Open Letter To The Nurse Who Killed My Grandma — You Stole The Light From My Life!

There isn’t a day that goes by I don’t think about the home health nurse who changed my life forever. I thought grandma would be around forever. I didn’t consider I would mourn her for decades before I die. Yet, here we are.

In 2010, grandma celebrated her 81 birthday. We planned a big party, inviting friends and family all over the country to see her. She was so happy, seeing cousins and family she hadn’t seen in years.

After a day-long celebration, I sat next to her on the couch. I just wanted to take in that moment. That’s when I noticed her toe. She had an obvious infection in her big toe.

I panicked. I know that now. Grandma was a type I diabetic, and I knew getting a cut on her foot was not good.

“Grandma, how did this happen?”

“Ehh, the nurse cut my toenails a few weeks ago. She nicked my toe. It’s not a big deal. It’ll heal,” she said.

“We are going to the doctor’s office to check that. It looks infected,” I whispered.

Doctor Visit Became Hospital

Several days later, we took grandma to the doctor’s office. That’s where we learned she had MRSA. And by the time we found out about her infection, it was in her bloodstream.

Dr. Hayes, the doctor who delivered me in 1976, told me the bad news — grandma was really sick and because of her age, he wasn’t sure she would recover.

I couldn’t believe my ears. The woman who raised me was dying from a careless nurse who nicked her toe when helping her cut her nails.

I remember being so angry with that nurse. I hated her for years. I just couldn’t get past it. In my mind, she was nothing but a murderer. I needed a bad guy. The truth was, she was doing her job. But she could have slowed down and carefully cut her nails.

“Chrissie, she will need you in the next few weeks. Just be there. Listen to her. Use this time to spend time with her,” Dr. Hayes tells me.

“I can’t say goodbye. I mean, how? She’s my whole entire world.”

I wiped my tears and asked Dr. Hayes what he plans to do next. He admitted grandma into the hospital and treated her for the infection. After several weeks, we realized she wasn’t responding well, as the doctor expected. She was slipping away from us and it was scary. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

Rehab Center Was A GodSend

The month grandma was in the rehab center was both horrible and a great experience for me. I sat with her and we talked. She told me stories about her childhood and when her kids were small. I learned how hard it was for her to become a widow in her early 50s.

She said raising me was hard because of her age. But she never regretted it. And she loved me more than I could know. I’ll never forget the conversation with her that healed my broken heart of my mother’s rejection.

“Chrissie, I never regretted saving you from Cathy (real name and my mother). I had to. You had the most beautiful big blue eyes and blonde curly hair. I just knew I had to be your mother. I need to know you will be okay when I go. I can’t leave without knowing you will be okay,” she whispered.

“Grandma, don’t be silly. You aren’t going anywhere. Soon you’ll go home. I do love you.”

“Tell me, you’ll be okay. I need to know that.”

“I will be fine without you. But I don’t want to be without you,” I said as a tear rolled down my cheek. And just like that, grandma changed the subject. We never spoke about it again.

A few weeks later, my phone rang in the middle of the night. It was the rehab center. Grandma’s heart stopped, and she had a DNR (do not resuscitate order). She was gone!

Grandma Died And Part Of Me Did Too

I remember little after learning she died. My son, then 15, told me I screamed, but no noise came out, and dropped my phone. I went to bed and slept. I couldn’t believe my mother, because that’s what she was, dead. Now, I was really an orphan. I had no one.

I decided not to view her body or go to the funeral. I have never been to her gravesite either. Part of me can’t do it. If I see her name on the headstone, then it’s real. I can’t pretend she is just away.

For ten years, if anyone talked about her, I would cry. I would go into a horrible bout of depression for a few days. I missed her so much. She was my entire world, and I didn’t like the world without her.

Now, I can talk about her without crying. I still cry sometimes. I can say I am not mad at the nurse anymore. I still wished she would have been more careful. But she didn’t mean to hurt my sweet grandma.

I will probably think about her until the day I die. Everything good in me is because of her. And probably much of the bad traits I have, too. She was my light in a very dark world.

After soul searching and praying for answers about why she had to die in a time I needed her, I concluded I would always need her. God wasn’t punishing me. He knew it wouldn’t matter when she died — I would have unraveled the same.

Grandma was ready to go home to heaven. She missed her husband and family. I am no longer sad she died, as she lived a full life. I am just sad we don’t see her anymore.

Grandma’s legacy was love. She loved me when I was mean, spiteful, and unloveable. In fact, in those times, she loved me harder. I don’t think there is anything more amazing than having a heart like that.

I honored her by divorcing my ex-husband and embarking on the journey to love myself. I wanted to love myself as much as she loved me. I think I am finally there.

So, to that nurse who killed my grandma, I forgive you. Yes, you stole my whole world from me, but I didn’t give up. I rose up and became the person grandma wanted me to be.

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Originally published on Medium.