Anna-Korrine Hancock

November 30, 2012
          I love you so much. I know you have some hard times, but you’re strong enough to get through them all. You’re strong and an incredibly beautiful woman. I seriously don’t know what I would do without you. Gammy, you are one of the most selfless people I’ve gotten to know. You deserve the world! I just want you to know that. I love to make you laugh because I love to see you happy! Get well soon!
                                                                                                        Love Always,
                                                                                                        Your Bunny
             Rushing to the emergency room with this letter in my hand, I hadn’t realized it had gotten this bad. As I walk in, I see my fragile grandma sitting in the small waiting room chairs, half the size she was the previous month. Yellow has washed her skin and eyes. It’s a diagnosis of liver and kidney failure, hepatitis B and pneumonia. For years she’s struggled with depression and alcohol abuse. She keeps it a secret, a secret everyone knows but chooses not to talk about. She has a rough adult life but I never see her struggle. She hides her pain in the boxed wine within her kitchen.

November 30, 2012

Her vital signs are too weak to send her home. They relocate her to a room on the fifth floor. Every day I go to see her. Sometimes I visit multiple times a day.

December 4, 2012

Darkness surrounds the hospital and the moonlight illuminations the sky. I have school the next morning but I don’t want to leave her. What if she just doesn’t awaken the next morning and I’m not there, I think to myself. I don’t want to leave her. My backpack is heavy, occupied by pages of homework I haven’t done in the past week, along with clothes for the next day. I lay out a blanket on one of the chairs in her room while my dad does the same. The hospital has a you’re-surrounded-by-people-but-feel-alone feel. A sadness creeps the halls and weeps on to my face. “People die here,” I realize. Shivers crawl down my body. I should have brought socks.

December 12, 2012

She isn’t getting much better. Neither am I. I am failing five out of my eight classes and on average am only going to about three school days a week. The thought of losing my grandma scares me. Some days I’m just too sad to get up, let alone go to school where I have no friends to talk to. School has gone from my first priority to my last.
Hi grandma. I’m back,” I say as I grab her hand.
Will you just go home?” she replies.
We both smile and know I’m not going anywhere.

December 20, 2012

After a few weeks of being in the hospital, they decide she can live at her sister’s house and she’ll take care of her. That means she is getting better, right? That’s what I think. Days at a time I am here at my great aunt’s, sitting by my grandma’s side. Crying. Pain strikes her voice every time she talks. A haunting smell of medicine and time running out fills the room she stays in.

December 25, 2012

Snow dwindles on the other side of the window sill. My family is all gathered together at my great aunt’s house. There is a slight happiness and warmth about this Christmas. It’s not exactly what I would have imagined Christmas day, but I get to spend it with my grandma and I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I fade away from the rest of my family to my grandma’s room. I pull the creaky fold out chair closer to her hospital-like bed. I kiss her soft cheek and sit down with her hand in mine. With weakness in her eyes, she looks at me and smiles a gentle smile.
What do you want for Christmas, Gammy?” I ask her.
She replies a simple answer, “to get better.” Tears welt up in my eyes. You know that toy that was always on your Christmas list to Santa that you included every year, even though you knew it wasn’t going to be there when you woke up Christmas day? It’s like that.

I visit my grandma every day while she is sick. Multiple times a day some days. Today, on December 29, 2012, I didn’t visit her. I decided to hang out with some friends. Surrounded by people I didn’t really care about, I got the call.
Hi honey.” Silence. My dad has a confident voice, steady and strong, even on the phone. But the trembling of his voice then, his breathing, was worse than the silence. I can’t stand the silence.
His voice was quivering and I knew. What I have been trying to avoid this past month finally found me. Time stood still and a part of my world was hit with a meteorite, leaving a massive part missing.
             My grandma always put everyone ahead of herself. She was always like that. She never got the appreciation she deserved. In the hospital SHE was apologizing to us for her being there. She blamed herself for everything and all I wanted to do was make her feel special and loved and wanted.
             “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She never explained why she was sorry. She just was. I still don’t know why.
I would leave her notes around her house where I know she would go, telling her that I loved her or that she was beautiful. She kept them all.

September 19, 2014

             I love you so much. I know I never read you my first letter. Just the thought of it would bring me to tears. I’m sorry you couldn’t see yourself the way I saw you. I’m sorry no one talked about your problem. And I’m sorry we couldn’t save you. But you saved me. You gave me the strength to keep going and get out of bed. You gave me the strength to live life and be happy again. Thank you!
                                                                                                        Love Always,

                                                                                                        Your Bunny