On a cold, blustery day two years ago, time stood still when my grandma, her voice cracking with emotion, phoned us that my grandpa had lung cancer. As soon as my parents were informed about his cancer, they went on automatic pilot scheduling various appointments and a date for his surgery. My whole family was in total shock and we hoped that his cancer would not spread any further with each passing day before his operation.
On the day of his operation, every single-family member on my dad’s side, including the youngest cousin who was four, was praying that he would have a successful surgery. These family members from the Midwest, East coast and everywhere in between were holding their breath to hear the news from the doctor. The long extensive minutes turned into hours while we waited. By the time that we were notified that he could have guests, it was already 9:30. So my family and I raced to the car and drove to the Cleveland Clinic. The drive there seemed like it lasted forever. When we got there, we got lost trying to find his room because the Clinic is so big. Once we were headed in the right direction we had to follow colorful tape on the floor to get to his room. Finally, we rushed into his room with so many machines hooked up to him. When he started to talk his voice was a little bit hoarse. While we were there, we talked about how much snow we were getting and about his farm. We decided to stay a little bit because he needed to rest and start the road to recovery. When it was time to depart, it was really hard to say goodbye because we longed to stay and talk more. But he looked wonderful, and I knew the second that I walked into his room, he would be even better than before.
As 2006 went out with a bang, we kept checking on him and he was better each time. Since that surgery our family had almost gone back to normal until the day before Thanksgiving when my Uncle, Scott, called with a solemn voice telling us that my grandpa had a stroke. My parents were absolutely shocked and sat my brother and I down and told us what my uncle had told them. When we heard the news we really wanted to go and see my grandpa but we had company over and we would be traveling that way the next day, Thanksgiving. When we got to the hospital the next day, on Thanksgiving, we found his room once again, where we found my dad’s brother, two sisters and their families, my grandma and of course my grandpa. Since there were so many people in his little hospital room we decided to go into a waiting room where we all fit. A fond memory of mine while in that room was my grandma (who is separated from my grandpa) brought a piece of pumpkin pie to give to my grandpa. Maybe my grandma giving my grandpa the pie even though they are separated was a first of many miracles to happen before he got better.
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