My grandmother died before she was ready. Pancreatic cancer. She felt- almost- at peace with the diagnosis. She had five children, 28 grandchildren, she was proud of her career, family, and faith. I remember when she called me, “Oh dear one,” she called all of her loved ones ‘dear one’, “I’ve spoken to the doctor and he confirmed it is cancer of the pancreas.” She sounded steady. My Oma had been a practicing physician for almost 40 years, she knew the diagnosis before the oncologist told her. She knew she didn’t have much time left. She seemed okay with that; she had only one thing left she wanted to do, anyway.
When they were young doctors, my grandparents lived briefly in Sitka, Alaska. A work thing. Like many Texans, my grandparents loved Alaska. My granddad died in January of 2016. Oma wanted her whole family- children, grands, spouses- to take a cruise to Sitka to spread her late husband’s ashes. If she could do that, have that last moment of love on this earth, show her grandchildren a place that had been important to her, she would be at peace. She was diagnosed in mid-January of 2016. The cruise was booked as for June. She died in April.