The Big Day

Aunt Granny is a dear family friend.  She met my mother when they were expecting Nancy Elisabeth and me.  Nancy was born 2 months before me, and we were like sisters.

We tragically lost our dear Nancy Elisabeth to a car accident when she was 18 years old.  On that horrible day, my mother and Aunt Granny were walking in front of me.  Aunt Granny suddenly stiffened up and she said, "I'm not going to have any grandchildren."

Without even a thought in my traumatized, young brain, I blurted out, "Yes you will, because my children will be your grandchildren, and I will name my first daughter after Nancy Elisabeth."

That turned out to be one of the huge blessings of our lives.  Because my children have not two grandmothers, but three.  Each of them loving and caring for my children in different ways.  But, Elisabeth and Aunt Granny have a special bond.

Aunt Granny was there the day Elisabeth was born.  She watched Elisabeth's first breath.  She watched her turn pink.  She took Elisabeth into her arms, and has never let go.

So, it was a great comfort to me when Aunt Granny said she was praying.  All day.  She said she would pray for every cell.  That the surgeon would remove every cell that needed to go.  And not a single cell more.

I remembered that as I signed Elisabeth's life away.  The papers stated in legalese that the Dr's are only contractors.  That there's no guarantee of results.  That she could die on the operating table.  That she could get infected, have brain damage, lose vision, lose memory, swell, bruise, and none of this would be the hospital's or Dr.'s fault.  All while the kind, sympathetic Dr's explained that they think this surgery is best for her, and the risks are very minute.

"Aunt Granny is praying.  Friends are praying.  It has to be done."  This was in my mind.  Sign.

The child life worker kept her word, and found Elisabeth.  She perkily showed Elisabeth pictures on the hospital ipad.  Pictures of a smiling child picking a happy smell from her bed on wheels.  Of the smiling child waking up in the happy recovery room, and joyfully chowing down on a popsicle."

Elisabeth giggled.  "Oh yes, I would love a grape popsicle."

She smiled at the anesthesiologist and the neurologist and the nurses.  She picked bubble gum flavor for her silly smell.  She smiled and waved as they wheeled her away, still holding on to her stuffed panda pillow.

I think the hardest thing I've ever done in my life was smile and wave back at her.  The tears were choking up my throat.  Everything in me wanted to run and grab her and carry her out.  Away from danger.  Away from the pain that was coming.  Scott realized it, and put his hand on my shoulder.  The anesthesiologist mouthed at me "We'll take good care of her."

I took a deep breath, and kept smiling and waving until she wheeled around the corner.  Then took a pack of tissues into the bathroom and cried my heart out.  Deep breath.  New makeup.  Back out into the waiting room, where my husband and daddy were waiting.  Full of strength and support and love.

"Aunt Granny is praying.  My church is praying.  My friends are praying."  She had to be OK.  She had to.

"The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much."  James 5:16