My grandmother is 88. She grew up on a farm in Western Pennsylvania during the Great Depression. Tough is an understatement. But being tough and flexible/understanding is a rare combination. My grandmother, or 'Gram' as she goes by to friends and family, is our matriarch. She had to be. She lost her husband in the midst of raising two daughters. Both of her daughters had the misfortune of marrying multiple guys with mental health problems (mind you I wouldn't be here if that weren't the case so I'm not complaining). But we don't have any strong father figures in our family. My brother is great- he's always been there for me and my mother. But he's my brother. Neither he nor I had a father in the traditional sense. I digress...

Gram was the matriarch because she had to be. But we wouldn't have it any other way. My grandmother grew up during the Great Depression when going without food for 2-3 days was the norm. Also where working hard to help your community was the norm. To this day, every time she pulls out a piece of gum she splits it in quarters, saying "I still can't chew a full piece of gum. When I was a kid we always had to share a stick of gum. I still can't chew a full one..."

My grandmother is not the least bit racist. She understands cell phones. She drives. She cuts her own grass. She bowls, golfs, and plays cards with Stella, Dit, and Hazel every week (they've been friends for longer than I've been alive). Gram beat melanoma, breast cancer, and Lady Windermere's Syndrome (a respiratory infection). So, in short, my grandmother is a badass. And when it comes to beating the odds, my money is on her.

But not this time. My grandmother has melanoma, again. It started with her just being a bit more tired than usual. Then in a matter of days it spread to her throat and her brain. Her tongue is swollen, so she isn't eating much and she can talk, but it's just a little slower and harder to understand. But it's still my Gram.

She was at the doctor's office today and he told her...well he was telling my mom the diagnosis...when Gram grabbed him. She said 'tell me straight. Not my daughter. It's ok. Tell me.' So the doctor told her she has 12 weeks to live.

Gram went home and called a few friends. A few minutes later her phone was ringing off the hook. Friends told other friends. So when I saw her this evening she showed me her calendar- it's full of meetings. All of her friends, the pastor, the neighbors...they're all scheduled to come over in the next couple of weeks to see her.  And she's excited. She's THANKFUL to have these people in her life that want to see her. She's THANKFUL to have the time to say goodbye. Because most don't get that luxury. Or if they do, it's in a hospital bed.

My grandmother doesn't have any regrets. She's not scared to die because she's spent her whole life living. I'm not upset. I'm sad to think she won't be cooking for Thanksgiving. I'm sad to think she won't see the Pirates win a World Series. I'm sad for my mother and my aunt. But I'm not upset. I'm honored to have grown up under the watchful eye of one of the greatest women I've ever met in my life.