My Life in Progress (Wattpad Scholarship 2015)

Chapter 16: Aunt Pearline (Actual Chapter 1)

I remember what it felt like when I found out she was going to die. It felt like someone had shoved their hand into my chest and ripped my heart out. I had never felt my stomach drop so harshly or quickly. I had never felt the blood drain out of my face so quickly.

I mean, this was Aunt Pearline we were talking about. She couldn't die. This couldn't be happening. She may have been 90, although she looked like she was between 50 and 60, but she was still walking and still lived on her own. She drove herself everywhere up until she was 89. And she only stopped because the doctor made her. So she called me one night and told me to come to see her. She gave her car to me because I was the only person in my family that didn't ask her for the car. "It's mostly paid off," she said, "I'm not going to turn it back in with this much left and I'd rather give it to someone I know would take care of it." I was so grateful. You see kids on that MTV show "My Super Sweet 16" get cars all the time. I never thought I would get one for my 16th birthday. And I loved it. It was (and still is!) the most beautiful car in my eyes. I will continue driving it in her memory until it's on its last leg. And then I'll keep it, repair it, and pass it on to my children. Who knows, maybe one day it'll be an antique car. She couldn't die. She was the family matriarch. She founded our family reunion. She was the trailblazer of our family. And yet, here we were.

Pancreatic Cancer. Stage IV. 1% survival rate.

I remember when she told me, laying in her hospital bed, looking as healthy and young as always. "But you can get chemo," I said, we had been through this before. My cousin, at 19, the age I am now, was diagnosed with leukemia. And then my mother was diagnosed with stomach cancer less than two years later. She shook her head and smiled sadly. This was the end. We didn't know when it was coming. But it was the nail in the coffin. This would be her killer.

I couldn't believe it. I hugged her, held back the tears, and sat down. Her friend, who happened to be a pastor, came over and gave me her card. She told me to talk to her anytime. I never called. I probably never will. I couldn't talk to anyone about it then. And I still can't talk about it. Just writing this is hard enough. But she deserves to be talked about. She deserves so much more. She deserves to have a planet or a star, a building, a stadium, something named after her.

We went back and forth to the hospital every day. I was lucky that this fell over my spring break. We would talk with her, sit there like everything was normal. And then she would eat. And you could see the effect of the cancer. Every time she swallowed anything, liquid or solid, she would erupt into a painful burping fit. It was horrible to watch. She didn't act like it hurt at all. She took it all in stride, excusing herself every time; she was a lady after all.

Soon, the insurance company decided that they had spent enough money on her. They wanted her out of the hospital, refusing to pay for any more nights. We were able to purchase a hospital bed and have a friend of ours, who was a nurse, temporarily move in with her. My grandmother, her sister, also temporarily moved in. They would stay to the end. She was adamant about getting everything done. She had us go put the car in my name and pay it off. Then she sat me down, and told me to pick out her burial outfit. I picked her favorite dress.

We would go and visit her, she seemed perfectly fine. I was convinced the doctors were wrong. I was wrong. Before long, she was deteriorating, barely functioning, confined to the bed. She didn't respond to anyone or open her eyes. Except for when it was time to take her medicine. Then we would rush into the room and try to talk to her before she slipped away again. We knew it was close. We just didn't know when. Each day, every time there was a call, we would tense, expecting the worst, hoping it wasn't.

And then the worst case scenario happened. Our house flooded. My mother woke up to our dogs going crazy. She ran downstairs to see an inch of standing water on top of the carpet, flowing out of the bathroom. She opened the door only for gallons of water to rush out. Nothing had backed up, but the pump in the toilet hadn't disengaged properly. We run down to the basement only to see water in bubbles in the ceiling. Hours later, we had no carpet on the floors and giant fans everywhere. I had to stay home while the house was investigated. My mother went back to see my aunt. It was getting worse.

After the fans were removed, several days later, I went to see my aunt for the last time ever. I didn't know it at the time. I went up to her when it was time to go. "I love you," I said, "a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck." A saying that we said to each other every time we hung up on the phone or I was leaving.

A few days later, we got the call. My grandmother, her baby sister, told her that it was alright to go. And she went. It was as if she was waiting for permission, to be told it was okay. Easter Sunday, 2013. 11 days before my birthday. I cancelled my volunteering commitments in the nursery at church and we headed to her house.

The next few days were a blur. Funeral plans and flower arrangements. Cleaning out her house and taking what she told us to take. The large family looked through photo albums. We talked about the good times we had. Then came the funeral.

I remained detached. I didn't want to show my tears or weakness to this family, the one who disliked me quite a bit because my aunt had favored me. I remained blank faced. I went through the motions. I even went up to take communion at the alter with my row in the church. I did not drink the wine, my aunt wouldn't have wanted me drinking underage, even for her funeral. I was fine until we arrived at the cemetery to bury her. Then the dam broke.

I saw her being lowered into the ground and I cried. For the first time since I found out she was sick. This had broken my record for not crying. I hadn't cried like this since I was around the age of 8 or 9. I was shaking. Then we all went back to her house for food after the funeral. People were talking and laughing. How could they just go back to normal? Aunt Pearline died. I would never go back to normal. This is still true.

I honor her in my life every day. Her birthday, June 13th, 1922, was my first tattoo. Her name will be a part of my child's name. I drive in her car every day. She shaped me to be the person I am today. She gave me her car, which let me join clubs my junior and senior year. Due to that, I ended up President of the Future Business Leaders of America chapter in my high school. I ended up in the National Honor Society. I came to school early and did all my homework and studied, earning myself a 3.75 GPA for high school. She cheered loudly for every A, a little quieter for a B. She hilariously told me that I was not fat, and that I would not be as long as my boobs stuck out farther than my stomach. I still check this. She, my mother, and my grandmother were the ultimate trifecta of praise and encouragement. You couldn't fail with them on your side. I never thought "what if I don't get into college?" It was always "what college will I go to? What will I study?" I just wish that she would have been able to see me graduate high school. Sadly, my mother was the only one to make it that far. My grandmother died a year and a few months after my aunt. 5 days before graduation. She is commemorated in art on my skin as well. I will never forget how they shaped me. I will never forget how successful they made me. Thanks to them, I am currently in my forth year as a returning intern. And I am about to become a substitute teacher, and a Resident Technician for my college. I have diligently worked since the age of 15, even though I was never told to work.

Twenty years from now, when I have my masters or PhD in Computer Science (Currently getting my bachelors! Minoring in Software Engineering!) and I have my own company. And I am a millionaire. There will be foundations, buildings, roads, and more named after her. I will donate money and give it to people in need, the same way she did. "I came into this world with nothing and I will leave it with nothing," she and my grandmother always said. I will leave it the same way. With no importance of material possessions, and touching the hearts of as many as I can reach.