My grandmother can be summed up in one word: Crazy.

She was about the craziest person I had ever met as a child. She wore circle rimmed glasses, had golden blonde hair, from where she dyed it, and had sharp deep blue eyes. She wore too much make up. She didn't need the make up, as beautiful of a person she was. And she also swore like a sailor. I remember as a five year old, she would baby sit me. She would make me read, and I would get so frustrated and mad at her. I would call her names and tell her she was ugly. I also made her cry, and to my mother she said "That girl is going to be something someday. You just can't break her spirit." She had a big spirit, for keeping up and tolerating me as mean and wild of a kid I was. Sooner or later, I began to grow up, and I started school. I remember going over there, almost every day and seeing her. It was the best.

But when I was in the third grade, it all changed. She began to get sick, and soon, she had to wear wigs from where she started kemo and lost her hair. She got skinnier and skinnier. She would sit in bed and look so weak. When summer began, she started to lose her speech. She just kind of moaned. She couldn't get up to use the bathroom. It was horrible to see her, and to watch my grandpa take care of her. I remember hugging my mother as she cried and said "my mother is going to die." I hugged her so tight and telling her that she wouldn't. I remember holding my grandmother's hand, and looking into her eyes. She moaned and looked at me, and I could tell she wanted to say something to me, but couldn't. By the middle of summer, they took her off the machine, and she passed on. And at the funeral, they played her favourite song, "Imagine" by John Lennon. The whole time, I cried. I couldn't stop myself.

Pancreatic cancer took her life way too soon. 65 years on this Earth was just not enough.

I love you Grandma Lee. heart