Walking to class after work on October 12, 2022, the rain poured as Mom texted me, “The hospital left a message… Nonno is being admitted.” Mom had called earlier to let me know that Nonno was weak and going to the emergency room. At first, the situation didn’t seem so bad. He was mildly dehydrated; the cancer wasn’t the cause this time. Hopefully, Nonno would recover and return home. In the meantime, I would fly home that night for Fall Break and see him.
When I visited Nonno at the hospital the next day, he was awake and okay, just a little out of it. Grammy noticed his hands were swollen, but he didn’t. Nonno also couldn’t remember what pain level he felt just a few minutes ago. He told the nurse that his pain was a seven, but he changed his mind to an eight or nine.
I saw Nonno the following day. I don’t remember much about that visit, just that he was more alert and that I showed him my new driver’s license.
At this point, much was unknown about the cancer’s spread. Perhaps Nonno would be with us for a while, but the following day’s news soured my 20th birthday celebrations. Grammy called Mom and informed her that the medication had stopped slowing the cancer’s spread and that it was now in Nonno’s extremities. Therefore, they were going to take him off the now ineffective medication. Grammy didn’t cry, but her expression indicated that she was on the verge of doing so. After my birthday dinner at my favorite Japanese restaurant, we went to Grammy’s house for ice cream so that Nonno could be there, except that he was in the hospital, not at home anymore.
While we were there, I asked Grammy, “Does this news mean that Nonno is going to get worse and worse until he dies?”
“Yes,” Grammy said.
That wasn’t the news I wanted to hear. No one this close to me had died before. While away at college the past month-and-a-half, I was distant from Nonno’s situation, but now I was at home in East Bay to face reality. Nonno would soon go home.
The next day, October 16, I visited Nonno at the nursing home where he now was. Nonno was mentally present and could converse. I first asked Nonno was if he was in pain. Due to the morphine, no. We then talked about a variety of topics, including my parents’ divorce and possible physical therapy, but the hardest part was addressing the reality of his condition.
Nonno told me, “I know this is hard on you, Jeremiah, but I’m grateful for my time here with all of you, and I’ve lived a good life.”
At that point, my mom called, wanting me to hurry up. She was waiting outside since only one person could visit at a time due to COVID-19.
Why was it already time to go? I had just gotten here and didn’t want to leave Nonno, who was dying. I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could before flying back down to Los Angeles. Did I really need to hurry out of here? Just let me have a few more moments with the only grandfather involved in my life. Once Nonno passed, there would only be my Jichan, who had just told me that I couldn’t visit him in Washington without the COVID-19 vaccines. So, let me stay with Nonno as long as possible.
“Jeremiah, I don’t care how long your visits are,” Nonno said. “What matters to me is that you did visit.”
I teared up as I said my final words. I reminded Nonno of the Gospel: God’s holiness, our depravity, Christ’s atonement, and salvation for all who believe in Him.
“Goodbye, Nonno. I love you,” I said, knowing that I might not see Nonno again. I wouldn’t be back for another five weeks, and I had no idea if Nonno would still be alive to celebrate Thanksgiving with us. I just knew that he would be worse by then if he were.
That moment was the last time I would have a face-to-face conversation with Nonno. I returned home just two-and-a-half weeks later, on Thursday, November 3, to see Nonno, who was now in hospice and could no longer speak coherently nor feed himself. I cried as I saw Nonno awake for the last time on November 4, and on November 5, Nonno opened his eyes briefly to see my two uncles and me before closing them again.
During church the next day, Mom told me that hospice predicted that Nonno would pass away that night. I saw Nonno twice that day, and during that second visit, I said my final words, this time, for real. He was unconscious, and his agonized breathing had slowed. I thanked Nonno for the memories, read Scripture, repeated the Gospel, and then ended in prayer. I knew that I would not see Nonno again.
“Goodbye, Nonno. I love you. I’ll see you on the other side of eternity,” I said, crying. As I walked out of the room, I hugged Grammy, who reminded me that Nonno would soon be with the Lord.
I flew back to The Master’s University and received the call around 11 p.m. that Nonno had passed away, just five hours after I had said, “Goodbye.” On November 6, 2022, exactly three weeks after my last in-person conversation with him, Nonno went home.
I miss Nonno, but I have hope that I will one day see him again in the presence of our God and King, who gave me every precious moment with Thomas Riso, my Nonno.
