Achievement.

First just a little sidebar. I've been feeling extremely negative lately, both emotionally and physically. My body isn't doing well digesting food, which makes me think I'm getting sick. Again. My body image is negative and everything seems to make me either angry or sad. However, today, I glanced my side reflection in a window and I liked my big butt and my curves and my waist. And my hair looks good. And I'm trying to remember that in terms of boys and school and life, what is meant to be will be. Not that I shouldn't try but if something doesn't work out, it isn't the end of the world.

So anyway.

I recently have been feeling as though I need to do something meaningful with my life. I've left the honors program, I've been in college for far too long, and I'm still not sure what on earth I want to do with my life. I feel like a failure. I mean, I ran a half marathon and now I can barely run two miles.

And then today I remembered my grandmother. When I was nearly sixteen, my grandmother had a stroke. For the better part of my junior year of high school and the summer before, Grandma lived with us. In the summer time, my dad would go to work during the day and I would stay home and care for my grandma. When my dad left for work, the nurse would come over to bathe and dress Grandma. During this time, I got to go for a run. The nurse left after I got back. Then I would make Grandma lunch and we would watch TV. I'd work out a bit more and shower. When Grandma needed a nap, I'd put her to bed. When she needed a changing, I used all of my strength to hold her up and change her.

During the school year, my dad worked second shift. He would leave when I got back from school and I would once again care for Grandma. I made her dinner and I brushed her hair and we talked and we joked, until my mom got home from work a couple hours later.

There was one night when she was using the toilet and it fell over. I couldn't pick her back up. I started crying and apologizing while she was doing the same thing. My parents were out for the night and I called my sister in Boston, sobbing. She instructed me to call my friend's mother, who came over and helped me. I felt like such an awful granddaughter and caretaker to have let something like this happen.

But my grandma didn't care. She loved me. I was the one person she always recognized. She always told me how beautiful I was.

Her last words were spoken to me. She had pneumonia and the paramedics had arrived, including this boy who lived across the street. She took my hand and looked me in the eye and said, "Thank you."

I don't think anyone who has never done this before can realize what this experience was like for me. She was my best friend, and she died over six years ago. I still miss her and think about her every day. I wonder if she would still be proud of me. My sister doesn't understand why I'm not over it yet. But she didn't have to do this. She didn't go through this.

This is the one accomplishment of my life that I need to remember not to forget. This was something great.