It was my turn to take the shovel, but I felt too ashamed to dutifully send her off when I had not properly said goodbye. I refused to let go of my grandmother, to accept a death I had not seen coming, to believe that an illness could not only interrupt, but steal a beloved life.
When my parents finally revealed to me that my grandmother had been battling liver cancer, I was twelve and I was angry--mostly with myself.
As my shoes humbly tapped against the Earth, the towering trees blackened by the forest fire a few years ago, the faintly colorful pebbles embedded in the sidewalk, and the wispy white clouds hanging in the sky reminded me of my small though nonetheless significant part in a larger whole that is humankind and this Earth.
Before I could resolve my guilt, I had to broaden my perspective of the world as well as my responsibilities to my fellow humans.
While learning about cancer in school I promised myself that I would memorize every fact and absorb every detail in textbooks and online medical journals.
And as I began to consider my future, I realized that what I learned in school would allow me to silence that which had silenced my grandmother.Since the dawn of man, writing has been used to communicate ideas.In academic settings, ideas are typically communicated using formal types of writing such as essays.I need only to smile and say hello to see her brighten up as life returns to her face.Upon our first meeting, she opened up about her two sons, her hometown, and her knitting group--no mention of her disease.Also, the corresponding part of a speech, lecture, etc.”Michigan State University student Sally used to have a lot of difficulty writing introductions.Once she had suffered through writing dozens of painful introductions, she decided to look up some tips on how to introduce your essay, and after that she got a lot better. Because the introduction is the first portion of your essay that the reader encounters, the stakes are fairly high for your introduction to be successful.For six hours a day, three times a week, Ivana is surrounded by IV stands, empty walls, and busy nurses that quietly yet constantly remind her of her breast cancer.Her face is pale and tired, yet kind--not unlike my grandmother’s.Without even standing up, the three of us—Ivana, me, and my grandmother--had taken a walk together.Cancer, as powerful and invincible as it may seem, is a mere fraction of a person’s life.