In early July, 2008, my mother told my brother, sister, and I that our grandmother had a tumor. Later that month, she told us that it was cancer. She didn't even tell us how long the doctor gave her to live, at least I don't remember her telling me. I knew it wasn't very long.
That August, we went up to see my grandma for the last time. We stayed as long as we could, helping her around the house and spending time with her. While I was there, a night never passed that I didn't cry myself to sleep in the bed next to my sister. I knew that she has just given up fighting, her twin having died the previous year. Soon, my grandma was in the hospital, the pain becoming too much for her. The day that we left, my mom cried after we said goodbye, That was the first time I had ever seen her cry.
In September, she passed away. I died a little inside that day. We went up for the funeral, and I cried every night up there. There isn't a night that goes by that I don't remember my grandma, and cry.