Drab walls, smells of soap and cleanliness, pagers beeping, feet screeching as they rush to their next destination, tears hitting the floor, screams around every corner, my mother wailing “not again, please don’t take him.”

I was back, but this time it was not to get my ear stitched up from a horseback riding accident or to bring my crying sister for an arm x-ray. This time was different: serious, pressing, somber. It was my Grandpa Sam. Kind, loyal, passionate, hard-working Grandpa Sam. I was not some clueless fourteen year old; I knew what was going on.

The day my mother discovered she was pregnant with me, my Grandpa had heart valve replacement surgery because his original valve was not working properly. The doctors’ prognosis was not overly optimistic, but he pulled through. For years, my family said it was a sign that he wanted to meet his future grandchildren. He was prescribed blood-thinning medication to prevent clotting and protect his weakened heart. However, years later he had a tennis accident and cracked his head open on the court. He was rushed to the hospital and had emergency brain surgery to stop the bleeding. He made it through, but had lost some of his faculties and would have a long road to recovery, we were told. We were just so happy that he was still with us. The doctor also explained that he would be off the blood thinners for a week to prevent the risk of further bleeding.

We visited him in the hospital every day that week. He was slowly regaining his strength and was beginning physical therapy to retrain his muscles. We were overjoyed when he was transferred from the ICU to the rehabilitation unit as we thought that meant that his health was in no imminent danger. I remember visiting him in his new hospital room. We brought him a delicious home-cooked meal and all sat around eating and laughing. We went home that evening filled with optimism and excitement.

It was 1:00 A.M. the next morning when my family and I entered the hospital. We had just been notified that my grandpa had gone into major cardiac arrest and needed immediate open-heart surgery. I had my horse pajamas and my light blue pumas on. I brought Cowy, my beloved stuffed animal whom I still have to this day. My hair was a bird’s nest. My eyes had trouble staying open until I entered the hospital grounds. None of this mattered though. All that did was that my grandpa was safe and well.

“This will be a long and difficult operation. We will do our best,” I heard the doctor say solemnly. He and his team wheeled my grandpa’s portable bed out the door and towards the OR.

I froze. I did not know what to do or say. Would this be the last time I saw my grandpa, my best friend, my role model? I ran to the doors as they closed and watched his bed roll away.  Our family of thirty sat in the waiting room for six hours. Some put in headphones to block out the sadness, some sat by themselves and tried to calm down, and some of us, including myself, went around telling our favorite Grandpa Sam stories. Finally, the doctors came out and told us his heart was working but that his brain had been without oxygen for so long that he would most likely not wake up. My mother and her sisters began to wail, their cries ringing in my ears.

“I know my grandpa,” I thought. “He is strong, a fighter. He will make it through.”

I entered his room. The pervasive beeping of the IV machine intensified as I timidly approached his bedside. A single narrow window sat directly above the headboard of his mechanical hospital bed, while sunlight shone harshly through the vertical blinds against the dingy white walls that surrounded him. He looked uncomfortable in his twin-sized bed with stiff blue sheets and a paper-thin pillow.  I pulled a plastic chair from the wall next to his bed, sat by his side, and held his hand.

“Careful please,” the nurse said softly.

I kissed his hand. It was soft, wrinkly, and pale. I just lay there and tears began to roll down my cheek. It was then that the severity of his condition finally resonated with me.

“I love you,” I whispered. “So, so much.”

I left the room slowly, shaking a bit. I had said goodbye, that was it. But I knew that no matter how I was feeling, I had to be strong for my family. I had to be their caregiver as I had been for my grandfather before.

I knew I was lucky to have had fourteen years with him, longer than my younger sisters and cousins had. Salmon sushi dates every Friday at six and my running into his arms whenever I saw him; we had a special relationship. When he lived through what could have taken so many others, I knew that he had waited for me and for our family to grow all those years ago. We got our time with him, we shouldn’t be greedy. But, it was hard not to be. He was an incredible man, who I will try to emulate.

Grandpa’s illness changed me. I had been an optimistic little girl, full of hope for his recovery. I thought he was immortal. Though I now know that he was going to die eventually, I can see that his illness never held him back. He continued on with his everyday activities, worked even harder than before, and continued to show his family loyalty and love. His life empowers me to live my life for a purpose. The people that you love and who love you deserve everything that you can give them. Though he is gone now, his example is immortal.