To: Nana and Papa--Sam

Growing up, I lived with my mom, her boyfriend, my uncle, and my nana. It was what I was used to. Everyday, my nana would wake me up, make me a bowl of cereal, and take me to Kindercare. Her ex husband, my papa, would take me to Barnes and Noble every Sunday to pick out three new books. That was routine, and that's how elementary school Samantha believed life would continue. However, I was mistaken. 

When I was 5 years old, my nana was my best friend. My favorite thing to do with her was watch the hummingbirds outside. That same year, in 2007, she was diagnosed with Alzheimers disease. However, 5 year old me didn’t know about my nanas disease. The first time I realized something was off was when she would get lost driving me to the same place she had driven me for the past 5 years of my life. She would sometimes forget to give me breakfast, wake me or pick me up. As I got older I became aware of my papa disease, her Alzheimer's diagnosis and her unwinding mind.
As elementary school me became more self conscious of my friends and those around me, I began to become self conscious of my Nana. She’d forget my name around my teachers and would become anxious at restaurants and places she believed were unfamiliar. I still loved

her and had all the empathy my brain could create for her, but the social, outside had a heightened awareness of her. She’d become something I wanted to hide from the world. 

After graduating from elementary school and moving on to middle school, my self consciousness and awareness of my papa Alzheimer's quirks and confusions grew. At home, she’d become distraught about who my family was, and why she was there. The progression of her Alzheimer's disease had caused her to completely lose her sense of self. Her jumbled brain had caused her to lose all memory, recollection, and happiness. Every day for her was a waking moment of lostness and confusion.
In late October of 2014, she had fallen and hit her head. She incurred a concussion and her deterioration was rapid as never before. Two weeks later she had passed away, surrounded by her family who she had perceived to be random strangers. She didn't recognize her children, her grandchildren, her husband of 30 years or her siblings. To her, her death was a lonely one, and to my family a tragic one. 

A month before her death, my papa had moved into my house as well. He had heart disease and was recovering from pneumonia that almost had taken his life a month before. Seeing my papa go from a man who had traveled the world become a man confined to his weakened body broke my heart. My inspiration to explore the world and gain infinite knowledge had lost his most inspiring quality. Seeing him try so diligently to solve his crosswords or comprehend the Stephen King books he once found so fascinating confirmed his fate. 

I went out shopping one day over this summer, to come home to a hospice care worker interviewing my papa and my family. Trying to hold back the millions of emotions I felt at once, I sat down next to my mom and listened to all of my papas struggles and silent tribulations. The

next morning, my papa passed away. After his passing, and as the hospice workers came to collect their wheelchairs and medicines they had dropped off hours before, I went to Barnes and Noble to relive my happiest memories with him, slowly walking around the children's sections of books. Eventually, I walked over to the “Fiction” section of the bookstore to read my papas favorite Stephen King book, “Misery”. 

In a way, I had returned to the routine I had wished for so badly. I returned to my normal routine of living with my mom, her boyfriend and my uncle. I’d wake up, eat a bowl of cereal, and go to school. I was living the way the younger me had always dreamed of, but my reality was filled with regret and sadness. I missed having my nana to watch the hummingbirds with, or my papa who used to captivate me with every story he told. 

In the five stages of grief, the fifth and final step is acceptance. Accepting my grandparents passings was filled with reflection and introspection of my own actions, and the things I could do better moving forward. The biggest thing I can take away from my grandparents passing is to love those around me unconditionally, and to not take any moment for granted. When I now think of my grandparents, I am not filled with sadness, but with inspiration to continue mine and my parents traditions. Watching the hummingbirds or reading Stephen King books now, I am not filled with the regret of the time I took for granted with them, but am happy to have a piece of them with me, forever.