 1 day out of the whole week. Tubing is by far my favorite section of camping that I grew up with. 

A few months before the devastating hospital visit, we went camping for the last time with my great-grandma. 

We drive roughly 35 minutes out of our campground to go tubing. We arrived at the start of the river, where everyone docks at. The day included laughter, excitement, and alcohol. What is floating down the river without gobs of alcohol? I, of course, was not drinking because I was only 11, but everyone else that was legally allowed to was. Now, I vaguely remember every single year that we went tubing, but this one trip is glued in my head. It was when everyone got incredibly drunk and sunburnt, it was priceless. As a whole, we were all tied together with rope so we couldn’t float away from each other. This made it increasingly hard to stand up because anyone could get tripped up by the ropes. Smartly enough, my great-grandma thought it would be hilarious if she stood on a pile of rocks. I eyed the water gliding across the rocks through her feet, when suddenly the rope pulled against the back of her heels and brought her legs up flying over her head. In this situation, none of us knew what to do. Should someone help her? Do we all laugh it off? Without hesitating, my plastered uncle helped her back up into her tube with her water bottle full of alcohol still in her hand. My great-grandma blasted out into laughter and took a huge gulp of her alcohol. 

Knowing that it was probably going to be the last time I saw my great-grandma ever, we left the hospital in dripping tears. The doctors continued to convey that there was simply nothing they could do except leave her on life support. My great-grandpa made the life-altering decision on his own the following week. On December 22nd of that year, he pulled the plug. No one was aware of his severe choices. My Mother got the call that morning from my Aunt, Shannon. The fact that my great-grandpa couldn’t even call my mother about the situation made the entire family resent every part of him. 

I could not even begin to imagine what my mother was feeling. I glanced at her as one single tear dripped from her eye. As I continued to observe her, I knew that she couldn’t hold in her feelings anymore. As soon as she burst into tears, that’s when my sister and I followed. I had so much compassion for her, for my great-grandma was her best friend for her whole life. Bonnie had been there for my Mother when no one else was and losing someone you care about so deeply is heartbreaking. 

I will never forget the day that the most unbelievably amusing person in my life, had passed away. She continues to stay in my memory with the endless sleepovers at her house, waking up to the finest breakfast with orange juice, and staying in our pajamas. Even though my great-grandma is not in this world anymore, it’s the glorious memories that still exist.