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My Grandma

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My grandma and I love each other. She has always been the person I would go to in my terrifying times of trouble. I am starting from where I can remember, her life and mine. Somedays I would go see her just because she is my grandma and my father loved her a lot. That was when she was healthy and able to go out to love her grandkids. I remember all the weeks I would go without seeing her; her and my grandpa loved to travel with her, so I regret wanting to be with my friends other than her. I used to have family come once a year or even longer than that. It was about two years age when we got the harsh, tragic new that changed all of our lives. “Do you think she can do this,” my father asked me. I replied, “Yes.” I barely even new what she had, but it was the first time I actually saw my father cry. Right then I anticipated that it was bad. We would go through radiation and kemo, only to find out it did nothing. I knew they would not tell me everything, but I was listening to everything, I was just like a big sneaky hawk. It was never as bad as it is now, but at the time I thought it couldn't get any worse. I was always the youngest grandkid, but since only two out of the fifteen grandkids lived in Lincoln with them we were the closest to her. Until, we got brilliant news that my aunt Shelly and unkle Richard were adopting three new young girls. I was ok with not being the youngest anymore, I was just glad they had a safe family. Over the Fourth of July, me, my
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