How Great Thou Art, Grandma

Yesterday I started a new job with the American Cancer Society. I've been volunteering and running for DetermiNation for about a year now and when it came time to decide what the next chapter of my life would be, this seemed like a perfect fit.

Being surrounded by so many positive people is inspiring. It reminds me of my Grandma Maggie.

She died when I was in college. Losing her was one of the most difficult experiences I'd ever endured. I hadn't reached the emotional maturity to really deal with loss at that point.

Me, Andrew and my Grandma eating lunch in Queens, c. 2001. 

Growing up, my Grandpa Harry and Grandma Maggie were a very large part of my life. They lived in Calexico - 15 minutes away from my parents - and we saw them often. I could never imagine a life without my grandparents. Then one day, I didn't have a choice.

My grandma was a very loving woman. She was a devout Catholic who lived her life well. She loved my grandpa and she loved her children and grandchildren. She took care of us.

When my brother and I visited, my grandma would make us "soupita" and take us to Walmart. To this day, our trips to Walmart with my grandma are the only good thoughts I have about that place. But Calexico in the '90s had little else to offer. Plus, there was a combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell there.

We would run down the toy aisles then eat (yes, we ate again. Soupita is more of a snack then a meal, anyway).

Like most Mexican grandmas, my grandma made great food. I wish I could recreate her albondigas, soupita and mole. As it is, I can only make something that tastes similar, but not the same.

She made one dish in particular that nobody ate. It was a variation of cranberry sauce. I never ate it because it looked funny. It was a pale shade of pink that sat at the table at Thanksgiving every year for just my grandma and grandpa to enjoy. Not because they wouldn't let anyone else eat it, but because we just didn't. It looked gross.

My Grandma, me, Denise, Harry and Andrew in Central Park, c. 2001.

My grandma never smoked, she drank Gin and Tonic from time to time (my favorite drink) and she ate pretty healthy food. She was always trying to get my grandpa to eat more healthy food, but her tricks never worked. He always said he could taste her healthy trickery. In reality, though, their diet wasn't nearly as bad as what many people's today.

That was why it was so shocking to our family that my grandma got cancer in her lungs. In all, cancer attacked her lungs, breasts and liver. She went through chemo treatments, but once the cancer reached her liver, chemo couldn't save her.

While my family took part in cancer walks and fundraisers, my grandma picked out scarves and hats. It wasn't until the later stages that she allowed her grandchildren to see how much she hurt. I don't think she had it in her to cover it up at that point.

I was living in Long Beach when I got that call that I needed to come say goodbye. When I arrived in San Diego, she was sitting on a recliner drinking water. My family surrounded her and my cousin Eric, only a baby at the time, rubbed lotion on her legs. They had become swollen and it was hard for her to walk.

Seeing my grandma like this was very difficult.

Living away from home, I had the luxury of not having to witness her deterioration first-hand. Until that point, in my mind, she was still the woman who took care of me, taught me how to make soupita that I could never recreate, took me to Walmart, sat with me in Europe on benches while my grandpa and cousin Maggie took their time looking at things in the museums. (Remind me later to tell the story of "the shitty side.") She was still the woman who sang to me when I was a baby.

I spent some time there, trying not to be emotional. It was hard. Eventually, it was time to go back to school. I can't remember whether I called or she did, but before I went into the house, I sat in my car and talked to her on the phone.

I told her how much I loved her and sang to her the song she sang to me, the church hymn "How Great Thou Art." Four hours later, she died and many years passed before I sang to anyone again.

The Thanksgiving after my grandma died, my mom made her cranberry recipe and everybody ate some. It was fantastic. It made me wonder what else I'd missed out on because I was too afraid to try. Now, I make it every Thanksgiving. Even if I'm the only one who eats it.

During the Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon, when I officially ran for Determination for the first time, I didn't want to keep going. It was hot and I was tired. I remembered someone tell me "remember who you're running for." When I thought about that, it wasn't the pain of running that made me cry for a moment, it was the memory of that moment in my life and the moments I realized I'd lost my other grandparents.

When I cross the finish line at the Naperville Marathon, I will probably cry. But it will be a mix of emotions, not just sadness, because I will have honored her memory and the memory of my other grandparents and loved ones through what I believe will be my greatest personal accomplishment.

If you're interested in helping me along the way, click here and search my name under "Support an Athlete." I've pledged to raise $3,000 to support the programs and research of the American Cancer Society so cancer patients now can get support and we can take steps toward finding a cure.