Some colors have different meanings for different people, but what does the color pink remind me of? It reminds me of breast cancer. The lingering and guilty feelings that arise when I think of the disease that took away my best friend. My grandmother.

Growing up, my grandmother would always be there for me whenever I was lonely. Her presence alone made the sadness and the feeling of being alone fade. The scent of her shampoo always told me that she was near, she always had a unique scent to her long dark hair. Growing up, aside from my parents she was all I ever wanted for company, and she was someone I always looked up to. She always tried her best to sit by my side and talk to me, listening to me explain my short-lived interests and hobbies such as sports, and pokemon cards.  She always listened even when I couldn’t form full sentences.

When I was about 9, I realized she was coming out of her room less. She began to lay in bed all day. Being so young I couldn’t comprehend what happened to her. It was like she changed overnight. She wasn’t able to spend as much time with me. She was always sleeping, and my mom was always crying. Why hadn’t she come to talk to me? Why hasn’t she come to play with me? She began to wear a beanie. She never wore a beanie before. Why was she wearing one now? Why was her hair getting shorter? I saw her evolve before my eyes: from the light hearted happy woman, to the sleepy, and tired best friend.

I watched her become listless over two more weeks. I passed by her room while she laid in the same position. Most of the time she was asleep, and I’d come in the room to take a peek, but now she slept with the beanie on. She rarely ever showed me her hair anymore. Once again I felt alone, now that she spent her time in her room, I spent my days with that lonely feeling appearing. I spent countless hours wondering when she would come out just like she used to. I waited. I waited for days. She stopped coming out.

One day, as I sat in the living room, my mom brought out a bed for her to lay on. I was happy. I thought she was spending time with us again. But her body was still and stagnant, and my mom was crying. I was confused, but I was just happy she was in the living room with me again. Walking through the door family came, but there was no event planned at the house today. They stood over her body, weeping, and holding each other. Not once did I go over and look at her while the family crowded around her. I regret not going over to the table and not seeing her, in one of her final moments. I feel guilty for not knowing, and I feel guilty for not spending as much time with her. The next day she was gone.

For her funeral she was dressed up with an open casket. It looked like she had been peacefully sleeping in a long black and white bed. She looked beautiful, but I noticed how short her hair had gotten. I didn’t know that would be my last time seeing her forever. I wondered when she would come back, the thought of her being gone forever wouldn’t process. A year passed before I finally realized she wasn’t waking up from that black and white bed. She would never come back, she would never listen to me ramble again, she was gone. Now I have the constant reminder that she is the color pink.

Time passes but it never gets easier. She was my best friend and idol, and she has been my motivation. For the short lived amount of time we spent together I thank her for being my best friend and grandmother. Occasionally I read her obituary and my eyes confront one section where it reads, “She enjoyed spending time with her family, especially her grandson.”

© Terrance. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.