Write-Alike Blog Post 4

 For me, I was particularly moved by the scene in The Color of Water where the author's biological father died of cancer, and they didn't even know that he had it until it was too late. They part where she got the call in the early morning and gathered the whole family seemed really genuine and realistic, because when my grandmother died, it united the whole family for one last time.

My Gran lived to be 86 years old, and lived in Warrenton, N.C. for as long as I could remember. She liked crime shows like NCIS and the army-navy football game and smoking cigarettes while watching the aforementioned. In fact, she smoked cigarettes for nigh on 70 years which eventually led to her untimely death around 2012 or so. She was pretty unsteady that Christmas but my cousin was taking care of her. After celebrating with Mom's side of the family, we all piled into the car and puttered up to Warren county to see my aunts and uncles and cousins. After the preliminary Hellos and I'm in 5^th grade now, and Yes I have grown a lot haven't I? I managed to lean over and kiss Gran on the head and petted the wiggly little family dogs skittering around. I wandered down in to the basement where my cousins, all in their 20s, were playing xbox and eating Chex Mix.

“Is there a free controller?” I asked.

“No.” They said.

I wandered further back into the musty basement, they paused by the humming dehumidifier. It seemed like it had gone a long time without being emptied, so I unplugged it and dragged it into the laundry room. Opening the water trap, I tipped it out onto the concrete floor and watched it trickle morosely down the drain. There was a filter I took out and shook out. Have you ever seen pure nicotine? It looks like a waxy brown paste and smells like burning. It was caked very thickly on it, and I tried to imagine all of that in your lungs. After getting it all set back up, we gathered together and ate our delicious Christmas dinner and opened our presents, which I now cannot recall. After our festivities and getting back on track with each other, the night slowly dissolved as we headed for the screen door.

“I want to go home.” Gran said.

“You are home.” Dad said gently. (Her mind wasn't very sharp anymore.)

“Home. I'm going home.” She said, doddering towards the door. My cousin took her arm.

“Come on, let's watch T.V.” He said, leading her away.

We left, walking to our car under the cold sky of a rural night. I looked up at the farm bell that hung anachronistically over the car port. Once it was used to call hands to supper after working in the fields. But now we had no fields and it was used to ring everyone after playing. I wanted to give a merry ring but was advised against it. As Glenn was tucked sleepily into the seat next me and instantly zonked out, we turned the car around and started to pull out. When I could look back around, I saw Gran standing in the window looking out at the murky old road behind us. In the past when she was stronger she'd wave as we left, but now she only looked. And looked. We drove away and the barn blocked my view. A few days later we came back from the comic book store to notice we had five missed calls. With no small trepidation, my Dad picked up the receiver. Soon it was clear- maybe it was a stroke. Maybe it was a heart attack. Maybe it was pneumonia. Anyways, my cousin had her in the back seat of his car as he barreled towards duke hospital because there was no way he was letting her go back to the regional hospital. (They said her hip wasn't broken, but it was. They also gave her medicine she was allergic to, despite it being on her record.) Everyone got connected as they got her in and gave oxygen. Of course me and Glenn weren't in school so we just hung out at home with Mom while Dad stayed there to do all he could. Several days passed. Nothing. We went back home after Sunday school and Mom sighed.

“I think this is it.” She said.

A few nights later, Gran died. Dad was there for her. They told us early in the morning, but didn't wake us up immediately. I didn't cry, I just sort of sat there in bed for a few minutes and then hugged Dad. Apparently- I only learned later- it wasn't pneumonia, stroke, or heart attack. Her lungs simply couldn't get any oxygen in. Years of smoking coated them like the way that filter was coated, blocking the oxygen. So I don't need anyone at school telling me it's not cool to smoke. I know.