Last summer, I knew nothing about my grandma’s condition. My aunt only told to tell me that she was getting sick and her memory was worsening. That’s not so bad, right? I mean, all old people get sick and eventually forget things I told myself. But the truth about her condition was much worse than I was ready for.
It was the month of July when my aunt told me that my grandma had been admitted into Markham Stouffville Hospital. My aunt never said why or how bad her condition was. All I got was a text with less than 10 words – I kept asking more questions but I never got a full answer.
My papa had passed a year ago that month and since his passing, my grandma had been lost. My papa was her rock, and mine too. I knew my grandma would have a hard time with his passing but I never expected this to come from it.
One morning in July, I had arranged with my aunt to visit my grandma. I was nervous; I hadn’t seen her since Christmas, which was our first one without papa. But she wasn’t sick or anything during the holidays, so in my head, I didn’t imagine it to be a big deal. I just considered it to be something that comes with old age.
The whole ride there I kept trying to guess what her “sickness” could be. My aunt had been very brief and almost avoided the topic. My final best guess was skin cancer since she had it when I was younger.
I was wrong—so wrong.
I finally got to the hospital at two in the afternoon. I managed to get myself into the hallway where her room was located. I took a deep breath and walked in.
She was sitting in a chair watching TV. My first words were “Hi Grandma, I missed you so much.”
Her first words were, “Are you my new nurse?”
In an instant I felt an anxiety attack coming as my body temperature rapidly began to rise. My hand was shaking and I couldn’t even get a word out. While I was trying not to panic I saw just blankness in my grandma’s eyes—she genuinely thought I was her new nurse.
I didn’t answer and instead said, “Could you hold on one moment?” I left the room and went into the hallway. I called my mom and then started to cry.
My mom told me to just go with the flow—something I suck very much at. I walked back into the room where my grandma was. She looked at me and said, “You look like my granddaughter Julia.”
Finally, she remembered me.
I responded, “Yes, Grandma, it is me!”
She looked shocked. Like I had just told her I was a ghost. She started to cry and I started to cry. We started to talk normally until she randomly got up and asked a nurse walking by when she would be done her shift. Now she thought she was the nurse.
The nurse looked and me and then looked back at my grandma.
“Soon, Mary, so just go sit back down,” and so she did.
I didn’t know how to respond yet again because how the hell did she go from being okay to not okay in less than two minutes? But, like my mom said, I went with the flow.
Eventually she brought up my papa.
She asked, “When is papa coming back?” and I simply answered “Soon, Grandma,” knowing that he would never be coming back.
Then she asked me when I would be entering high school and if I was excited. I responded, “Next year, Grandma,” even though I was actually entering my second year of university.
But in the middle of that conversation, with a blink of an eye, she was back to herself again.
Having love for someone is also having the patience to care for them when they are in need.
I stayed for two hours. I was a nurse, a friend, a granddaughter and my thirteen-year-old self in the span of those two hours, and either way, I would be anyone my grandma wanted if that meant she would be happy.
TORONTO WRITER 
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