Those beautiful blue eyes, that with one look could make you feel like you were truly and unwaveringly loved. Eyes that could make you tell your deepest, darkest secrets to and were not afraid of the dooming consequences, if it were to get out. Those eyes would never betray you. They would never hurt you or make you feel unwanted. Eyes that had seen the world when it was at a simpler time. They had seen more presidents than we can name and saw all the fighting in more wars than we want to name. Even though they had seen all of that and much more, they still had a glint of mischief in them. Father time was never able to vanquish the burning fire trapped within the clear glass of the surface. He never got to fully grasp their sparkle that he so dearly craved for his collection.
Those awe-inspiring eyes, now lay closed with their eye lashes gently caressing the colorless cheeks below. Those eyes will never again, see another glorious sunrise with hues of pink, yellow, and orange. They will never be able to stretch out their aches after a long night's sleep, or have the corner’s of them scrunch up while laughing at one of my jokes. The greedy and selfish cancer that now consumes their body has stolen that from them. Those eyes that remind me of the deepest caverns of the ocean filled with mystery and wonder, belong to my grandmother.
As I sit on her cold hospital bed, I try to remember everything about those eyes because I fear that I won’t ever be able to see them again. When I lose her, I will want nothing more than to curl up in my bed and stay for hours filling up my room with tears and empty promises, but I will have to be strong. I will have to put on a dazzling smile that with tell my mom that I am here for her. I will have to console my younger cousins and explain that grandma will be going to a place with no more pain. She will be God’s highest angel and she will twirl around for hours without needing to stop for a breath. That even though she will be gone, she will always be in our hearts and watching over us.
Sitting there, I also try to remember the way she used to look. Her hair always perfectly curled and not a strand out of place. The signature blue dress with small baby’s breath flowers dotting the fabric and black kitten heels. Adding a string of pearls with their matching earrings to top off the look. Along with her favorite material things, were her eyes. Those eyes that would wink at me when they handed me a piece of chocolate and filled with admiration when looking at their husband. I really want to remember this in her last seconds because what I see now, is not her. The cancer has made her body something that would be envied by an anorexia sufferer. The skin on her cheeks is pulled so tightly over the bone, that with one wrong movement, it seems like it would rip apart. The same cheekbones, that I can remember a week earlier, we were putting a little too much blush on them and then laughing until we couldn’t breathe as to how ridiculous she looked.  Even through her hospital gown, you can see her ribs just barely beneath the surface of her skin. It seems as though her whole body is hanging on by a single thread that the twisted sisters of fate would love to snip undone.
I want to scream. There is a painting hanging so delicately on the dull, cream colored walls that infuriates me. A painting, that may be masterfully drawn, but now seems to mock me. It is of a lush, green forest, with a single orange flower in the middle of strong patch of grass. The painting seems to laugh at our misfortune and flaunt its healthiness. It’s cheerful attitude reminds me that I won’t be smiling for a very long time.
A gust from the air conditioning turning on makes a wave of something hit my nose like a brick wall. I know what it is instantly and smile. White Shoulders. The hospital could never mask the signature scent of my grandmother, even with their halls spewing out antiseptic hand soap like it is their job. That smell seems to penetrate everything around me, except her.  As I hold her hand, I know that Nana never changed. She is the type of person that I could only strive to be like. Kind, generous, and gracious. The cancer never took her personality away from her.
I gently move my thumb up and down against her soft hands, while my other hand touches a blanket on the bed. After all those years of hard labor, she still had the hands like a newborn baby. I hope that she can’t feel the sandpaper like texture of the wool blanket against her pale skin. She always loved to cuddle up with the softest blankets that she bought from Kohl's and she would be saddened to have this blanket be the last one she touches.
My dad came in a while ago and made my mom and me eat a ham and cheese sandwich, which I now regret eating. I feel it making its way up my throat trying to make an appearance, but I swallow it back down. I will not leave her alone.
In these last few seconds, I make her two promises. I will always remember her in the good memories. The ones showing us laughing because the mean, old dog scared a neighbor passing by, or the ones where we did each other’s makeup and hair. The second promise is that I will try to always be kind, generous, and gracious. When she looks down from heaven, I want her to be proud of what she sees. I will strive to be like the person that the earth is losing today, so that just maybe, it will fill the void that she will be leaving in her wake.        
 The melancholy note of the heart monitor seems to replay every memory in her life like a video montage. With every beep, another cherished, sacred memory slips into the oblivion of her cancer ridden mind. I wish I could save them all and store them in my heart, but I try in vain.
The world seems to freeze as the continuous beeping, the one that seems to count down every second of her beautiful life, is silenced forever.
“I love you, Nana.”