Back in Bridgeport

My father, Gary Hammill Sr. with his mother/my grandmother, Edna Hammill in a photo taken by me in November 2009.

This past Saturday I went to Bridgeport Hospital with my father to visit my grandmother, Edna Hammill. Unfortunately, on this visit she was not very responsive to us. She was understandably tired and weak as the last three months of trips in and out of the hospital had taken their toll on her.

After almost an hour standing by her bedside, we were about ready to head out when suddenly Grandma’s eyes opened. Edna spotted her son and grandson and somehow found the strength to give us the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. Moments later, she went back to sleep. We were there for nearly 60 minutes and Grandma was only awake for six seconds, but what an amazing six seconds it was.

Sadly, I found out early yesterday morning that this would be the last time I’d see Grandma smile.  Edna Hammill passed away. She was 86 years-old.

If I hadn’t decided to come back home, it’s very possible that I would’ve never had those six precious seconds. If I was still living in Los Angeles, there’s a good chance I would’ve missed this moment and many of the other memorable moments that occurred at Grandma’s bedside this summer.

For example: in late June, Grandma had given us an awful scare. She was in the emergency room lying in bed surrounded by many of her children and grandchildren. Grandma didn’t look good. We all stood in silence, worried that this might be the last time we’d have with her. The silence was finally broken when my cousin Carrie was able to wake her with a kiss on the forehead. Grandma opened her eyes and said “Hi. I love you” to those of us who were present. It was a much needed positive sign.

Edna continued to fight for her life. She also continued to give us memorable moments.

Shortly after the scare in late June, with a hospital room full of visitors Grandma put me on the spot when she shockingly asked, “Hey Tim, find a job yet?” The room erupted into laughter. That’s nothing to new to Edna. She had impeccable comedic timing with a Don Rickles-esque knack for delivering one-liners, even when she wasn’t feeling her best.

One last one-liner. One final smile. I’ve never been more sure about my decision to come home.

Goodbye Grandma. We’ll miss you.