My grandmother has always thought nothing is impossible. She went from a stay at home mom to store employee and later went on to create her own restaurant at 56. When she would occasionally fly around the world to visit my family and me, she would play baseball with me, create fuse beads and other types of arts and crafts, and occasionally even teach me a little flute. She was like a superwoman, always happy and smiling, and always ready to lend a hand. I was in 5th grade when I first found out that my grandmother had breast cancer. It was May 27, 2014, to be exact: a gloomy day for sure. Clouds hung low, water splashed under the tires of the speeding cars, and not a sign of joy to found under any leaf. If there was any bit of joy in this day, it was definitely not part of mine. My grandmother had found a lump next to her chest while she was showering. After the lump didn’t go away for a week, she decided to get a mammogram. The night my grandma called to tell us the results must have been one of the most depressing days of my life. One second my life was normal, and then the next it wasn’t. Someone so close to me, on the verge of death, was an unfamiliar experience. It was a heavy weight able crushing me in mere seconds. This stinging pain, burning like a fresh bee sting, forcing tears to flow, and down my face, something unfamiliar to my try-to-be tough 5th-grade self. My resourceful bean bag that had always helped me through flunked tests or lost hockey games, with its soft feel, was unable to tweak anything, with its newly developed feel of discomfort. I had been overpowered by three simple words, ‘grandmother has cancer’, and diminished to a speck of dust. The next week was a drag for me. I could barely get off my bed, even chocolate, that I had always loved, seemed as sour as lemons. Hugs from my mom were unable to cure anything. The pain of knowing that my grandmother could die at any moment made the school week feel like years. Sheets of homework seemed almost as tall as Mount Everest. As the week went on, the tears kept coming, they turned from drops to puddles, and puddles to streams, until there was almost a river running throughout the hallway and down the stairs. Even Canobie Lake Park, a place where I was always able to get the weight off my shoulders through the never-ending food and rides, couldn’t do anything for me this time. The thing that was really hurting me in this situation, was the fact that I might not be able to see my grandmother ever again. She lived across an ocean, through jungles, deserts, and mountains, on another continent. I wished that I could be at her side supporting her at every turn, so I prayed to God every night that I might possibly see her one last time. My wish that had seemed almost impossible was somehow made true. On a Friday we caught the last flight to India at 12 p.m. and were on our way. The long flight of 23 hours, with layovers, seemed even longer due to my anxiousness in wanting to see my grandmother. By the time our travels were over, I felt as if I hadn’t been on solid ground for a good two weeks. The first time I saw my grandmother since the time she got cancer was one to remember. Tears rolled down my face as I saw her pale, frail body. Her locks of long, flowing hair, now diminished a shiny bald head. She was unable to do anything. Walking something so natural had become hard for her. Someone other than herself had to feed her food, almost as if she had become a baby once again. Often days she would be asleep for almost 20 hours, only waking up to eat, drink, and do a little exercise. I had thought that I had been crushed by hearing the information of my grandmother’s cancer, but here I saw someone completely broken. During her recovery, there were many times of pure terror and questionability. She was almost always going through chemotherapy, taking prescription after prescription, pill after pill. Our lives started revolving around her tests. When they were good, we were given a spark of hope, but when they were bad, that spark would quickly be blown out, and we would be put into even more anxiousness and stress. Often times I would wake up in the middle of the night, to hear my mom and dad weeping like babies once again, going back to sleep sobbing as well.But, during her recovery, there were also periods of calmness and joy. Though my grandma rarely ever left the hospital, we made sure to spend as much time as we could with her, and all ways have fun. We would have mini parties here and there and sing karaoke. We would create all different types of arts and crafts, hanging them on her hospital bed and creating designs for her hospital gown. As time went on, the impossible seemed to become possible. My grandma had joined the special 25% of the world that survive cancer. Though it took months for her beautiful locks of hair to grow back and for her to regain her strength, she had somehow beaten the unbeatable. She had kept by her meaning, that nothing is impossible, and she had truly proven that anything is possible. She is truly a superwoman.