Here one day, gone the next… a concept that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to comprehend. Right now, she’s here. She’s in hospice. She’s sitting in her chair surrounded by so many people who love her. She’s absorbing all of the love and praise that friends and family are bringing with them. She’s peacefully smiling at everyone. She’s my Bubby.

Ever since I was a little girl, Bubby always held a special place in my heart. And quite honestly I know I held a special place in hers, too. After all, I was the first girl after she raised three boys and I also made her a grandmother… so naturally I was kind of important (not to brag or anything). But in all seriousness, we always shared a bond that without ever saying anything was filled with so much love. Bubby was not warm and fuzzy, but she never for a second made me doubt my importance to her. 

It’s not every day you meet a woman as fabulous as my Bubby. She’s kind to everyone she meets. She’s always so incredibly positive. She was always hardworking. And she displayed such perseverance and grit throughout her life. But she truly stole my heart when she’d play dress up and arts and crafts with me… not to mention the chocolate chip cookies.

When Bubby was diagnosed with Leukemia almost two years ago, our family could not have been more panicked. She is the foundation of our crazy family and the thought of anything causing her to suffer or be anything but healthy was upsetting to all of us. So my dad and his brothers did what they do best; they worked hard and made things happen. They took her to her doctor's appointments and made a plan of care with her doctors. When problems came about, they found solutions. Second opinions, new tests, researching different options for care, the boys did everything they could to help their mom. But then the medication fighting the cancer stopped working and the solutions to the problems quickly ran out, which leads us to where we are right now. The end.

When Bubby got sick I knew one thing for sure. If the opportunity presented itself, I would write a letter to her, read it to her, and then read it at her funeral. My mom has always said that it’s such a shame that beautiful eulogies are read after the person has passed. If only they got to hear the impact they had on the people who loved them.

So last week when Bubby was in the hospital with pneumonia I saw my opportunity. After all, I was leaving for college soon and who knew what the future held. What if I would never see her again? I had two sleepless nights writing my heart out… deleting, revising, starting over, and then finally I came up with a letter that accurately explained my feelings. I went to the hospital alone the next day. I read my letter to her, crying the entire time. But now I have no regrets. Everything that needed to be said, was said.

It all happened so fast. She went from Jefferson Torresdale Hospital to the hospital at Penn to Abington Hospice in one week. The Hersh family spent New Year's Eve in hospice telling stories, laughing, and crying. It was the last time all of the Hersh’s would be in the same place as a complete family and the thought of that makes me cry every time. I thought that was going to be the last time I saw her so I went into her room and spent some alone time with her. We cried and she told me everything was going to be okay. She poured her heart out and it was by far the most emotional conversation I have ever had. As I was hugging everyone goodbye, I decided that I was going to make time to come back the next day. 

The next day I anticipated really saying goodbye, so again I made sure to get my time with her, but this time Julie joined us. The three of us held hands and cried. And then Julie said, “Bubby, I don’t want to know life without you” She was spot on. Nobody did. Even the thought that she won’t be here soon is so painful.

I asked Julie to step out. And I moved next to Bubby. I took her hand in mine. She looked at me and said, “So, you leave tomorrow…wow!” and then we both started to cry some more and talk about how even though I don’t wanna go because I want to be with her, it’ll all be okay. 

Then I said, “Bubby can you do me a favor?”

She said, “Talk to me.”

“There will be a day, or many days pretty soon when all I’m gonna want to is hear your voice, but I’m not gonna be able to call you. So if I leave my phone with you and step out for a minute, will you please record something that I can listen to when I miss you?”

“Absolutely”

I came back in hugged her tight, kissed her on the cheek, and then left the room sobbing. Uttering the words “Bye Bubby” was different this time; it wasn’t a see you later kind of thing, it was a forever kind of thing. The entire Hersh family was right outside the room but I went down the hall. I wanted to be alone. I walked down to the lounge area and Julie was sitting alone crying. We sat together, held each other, and cried.

I went back today, for the final time. It was a quick visit, but I needed to kiss her one last time before I left for college. My heart is hurting so much as I sit in my hotel room in Boston getting ready to move into my apartment tomorrow. I’d rather be home. I’d rather wake up tomorrow morning and drive to see Bubby, but I can’t…

Bubby’s strength and dignity has allowed our family to have hard conversations that most people wouldn’t be able to have. There is nothing that was left unsaid by anyone. We talked about how she is going to watch over us, how she may see her parents ‘up there’ and about what life is going to be like when she’s not here. It’s very unusual that you openly get to discuss the idea of death with the person dying. We all feel so lucky to be able to say our goodbyes and have this special time with her. But most importantly to thank her for impacting our lives forever.

I love you with all my heart, Bubby.