It’s been more than two decades. In fact, next month it will be 22 years since I went into that sterile room with the fluorescent lights and the ominous rhythmic mechanical inhales and exhales and beep-beep-beeps that brought me both relief and sadness. Terrified and broken I entered, hiding my fear behind a forced smile, my shaky hands shoved deep in pockets. And you too were terrified and broken. Sunken faced with eyes like a wounded animal too hurt to move, and uncertain of what would happen. But you knew, didn’t you? You knew what was happening. You had kept your word. You made a promise to me that you would keep fighting. But you knew you were losing the fight.
It was time. I had to release you and let you go in peace, and the only way you would be able to do that was to know that I would no longer hold you to that promise. But that wasn’t enough. No. Letting you out of the promise would not be enough for you to leave me. I had to reassure you that I would be okay. I said the words, “I’ll be okay. I promise.” I wanted to believe them. I did. More than anything. Because like you, I didn’t want to break a promise—especially not to you. But how? How would I be okay? For my entire existence, as far back as I could remember, and from the stories I’ve heard, even before my entrance into this world, it was you. You who wanted me. You, the one person who showed me what love meant—true, unconditional love. You who had always been the invisible net to catch me when I fell and the always-present cheer section when I most doubted myself. You, who nurtured me, trusted me, and fought for me when I was unable to fight for myself. Without you, how could I not melt into a useless puddle that would eventually evaporate, at most leaving a hideous stain where I once existed. You were my skeleton—that which always supported me and gave me strength. How? How could I be okay? I was angry with you for putting me in this position, yet proud of you for fighting as long as you did. She won’t make it through the night. They didn’t know shit. You promised me you wouldn’t die, and you never broke a promise to me. And for nearly three weeks, you fought a valiant fight, at times seeming to be a Phoenix, rising from the dead. I was frightened of what my life would be without you: my grandmother, mother, mentor, therapist, and best friend. Who would love me like you did? Who would teach me the countless things I’d yet to learn? Who could I be myself with and who would still love me in all my shattered, guarded, angry, and crazy glory? Who? Your love for me was like breathing. I never thought about it or doubted it. It was an involuntary response that I only understood the importance of once I faced its absence.
Giving you permission to die was the hardest thing I’d ever done. At times, my twisted and tormented mind wondered if I could swap your life for those who’d betrayed you. What I was living had to be a dream—a very bad, Dali-like dream—and in dreams, anything is possible, isn’t it? But like you, I made a promise—that goddamn promise. That promise that I would be okay so you wouldn’t have to worry. So often, it was tough and I was scared, but you already know that, don’t you? So many times, I wondered if you were with me, watching, giving me your evil eye when I wasn’t making good decisions. You know, it wasn’t a fear of getting in trouble that kept me from going completely over the edge. No. It was the fear of breaking my promise and disappointing you.
In 18 days, we would be celebrating your 88th birthday. I often find myself wondering what we would be like now—now that we’re both older, and I’m a tad bit less crazy—now that I have greater peace myself. Now that my body is starting to resemble yours. I picture us, in cafes and parks, arms linked, smiling, and me grateful that you are still with me. You telling me stories of what life was like when you were my age. And let us not forget food! Oh, how I loved your cooking. You are the one who taught me how to cook and the importance of fresh ingredients, and now, we could talk about all the different food that we’d tried. I can see you looking at me with your focused gaze that as a teenager drove me crazy, but as a mother I now know is a look of love and awe for the person you raised. The child you’ve watched grow into a beautiful young adult. Only now, I would look back at you with the same awe—but for a person who loved me so much she made countless sacrifices. A woman who lived in a world very different than mine and had to deal with things that I can’t even fathom. A woman whose love allowed me to eventually find the strength to love myself.
It’s been 22 years. I now know you’ve always been with me. You visit me in my dreams, and you leave little signs letting me know you’re still with me. I can feel you, not just in my heart, but in your undying and unconditional love that swaddles me. And my friend whose vision is clearer than mine has seen you, reassuring me that you are still protecting me—the child you loved so deeply that you refused to break a promise to her, and I hope that I have kept my promise to you.
Phoebe Lulu 