My heart pounds so loud, I’m sure everyone around me can hear it. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I wipe my brow, trying to rid my skin of the salty liquid. I lick my lips and tap my foot. Though I complete these small actions to rid myself of nervousness, I also do so to distract myself.

I turn my head to look at my dad. He has the home phone against his ear. He nods his head, whispers, “Okay,” and curls his fingers into a fist, which he gently places on the table. His face is grim, and his eyes hold a thousand fears. I look away from him and towards my brother and sister, Dean and Paige, sitting beside me. Dean looks back at me nervously, and Paige’s eyes flicker restlessly, never stopping on something for more than a second. I look down at my hands, knotted together on my lap, trying to forget about the nightmare going on just on the other end of the phone line.

Mere minutes ago, my dad had called the three of us - Dean, Paige, and I - into the kitchen. He was on the phone, and he looked terrified. He told us what our mom had just told him; our great grandma Mary, our mom’s grandma, had been sleeping on the couch next to her door. The doorbell rang, which woke her up. She was still half-asleep as she stumbled towards the door so she could answer it. There was a rug on the hallway that led to the door, and since Mary wasn’t completely awake, she didn’t notice it. Her foot caught under the rug, and she tripped and fell. Older people are frailer, and a bone in her neck easily snapped off. Mary told the man at the door, one of my mom’s cousins, to come in.

When he saw Mary on the floor, obviously in pain, mom’s cousin picked her up, carried her outside, and sat her down. He called my mom and my Nana, and they arrived as soon as possible. They all carried Mary into my Nana’s car, and they drove to the closest hospital. The hospital didn’t accept their insurance, so they had to drive all the way to the next closest hospital, which was miles away. When they finally arrived at the hospital, the bone that had broken off of Mary’s neck had traveled upwards, towards her spine, which was connected to her brain. And that’s where we are now; sitting together at the kitchen table, waiting for mom to deliver the news of Mary’s well-being.

Dad’s face pales, and he says, “R-really?” He pauses, listens to mom’s quiet, muffled voice, and he shuts his eyes and sighs. “I’m sorry,” he adds, and,

“We’ll be waiting for you at home.” Then he hangs up.
Dean’s the first one to break the long silence that ensues after dad sets the phone down. “What happened?” he asks.

Dad is silent. He looks at us in grief.

“Dad, what happened? Is she okay?” Dean continues.
Again, dad is silent. Finally, he asks, “Do you really want to know?”
Dean thinks for a moment. He swallows. “Yes?” he says, though his response is more like a question.
“Are you sure?”
In a firmer voice, Dean repeats it; “Yes.”

Dad shuts his eyes again. When he opens them, he says, “Grandma Mary has passed away.”

Everything is suddenly in chaos. Dean screams, “Nooo!” Paige curls herself into a ball and starts to cry. My heart nearly stops, and my muscles freeze up. I don’t move, don’t speak, but tears begin to stream down my cheeks, as well. Paige buries her face into dad’s chest, and I notice that he is crying, too. I am soon locked in their embrace, and Dean joins us. Just four people hugging, and crying.

“How did it happen?” Dean chokes out between sobs.

“The bone in her neck hit her spine,” dad explains. “It’s going to be alright, we’ll be fine. Hey, how about you take a warm shower? It’ll make you feel better,” he suggests to no one in particular.

I escape his strong arms and leave the room, now full-blown hysterical. I walk into my room and strip my clothes off, shaking with sobs as I do. Then I grab my towel and walk into the bathroom. I turn a knob in the shower, and the water turns on. I adjust the temperature, and when it’s to my liking, I step into the spray. The warm water washes away my numbness, but the sadness remains. My tears mix in with the water, and I cry and cry the whole time while I wash myself. I think about Mary’s face, about how she called us on the phone and honked a horn on our birthday.

Finally, long after I’m clean, I turn the water off and step back out. I feel a small bit better, but I can’t get over it; my great grandma is dead. Then I realize; all the things I thought about in the shower were happy things, not sad. Great grandma Mary was always happy, until the very end, and now, she’s in a better place. She was in pain in this world, and now, she’s in another world, probably much happier. I smile as I remember a happy time; me and my family had been in a hotel because our house was flooded, and we had been on the phone with Mary. When we got off the phone, Chad - my older brother - made a joke, saying that since we got off the phone too early, she’d rip the phone out of the wall and swing it above her head like a helicopter and fly to us. Though it was silly, it was funny, and I laugh at the memory.

And I continue to laugh. Tears spring to my eyes and fall down my cheeks, but I continue to laugh. I laugh through the tears. I’m happy and sad at the same time. I can’t stop laughing or crying. A few minutes later, I finally stop. I wipe my eyes on my sleeve and sigh. No matter where my great grandma is, she’ll always be near, no matter where she is.