A Good Hill to Die On // Miles Away

I have the great blessing of being a student at Pitt who has always called Pittsburgh my home. I am only a short drive from campus, meaning if I need a home-cooked meal, a mom to hug or just to rest for the weekend away from the noise of Oakland, I have it. But with the less miles comes more family responsibilities. 

I’ve loved getting to care for my grandparents more than anything over the past few years, with bringing them their favorite meals on weekends, visiting them when they are in the hospital and spending additional time with them, as it is something we are not sure when it will come to an end. 

My family is certainly complicated. We love, fight, cry and come together when we need each other. Though, since I was a kid, it feels like my family slowly shrinks. My uncle moved away, my parents divorced and health complications made it harder for everyone to come together. Every holiday since I started high school has altered slightly — the quantity of food decreased, we were left with more leftovers and four place settings slowly decreased to three. 

I never believed this year it would only be two plates. 

I was home over the weekend, finally taking a break in lue of finals and the long week I had filled with less-than-pleasant election results and a not-so-favorable change in temperature. As I was getting ready to settle in for the night, the phone rang. I wanted to believe it was one of those calls you receive in the movies before Ghostface comes out of the shadows to stab you. Though that call would have been so much better. 

My grandpa has now spent the last two months in and out of the hospital and at two different rehab facilities all with their own unique cruelty. I will not dive into the medical details as they still fly over my business major brain, but I know my grandpa and all other elders subject to such homes do not deserve such a complete lack of care. 

He had fallen three times over the last month and a half, each time with bumps and bruises. I begged my mom every time to come get me from Oakland. For a moment last Friday, I was glad I was not miles away on campus, not knowing that would be the direction I and the ambulance were headed towards. This was no surface fall or quick trip to the ER. The first chance I got to see my grandpa in the hospital was my last. I am forever grateful for the time I got with him over my 19 years of life, the chances I received and being able to be there on birthdays and weekends. But from now on, it will not be his physical presence, but only memories, objects and stories I have to stay in touch with him.

The 13.5 miles and average 30-minute trek without traffic from my home in Franklin Park will never seem far enough away from all the reminders of his death. Each drive on the Boulevard of the Allies will be a reminder of the ER visit I watched him lay in his own blood. Coming home on the weekends will bring up all the dinners in his apartment we can no longer enjoy. Walking through Pitt’s campus — his alma mater — at the intersection of Forbes and Schenley, I will see the booth I bought his favorite blue Pitt sweatshirt at. 

But now the miles I once adored are the ones I now dread. I will not be coming home to visit him in his apartment filled with art, foods I helped him grocery shop for or the couch we sat on together watching the news less than a year ago on Christmas Day. Instead, we will be cleaning it out, slowly clearing out a life so fully lived but one I would trade anything for just one more smile. 

So the hill I would love to live on, and the one I hope my grandpa finds, is one filled with love, kindness and so much of his favorite food — veal parmesan. 

I can say I am grateful I never put additional miles between my family and I when I moved to college, but I advise every student who has the opportunity to call, text or visit a loved one to do so. You do not want to die on a hill with regrets.