Just Missed It

“You just missed it!” Ellen exclaimed excitedly. “Jeremiah took his first steps just before you walked in!”

It had been that way as long as I could remember. Just missed getting the last movie ticket. Just sold out of tonight’s special at the restaurant. Just two minutes earlier and you would have heard the boss say how much he appreciates our hard work. So many things, I just missed.

My brother Henry teased me yet again about missing another milestone. “She has the worst luck! Somehow she manages to hit every single red light.”

It was true. It didn’t matter how early I left for an event, I would still be delayed by at least 8 minutes sitting at stop lights. I had to add 10 minutes or so to every Google estimate of how long it should take me to get somewhere, just to be safe.

When Henry started dating Ellen, I knew right away that they were meant for each other. She was bubbly and fun, the perfect personality for teaching elementary students while his strict, no nonsense demeanor made him the ideal Navy guy. Together, they were a great couple that always brought out the best in each other.

Henry was getting ready for another deployment, leaving a very pregnant Ellen with young Jeremiah and the two dogs that carefully protected him. Unfortunately, the Navy never told the families exactly how long they would be out. Sometimes they would have a general idea, and this time Henry expected to be back in time for the birth of my niece, but you never knew for sure.

Across town, my mother was trying to convince her mother to take it easy and not to try to do everything by herself.

“I’ve been doing my own grocery shopping for 93 years and I don’t need someone else to do it for me now.”

“Mom, you are 93 years old. You couldn’t have been doing your own shopping all that time.”

“Well you know what I mean.” Grandma would tell her.

Grandma made me laugh because she said something similar about most everything. And of course she would add a year every birthday. She would claim to have been driving for 93 years, or cooking with lard for 93 years, or how ever old she was at the time, and she wasn’t going to change now. At least she hadn’t lost her cognitive abilities, or her sense of humor.

It was nice having family so close together, but I was still 6 stoplights from Henry, Ellen and Jeremiah, 10 stoplights from my parents, and 8 stoplights from Grandma. Most people count miles, but I have to count stoplights. I do this because of all the things I “just missed” by hitting Every. Red. Light.

Wednesday, Henry called and said he was on his way out for a few months and asked me to check in on Ellen often. He didn’t have to ask. I enjoyed spoiling my nephew and talking with my sister-in-law. Besides, I wanted to make sure there were no surprises with the new baby.

Over the course of the next few weeks, coming home from work I would alternate between visiting Ellen and Jeremiah, Mom and Dad, and Grandma. Saturdays I took time for myself.

Early one Saturday, I got an urgent call from my parents. Grandma had a stroke and was taken to St. Benedict’s Hospital. The hospital was a whopping 13 traffic lights away.

“Please, God. Give me green lights this time. Please”

Miraculously, I was able to get to St. Benedict’s without hitting a single red light. Every traffic light changed to green just as I got close. “Thank you God!”

I left my car with the parking valet attendant, then hurried to the Emergency Entrance where I was ushered into the small room where my parents sat with Grandma on the bed. Her silver hair sparkled in contrast to her pale skin. Dad was stoic, while mom silently wiped away tears she didn’t want me to see. Grandma opened her eyes and looked at me tiredly.

“It’s time for me to go, Sweetheart.” she whispered. The words were slightly slurred as half of her face drooped from the stroke. I held her hand. She gave a gentle squeeze, then the EKG line on the monitor went flat as a long, loud beeeeeeeeep broke the stillness of the room.

Medical staff came in. There was no rush, as she was 93 years old and they had already told my parents this was expected.

A tall gangly nurse stepped in asking if I was Ellen’s sister-in-law and pulling me into the hallway.

“You need to hurry to the sixth floor. Take the elevator on that end of the hall.” She told me, pointing to an alcove, barely able to be seen from where we were currently standing.

I pressed the UP arrow, and the green ring around it lit briefly before the doors opened. At the sixth floor, I was greeted by a young candy striper who lead me to a dimly lit room where Ellen had already been put into a soft green hospital gown and was lying on the bed with her knees up, breathing in that strange panting fashion they teach in Lamaze class.

Another nurse ushered me to the bedside, where I again took the hand of the patient. This time, however, the hand on the other end squeezed tightly.

“Hey, relax!” I admonished.

Through gritted teeth Ellen scowled and told me to shut up.

Only twenty minutes later, young Elizabeth appeared. She was cleaned, given a very brief exam, wrapped in a pink blanket, and handed back to her mom. I gazed at this new life, feeling blessed to be able to witness her first breaths. Reaching my finger down, she grasped it with her tiny hand.

Just then, Henry walked in, fresh off the boat and still in his Navy uniform.

With a heart full of emotions ranging from sadness at the loss of my grandmother, to the joy of the birth of my niece, I looked at my brother and stated “I made it ... just in time.”