For 15 years of my life I was privileged to have a wonderful grandmother who would go above and beyond for her grandchildren. She was loved by the entire family, and it was devastating to hear that she had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in the winter of 2005/2006. No matter how medically advanced our hospitals are, they don’t stand a chance against this particular form of cancer. The pancreas itself is a gland which is essential for digestion, and due to its size and overall fragile texture, it is impossible to operate on without completely upsetting the digestive track. In short, there is no treatment or cure for pancreatic cancer. A patient can be given medication which eases the progress of the illness, thereby allowing them to live longer, but essentially they are battling what is arguably the deadliest form of cancer. These patients are prime candidates for palliative care units. Unfortunately, in my grandmother’s case there were no beds available at the unit in her hospital until mere hours before she passed away in the summer of 2006, just a few months before my 16th birthday. Although it is fantastic that care units such as these exist, it is very clear that there are not enough of them. Hopefully, in the near future that can change so that many more wonderful people like my grandmother can be taken care of before they pass on. It is the least I can do for my grandmother to share with you a somewhat miraculous story that showed me those who die are really not gone at all, they are only with us in a new way.

Ever since I was a little kid, I can remember being very close to my grandmother. That’s why it had such an impact on me when she died. I had a hard time dealing with the fact that she was gone especially when my dad and his siblings were cleaning out all her belongings from her house. I remember how hard it was on my dad deciding what to keep and what to give away, particularly over a pair of paintings that don’t hold much value to him but meant a lot to her. To be honest I didn’t contribute much to the conversations regarding what we should keep and what we should give away, I just wanted to distance myself from the situation as much as possible.

Which is probably why she came to me instead of anybody else.

About two months after she died I had a dream, unlike any other I’ve ever had. I was going to my grandmother’s house to get something I’d left behind. When I walked in the front door I tried to turn on the light but realized there was no power since no one lived there anymore. I started walking down to her basement, where I saw a light. In reality, that house had no basement, but the one I saw in the dream looked a lot like mine. I couldn’t understand why the lights worked in the basement only, and as I moved in further to investigate I saw my grandmother frantically tearing the basement apart looking for something. I knew she had died but yet I still saw her right in front of me digging through boxes. So I asked her, “Grandma...what are you doing here?” She looked up at me and said “Where is it?”. At this point I was a little scared but continued this impossible conversation, “Where is what?” I asked. “The picture,” she said, “Where is it?” Somehow I suddenly knew what she was asking for, and I wasn’t sure how to tell her that my dad had finally decided to get rid of the paintings. So I told her I had no idea what she was talking about. She continued yelling at me and demanding to have the pictures, all the while getting more and more upset. So I did what any sane person would do, I ran up the stairs and got out of there as fast as I could.

At that point the setting of my dream transformed into my hallway, at night. I was standing there alone when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to see my grandmother standing on the porch. Upon seeing her I became so frustrated and upset I started to cry and asked again “Grandma, what are you doing here?”. All she said was “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but it’s okay, I know your dad took the pictures.” I cried more but decided not to tell her she was wrong, mostly I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. Then she said “I have to go now.” All I could think of to say was, “Is Grandpa there?” she told me he was. Finally I said my last words to her “Is it nice there?” she told me “It’s beautiful.”

I sat up in my bed covered in tears and feeling like I had travelled a long way just to get there. Everything in my dream was as real as any experience in my life, and though it happened months ago I can still remember every single detail down to what she was wearing. That conversation with my grandmother was enough to provide me with some closure on her death. I know I’m beyond lucky to have had that one extra chance to talk to her even after she died. I learned something about life, which is that no matter what happens to the physical bodies of people you love, they are still there and the love is still there above anything else. It changed my outlook on everything and reinforced my belief that there is something after life on Earth. I learned not to grieve over a death of a person, but rather celebrate the life they lived instead.

But the part of the story that changed me is this: The day after my dream I felt sick and upset that the pictures were gone, especially when my grandmother wanted us to keep them so badly. I finally asked my mom, “What happened to Grandma’s paintings? The ones that dad decided to get rid of?” She turned to me and said “Jessica, he kept those paintings. If you want to see them they’re downstairs...in the basement.”