How a Mosquito Made Me Skip My GRE

What do a little black dress, my first GRE test date, a 10 hour silent ride in an F-250, and mosquitos have in common?

Two years ago this week, my grandma suddenly passed away. I had made a weekend home-visit during the last weekend of July where she came over for dinner and listened to stories of my trip to Disneyworld with Annie. Everything was fine. Everything was normal...or so it seemed (my mom has speculated grandma was experiencing some symptoms but not saying anything about it--she had always been a tough cookie). 10 days later, she showed up to the hairstylist disheveled, late, and with a hefty dent in her back bumper. 10 days later she began hospice care and 4 days later she passed away. Holy dang.

At first they thought she had a stroke...she had had one about a decade ago, so it was possible. But she got worse not better. She was poked and prodded and would lose consciousness and come back and would forget who my mom and aunt were and then remember a few hours later...it wasn't good..and they didn't know what was wrong or what to do. When she began her decline, my mom told us all not to worry, people often get worse before they get better. But then she wasn't getting better because they still didn't know what was causing the problems but the words "west nile virus" were being whispered. Still, my dad told me to stay in St. Louis because I was scheduled to take the GRE in less than a week. [Insert gigantic amounts of inner turmoil and the rawness of knowing this was the wrong thing to do.] The next day mom decided they'd be discontinuing medical intervention and signing grandma into hospice care. Everything was happening freaky fast. I was feeling awful for not being there, even though I knew there was nothing I could do if I were there. That morning, I texted my dad and asked when Andrew, my older brother was coming home--he had no GRE to worry about but was also preparing for his second year of law school--dad said he was already home. Immediately struck with a tsunami of guilt and pain, while trying to keep myself pulled together, I called my dad and wondered aloud if he and my mom even wanted me to come home because it didn't feel that way. After a few minutes of clarifying conversation (they had written down the incorrect date for my test, thinking it was monday that week rather than thursday) we planned that I would tuck-n-roll into my uncle's truck the next morning as he and his wife drove to Michigan from Dallas.

We met my mom at grandma's house and immediately went to the hospital. My brother and sister hadn't been allowed to come to the hospital and my mom advised me that "grandma didn't look like grandma, she looked like an old lady...and she's got bad hair" but my heart wanted to say goodbye. I stood in the hall as my uncle went in. Whatever it is that comprises my core of emotion and connection dropped inside me like a brick. Mom came out and stood with me...and I cried. I said goodbye from there, I wanted to remember my grandma with clean, poofy, well colored hair, and fresh red lipstick--I figured she'd want me to remember her that way too.

She passed away 36 hours later surrounded by all three of her children. Upon her death, the CDC could do the necessary tests and determined she had, indeed, been struck down by the West Nile Virus. My mom thinks it ironic that such a tough woman was brought to her grave by a mosquito.

I wasn't even close to the woman. This wasn't the grandma who spoiled you with candies and gave you three hugs before she left every time she came over. I was only 8 when my grandpa died and 11 when my grandma had her first health scare, other than than our first dog needing to be put down when I was 13 and out second dog being continuously ill, I didn't know the face, the smell, the feeling of death or illness. I was 21 years old, 5 days from beginning my senior year of college, and unsure if I would be able to handle the deaths of my other set of grandparents...the kind who spoil you with your favorite foods and drive two hours to take you out to lunch even on your half-day break from working at summer camp and give you three hugs when they arrive and when they leave. I think about it all the time, but no amount of preparation is going to make those days any less surprising and excruciating. I feel deeply, I always have. It's because I love deeply too.