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The Road to not making it

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It was a day that we will never forget. We were all touched by it.

A phone call from the neighbor, saying she was down. They had thought her arm had been broken, maybe from a fall of some sort. All we knew thought, that she was hurt and needed medical attention immediately. Now my super hero memer was down and injured, and not doing so super anymore.

It turned out she had a stroke, not a big one, but definitely not minor. When they found her she was covered in bruises and laying on the floor. He had never told anyone this had happened because he didn’t want to get blamed for it. Not that they would blame a caring and honest old man for doing something like that, but he could only assume.

She was taken to the hospital with her speech slurred, at a point where she was close to dying. For not the first but the second time in her life. The first time a heart attack almost took her life and now this.

Dad was notified immediately after my mother, he rushed to the hospital. To see his mother, for what he hoped would not be the last time. My brother and I though, were only told the minimum until all the tests had come back and there found out that it had indeed was a stroke.

We know think an angel must have passed over our family, because luckily she survived. We were now allowed to visit her in the hospital. It tore me up inside to see her laying in the hospital bed helplessly. The doctors said “ she made a full recovery on the road to not making it”

As I sat in the hospital chair I watched my father show my helpless grandmother my recent picture from school, so she could not re-learn how to put names to faces. It was really tough for me though to see her look at the picture and back at me, I could hear my dad saying my name in the distance. And her trying to remember who I was. How could she not remember who I was? I had spent at least three years of my life at her house each day when my parents went to work. I was puzzled on how she could not remember me. She is my grandmother, and I am her granddaughter, she was supposed to know who I was. But she didn’t.

She got better each day, finally remembering who we were and remembering how to do simple things such as write and put words together to make sentences. We were now able to have little conversations with her.

I could tell as I walked into the hospital room each day she was happy to see us. Now being able to recognize who we were. I remember putting up her hair for her, and reading her the newspaper, seeing she couldn’t quite do it herself yet still being hooked up to all those tubes. We visited her everyday until she finally got released. As full recovery we call it. Lucky for us she is still here. It must have been an angel that turned her around on the road to not making it.





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