Resilience

Prologue

<Ellie>

As I sat there, holding Pops's hand in his room, memories flooded my mind. His hands, weathered and worn from a lifetime of hard work, had been my anchor through every storm of my childhood. From learning the intricate art of fishing on lazy summer afternoons to mastering the delicate balance of chopsticks at our favorite Chinese restaurant, his hands were always there, guiding and comforting.

Pops was a tower of strength, both physically and in spirit. His imposing figure could intimidate others, but to me, he was a gentle giant whose love and kindness knew no bounds. When I was with him, I felt invincible, knowing that his presence alone could chase away any fears or doubts I had.

Growing up without a mother and father was something I became aware of as I entered school. Seeing my peers with both parents made me question my own family dynamics, but Pops never let me feel lacking. He filled every role with unwavering devotion, despite the loss he had endured long before my time.

His wife, my grandmother, had passed away unexpectedly from an aneurysm, leaving him and my mother alone. Whenever I asked Pops about my mother, a shadow of regret would cross his face. "I was younger and selfish then," he'd reflect. "Angry at life, lost in my own grief. I didn't see your mother spiraling out of control." He recounted how she fell in with a rough crowd, dropped out of school at 17, and eventually disappeared.

Two years later, he found himself with a one-year-old me on his doorstep, accompanied only by a birth certificate and a note promising her return. Days turned into months, months into years, but she never came back. Through it all, he never let me feel like a burden, always greeting me with the warmest smile, saying, "You're my greatest gift."

Pops and I shared a blissful bubble of our own until life shattered it. A stroke took him away when I was just ten years old.

As a child, I was cheerful but reserved, finding solace mainly in my bond with Pops as I struggled to connect with others. He, however, sensed my loneliness and enrolled me in summer camp to broaden my horizons. That morning, I was sullen and apprehensive, barely managing a goodbye before storming out of the car. My mood worsened throughout the day, escalating when Pops was unusually late to pick me up—I should have known something was wrong, he was always on time.

The camp leader's tight smile faltered as she dialed my parents' number, growing visibly frustrated with each unanswered call. Relief washed over me briefly when I thought he'd answered, only for dread to settle in when her expression shifted from annoyance to pity.

That day didn't take Pops' life, but it altered mine irreversibly. I was left in the dark, knowing only that he needed hospital care. Eight months passed before social services tracked down my mother, Jackie. While life at the group home was filled with uncertainties, it still offered more stability than living with Jackie.

Ellie, they've arrived for him," Barb's solemn voice pierced through my thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, I stood by the door where paramedics had come to take him away. In the years that followed, I made it a priority to visit Pops regularly, though he seemed lost in thought and failed to recognize me. Barb acknowledged my dedication and offered me a job at Green Valley Nursing Home, that was 5 years ago.

I nodded to Barb and withdrew to the kitchen, struggling to contain my emotions. Why did it still ache so deeply? Despite his decade-long decline, the pain of loss felt fresh. I went inside the walk-in freezer, seeking a moment alone, I leaned against the icy door, attempting to steady myself.

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. " Honey, what can I do?" Barb's concerned voice sounded.

I grabbed a bag of peas before opening the door. "I'm okay, Barb," I insisted. "Just prepping for lunch."

Observing Barb's gaze on me, I busied myself with ingredients. "Sweetie," Barb began tentatively, "-your Pops just passed. Take the rest of the day off, maybe tomorrow too."

I waved her off, focusing on the clock. "Just three more hours," I said firmly.

Barb hesitated but relented, patting my arm before leaving. Turning on the radio, I immersed myself in cooking—comfort food for the residents, a task that helped distract me.

The day passed quickly, and as I clocked out, the weight of loss hit me afresh. I stopped by Barb's office, expecting to arrange things for Pops.

"He had a will," Barb said, standing to hug me. "I'll handle everything, including kitchen coverage tomorrow. Take the day off."

I started to protest, but Barb cut me off gently. "You work hard. Take this time to grieve properly."

Her sincerity touched me, reminding me of those who truly cared. Unable to speak through my emotions, I nodded and hugged her briefly before leaving.