Dear Great Grandma

I lost my Mitochondrial Eve today, before I could give her the coveted 5th generation picture we took years ago. It breaks my heart I never made her a Great Great Grandma. I tried, and I know that she knows that I tried. I'm trying to take solace in the fact that now I have one more angel in Heaven who might give God a talking-to and help us get our baby, even if it's too late for that picture.

You might think that a Great Grandma is someone foreign and far away, but she wasn't. Even while she was in assisted living, our family gathered around her regularly. On trips home from college, I was sure to get over to see Great Grandma. For the major holidays, our whole family would gather at her "home", and we'd have a party with her. Her age made no one nervous or uneasy, she was simply "Big Grandma" as Middle Brother coined her when he didn't know the difference between "great" and "big". The name faded as he grew up, but she loved him dearly for the laugh.

Not too many people know this, but I started writing letters to my Great Grandma each week when I was in college. While the consistency has dropped off this past year or two, I still sent the letters whenever I could. I have an enormous collection of stationery, most cards chosen specially for her. I don't tend to buy girly cards with purses or shoes, cartoons of young women shopping or sharing martinis with smart sayings. I buy handmade stationery with embroidered flowers, Vera Wang embossed flowers with pastels and strong cotton pages, solid cream papers with rich-looking gold initials. I chose 90% of the collection with her in mind; I didn't want her to tire of the same stationery each week, as few repeats as possible. I keep seeing "Dear Great Grandma," in my handwriting flash before my eyes. I will still be sending letters to my Chemo Angel, but it will never be the same.

She loved those letters dearly. She told me every time she saw me, and my grandma and her sisters always confirmed it to be true. Right now, more than anything, I want those letters. There should literally be hundreds, and I know they've saved them all. I always told her the best things about the week. I remember telling her about meeting TH, how there was something different about him. I remember telling her all about the wedding, how we made sure to include a line in the ceremony for her, since she couldn't be with us. I remember telling her about college, all the studying I was doing, the friends I was making, who now are my family in New York. My life story over the past 9 years, how I shared it with her when I couldn't be there, is in those letters.

The one glaring piece missing was how hard we've been trying for a baby. My grandmother's sisters read those letters to her, and I have not wanted them to know our struggles. When things started to go south for Great Grandma, I asked Grandma to tell her we were trying, I was trying, to make her a Great Great Grandma. I hadn't forgotten that 5 generations picture that impressed people all my life. I wasn't ignoring it. God just wasn't listening.

I wrote the final letter this week. In it, I told her she was everywhere in our home. I've been with her all these weeks, wrapped up in my favorite blanket, the one she made me that was given to me with forgotten safety pins I refused to take off. Every time I dip into the stationery cabinet, I think of her. When I took down the Christmas tree, I gingerly placed that hideous elf in the container, silently telling her I missed her this Christmas. She's with me every time I have brunch with the girls or have a fun day in the city, as the letter I'll write her starts to form in my head. And finally, I told her she's been with me this entire journey to become a mom. Some days I've begged God to do it for her, if he doesn't feel like making this happen for me. I promised her that when I finally hold our baby, I will soon hold the baby in her blanket, so she can hold him with me.

I confess that in my heart, I feel our baby is closer upon her death. I think she'll be giving God a nudge, using some pull. Since the fall, I've felt that our baby would come just a bit too late for me to tell her the good news. It appears now as though I'll be right; I'll take my first shot of Lupron on the day of her funeral.

Two weeks ago, I got the call from Grandma that time was finally running out. I say finally because Great Grandma was 95. Since September, her body has been shutting down, and I've been wishing for her to be at peace. She lived a full life, filled with love and family, and hearing about her state for these past few months has been hard. It seems like she's been old(er) and fragile my whole life, but what I've heard broke my heart. I've been worried about my Grandma and how hard this is for her. I've felt awful for wishing these things to happen quickly, but I just wanted to end the suffering.

Today, I can follow my thinking. I'm consumed with worry over my Grandma. I am sad, don't get me wrong. Tears have fallen the whole time I've been typing these words. But my Grandma must be so sad right now, and that breaks my heart more than anything. I know sadness; we've become very acquainted over these past few months. It hurts to know that my Grandma is going to go through this deep sadness while she mourns Great Grandma. I know she has to feel it, she must feel it, she needs to feel it, but I hurt knowing what she will feel over these coming days. I know how people will shy away from the sadness, and I know how less than fantastic of a communicator my grandpa is, though he loves her so. I do not want her to feel alone.

Before you tell me all the things I can do for her, rest assured that I know and will do them. I will ease my sadness by taking care of her (and my sister, The Belle, as well). I just needed to say that while my heart aches for Great Grandma, it also aches for Grandma as well, for I know the emotions she'll endure in these coming days, and I wish them on no one.