Grandmother--Megan

Being an only child is rough - especially when your nearest family ranges from San
Leandro, to Michigan, to Canada, and then to the Philippines. In spite of this disheartening loneliness and isolation, I did have one relative that was a constant in my daily life (besides my parents of course) - my grandmother. She was the only grandparent that was alive after I was born and when I was about a year old, she came down from the Philippines to help my mom take care of me; a task that kept casually extending for roughly 10 years. My entire life I had learned from, played with, and confided in her. But then came March of 2012; the ending of my first year in middle school and the month that she was diagnosed - breast cancer. Although she did not pass on until 10 months later, a part of me was already frantic about needing more time. She had always been there. I had never thought of a world where she wouldn’t be and there were so many things I had not yet done that I wanted her to experience with me. I wanted her so see me promote from middle school, graduate from high school, be the first grandchild in the states to get accepted into college, to see me get my degree, and watch me get married. There were so many things that I wished so desperately she would experience, but sadly none of them were. Even now, thinking about how three of the events listed have already happened since she’s been gone brings tears to my eyes.
My grandmother was a fragile lady as it was, very skinny with delicate, smooth skin and slender fingers. She was of fairly average height with a meek demeanor with a soothing voice. She also had short, dark grey and black hair that, at most, would only just barely touch her shoulders while her oval glasses kept her eyes constantly glued to newspapers or any other kinds

of print. When starting chemotherapy, the treatments made her thinner as well as weaker. Whenever asked, whether by family or nurses, she would insist that she was okay and that the pain she was experiencing wasn’t that bad. We all knew her better than that though. I could see her physical vitality disappearing throughout the months as the pain she experienced began to steadily increase. Slowly this progressed into needing help up the stairs, not being able to go up the stairs at all, needing assistance to just get around, and then eventually becoming bedridden. Her idleness drove her crazy, as if it were the most pressing of her issues. Overall, in spite of the physical deterioration, her spirit remained in tact. She would even crack jokes, saying things like, “As if the pain from the cancer wasn’t bad enough, someone do those dishes!”
When she did finally pass in January, I was the first to volunteer to speak at her funeral. I remember writing a speech, lengthy and tear stained, that I intended to memorize. It was all written out, checked and double checked for errors or sentences that didn’t flow. All this went out the window however, the second I walked up to that podium and stood in front of all those people; people that knew and loved her best. I knew that only words from the heart in that exact moment would do her justice, and so I spoke. Acknowledging the fact that she was really gone absolutely crushed my heart and took months for me to readily come to terms with. From it however, I also know that she is never truly gone as she is always with me.
Although this goodbye was indeed the most painful event in my young life, its close serves as a constant reminder in how I should live my own life. Teresita V. Colobong is strongest woman I’ll ever know. She was humble, patient, and kind while still remaining feisty and confident. She never yelled and she never judged, no matter how unreasonable you might’ve been. She was poise. She was grace. The list of adjectives could run on and on, yet they would

still pale in comparison to the woman herself. My grandmother lived her life thinking of others before herself and taking the high road no matter how difficult. Everyday I try to honor her and her memory by trying to embody the ideals she lived to steadfastly by. One day I hope to become at least half the woman she was, and if I can somehow do that, I need ask for nothing more.