chase her and it broke her heart. I realized then he only
chased her because she wanted him to. She probably ran
down the Street praying he was close behind and he was,
because he loved her. All the while, I sat inside wishing
I could pray for peace, but all I could do was take in the
quiet until he convinced her to come home.

Sa SpSaSaSy

My mother’s mother, Grandma Jean, and I used to watch
Soaps together while my mom went to aerobics. I told
my Grandma I was allowed to watch the kissing and did
so intently while I Stuffed cinnamon doughnuts into my
mouth. No one knew Grandma Jean had hurt her foot
because she didn’t tell anyone. Thinking it would heal
on its own, she let it be. The problem was that Grandma
Jean had diabetes, in which case a foot injury is critical.
When we finally discovered her pain, she went to the
hospital. Her leg was amputated. Recovery did not go
well, not because of the procedure itself, but because
Grandma Jean refused to eat. She was Starving her body
of the nutrients it needed to survive. She died, and on
that day a large part of my mother died too. During
all of this suffering, my mother’s prayers were tenfold,
begging for her mother’s life. I wonder, though, what
did she pray for after her mother died and she locked
herselfin her room for weeks? Did she feel like an atheiSi,
praying to no one for nothing? Perhaps that’s why she
didn’t come out for so long. Later in life, I found out my
Grandmother was very unhappy, miStreated and poorly
loved. My heart broke for her a second time, and if I did
pray, I might ask to not find myself lying amputated in
a hospital bed one day with no will to live.

Sa SpSaSaSy

Many years later, my Grandfather on my Dad’s side
passed away from pneumonia. His wife, my other
Grandmother, was devaStated. Though our visits were
frequent, we were not close. One day, I went over to help
her clean the oversized Victorian home where she lived
all alone. She looked very upset as she gripped my arm.

She said, “I am sick, I have cancer, I am dying.” In
disbelief, I asked her when she found out, what the doctor
had said. She replied, “There is no doctor. I juSt know

Tam sick.”

I called my dad, upset, and we believed her to be
having a fit of grief.

She was diagnosed with liver and colon cancer. She
spent her remaining days at the hospital where she
became a skeleton of her former self. Once again, my
house was full of prayers, perhaps unheard because she
died shortly after. I wonder if she prayed to Stay or go.
My father jut loSt both of his parents, and though I saw
his pain, I couldn’t recreate it within myself. I am glad
my parents had their faith to guide them through these
times, but watching them suffer felt like being trapped
in a burning building. It’s like I was Stuck on the ground
floor in the ruins, legs trapped, losing Slrength with each
day, thinking that perhaps someone could rescue me but
knowing I would never truly be saved.

Sa SpSaSaSy

One day, my Dad’s brother went to the doctor because
he thought he had jaundice. He did indeed have jaundice,
but it was merely a symptom of his pancreatic cancer, one
of the mot fatal kinds. There was no treatment other
than to make his slow and painful death as comfortable
as possible. I remember his wife Standing over him with
the prieSt, reciting the scriptures of holy men. She refused
to try any natural medicines. She wanted him to die,
that witch, I could feel it and he did die, a yellow skele-
ton. Again, my father broke, but this time it was harder
and faSter than ever before. I walked into the kitchen;
he sat alone in an uncomfortable chair. He moved and
spoke as though the air was thick with molasses and then
he cracked like the shell of an egg and the inner layers
poured out. Iran to him and tried to make myself larger
as I wrapped my body around him in an eflort to squeeze
him back together but I couldn’t, so I juSt bathed in all
the tragedies. I don’t think a father ever truly wants his
daughter to see him like that. In fact, Iam sure he prayed
for the Strength to hold it together. But in that moment,
I was so grateful the floodgates had snapped open. And
though we were drowning in our sorrows, our innermoStl
selves were hanging onto each other. That moment was
the closeSt I have ever come to praying.

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