"It's freezin' out here!" I shouted over the wind as it stung my face, wondering why anyone would live in a place where the wind hurts your face.
"Welcome to Minnesota!" my uncle laughed, "If only we had some snow to go with the wind!"
"Yeah, no! The last thing I need is ice shards in my eyeballs!"
"Oh, c'mon! That's just the icing on the cake!"
Uncle Wade reached down to open up the tractor shed door, revealing a sixty-pound bale of hay.
"Junior's got a cold," Wade sighed, "So, we have to give the horses at least a week's worth in hay to eat. Obviously, my son refuses to come around with a cold like he's got. He's quarantining at home till his covid test comes back. He's got his shots, so it should come back negative."
(Junior is my cousin Wade, Wade sr.'s son).
I strutted ahead of my uncle Wade and squatted down to grab the bale. I was careful not to bend my back, and used my legs and arms to lift the bale instead. Wade stared in amazement as I lifted the bale with relative ease, and heaved it up to my chest to carry to the horses.
"Maya, you don't hafta-"
"I got it, uncle Wade!" I shouted proudly, "Don't you worry!"
I waddled over to the cage-wire fence adjacent to the gate, and the horses came galloping towards me, whinnying and bunny-hopping with delight. Almost without thinking, I began to swing the bale like a pendulum, counting in my mind, "One... Two... Three..."
On four I let go of the bale, sending it over the fence. It fell between the two horses, who immediately put their heads down on either side of the bale and chomped away.
"Holy shit!" I heard Wade exclaim behind me, "How did you- How did your scrawny ass do that?!"
"Trikafta!" I replied without hesitation. I then took off for the house before my face froze off in the cold, while my bamboozled uncle just stood there. That wet, frigid wind was absolutely miserable!
Inside the house, my grandma, cousin Andrew, Andrew's girlfriend, and my dad were all seated around the kitchen table, just finishing up lunch. I sat down next to my grandma Shirley, who was seated in grandpa's old wheelchair gingerly eating some of her friend's home-made soup. I watched my grandma take the smallest sips of her meal, ever so relieved to see her still eating, though still deeply saddened at the sight of her condition.
Last time I saw her, she was remarkably strong and healthy for a woman her age. She was just as active as I was, helping to take care of the calf, eager and able to get out-and-about. She made all of our meals, and ensured I had a comfortable place to sleep at night, gleefully taking on the role of "caretaker". She missed taking care of grandpa, and was glad when she could take care of me and that orphaned bull calf for the week I was there.
Summer came and went. In the early spring of 2020, covid reared its ugly head in the States. Isolation, recession, illness, political turmoil, and death settled in. I believe, strongly, that's what really got to my grandma. She became increasingly weak and frail as the months wore on. Then, just when things were looking up thanks to the vaccines, and she was once again enjoying the outside world, she began to have trouble walking and developed a cough. A CT scan revealed the widespread cancer. She understandably decided not to pursue cancer treatment. Instead, she was ready to move on from this life and into the next.
As utterly depressing as it was to see my grandma so sick, I sensed a faint aura of excitement or jubilee in the house, and especially around her. It's really hard to explain it without going into crystal-mommy-woo-woo shit, because that's not the picture I'm trying to paint as I try (and fail) to use words to properly explain it.
In very simple (non woo-woo shit) terms, I could sense that my grandma was eager and ready to reunite with loved ones who have passed on from this world, and I was excited for her to rejoin her loved ones in what we call "Heaven" in the English language (but has a much more complicated, convoluted term in Hebrew/Greek Scripture, but that's besides the point). I could also sense she just didn't feel right being taken care of; she desperately wanted to take care of us, and she seemed anxious to serve others again on the Other Side. And, I felt (and still feel) very sad that she wasn't the one cooking lunch, or taking the family out to dinner, or doing the chores around the house. She even expressed it herself the whole time I was with her.
"Here, let me pay for supper..." she'd weakly murmur as she shakily reached for her purse.
"No, ma. We got it! Don't worry about paying for that. It's okay, I've got it." My dad would respond.
But, grandma wasn't satisfied with that answer. She didn't express it with words. The defeated look in her tired, grey eyes said it all, and I had to go outside to shed a few tears for her after that short, yet poignant exchange. I'm sure my dad felt her pain, too.
The same sense of defeat and depression seemed to wash over all of us when my grandma, too weak to lift the heavy mug, ended up spilling coffee all over the table and herself one morning. Of course, Dad and I cleaned up the mess in less than a minute. But, its emotional impact on all of us was still tremendous, and grandma especially felt it.
Before the cancer, my grandma was as strong as an ox, yet careful as a kitten. Up until that morning, I've never seen her shake like that as she tried to lift the coffee mug to her lips. Hell, I've never seen her spill any drink (grandpa was always the one who made messes, but he was also severely physically impaired). It was deeply disturbing to all of us when it finally did happen, and grandma completely relied on us to take care of the mess.
No wonder grandma's so ready to leave her weak and dying flesh to join the spiritual realm young and able again. I feel kind of gross admitting this, but I too, will be relieved when she passes away. Cancer is one of the worst ways to go, and it absolutely sickens me to see someone I love and look up to so much waste away like that. Especially someone as loving and tenacious as my grandma Shirley.
