Author Spotlight
Kevin Simpson
The “Goodnight” playlist had always helped put her at ease. Whenever Elizabeth McGranahan, class of 2010, was having trouble sleeping, she would grab her iPad and turn on that playlist. It helped her relieve some of the stress; it helped ease the pain.
So when the doctors and Marsha Gribble, Elizabeth’s mother, finally agreed not to resuscitate Elizabeth on Nov. 30, Gribble knew what to do.
Gribble grabbed the iPad, climbed onto a gurney next to her firstborn child, and turned on the “Goodnight” playlist. Just as the chaplain walked in, Elizabeth’s favorite song came on — “Hallelujah.” Gribble knew it was time. She held tightly to Elizabeth and watched the heart monitor as it signaled the last few moments of her daughter’s life. Just after the song ended, Elizabeth’s heart stopped. On Dec. 1, 2010, Elizabeth McGranahan passed away at the age of 19.
Her passing marked the end of a long stay at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis for Elizabeth and Gribble. They had arrived on April 18, and by May 11, Elizabeth underwent a bone marrow transplant that the doctors hoped would cure her five year battle with aplastic anemia and dyskeratosis congenita. The rare disease stemmed from a shortage of red blood cells, which often caused Elizabeth to suffer from complete exhaustion. She bruised easily due to her low number of platelets. The smallest amount of contact could result in dark bruising that lasted much longer than the typical bruise. Debate tournaments wore her out to the point that she would be recovering in the hospital the next day.
When blood transfusions became increasingly frequent, the transplant was one of the few remaining options. Gribble cherished the long days and nights they spent together in various hospital rooms
“It was a great gift as a parent,” Gribble said. “I got to spend so much time with my high-school-age child. I spent seven and a half months with her in Minneapolis, at her side 24 hours a day. How many people get to do that with their 18-year-old child?”
But Gribble saw Elizabeth as more than her child.
“She was everything to me,” Gribble said. “With her illness, we became not only mother-daughter and best friends— we became partners in this really tough journey.”
But the first few years that she had the disease, Elizabeth worked hard to keep it private from the majority of those around her. She wouldn’t tell others, and when people became suspicious of her increasing absences from school, Elizabeth often made up stories to avoid the truth. She didn’t want it to define who she was; she didn’t want any special favors.
Olivia Sullivan, also class of 2010, was one of Elizabeth’s best friends and one of the few people that Elizabeth told early on about her illnesses.
“She assumed that she would beat her disease, so she didn’t want it to interfere with people’s perception of her,” Sullivan said. “She tried to keep her two lives separate – being sick, and going to school and being normal.”
It was only natural that Elizabeth was unable to completely separate her illness from the rest of her life. She suffered from an illness, yet she inspired people around the nation with her blog. She exhausted herself by spending most of her free time in the debate room, yet she became a mentor to the inexperienced novice debaters. And she spent the last few months of her life in a hospital room in Minneapolis, yet her bond with her supportive mother grew stronger with every transfusion, every smile, every low and every high.
***
Elizabeth was a debater. Gribble and Elizabeth’s father met after debating against one another, and consequently hoped that someday their daughter would share in this interest. Elizabeth joined the debate team during her freshman year, and she quickly emerged as one of the strongest in the program.
“She was really good at just talking to people and adapting her arguments to any type of judge,” debate coach Trey Witt said. “She could be very persuasive if she had someone in the back of the room who was a parent that had no experience judging.”
Sullivan met Elizabeth at a debate camp, and the pair soon became partners for competitions.
“She was one of the best on our team for sure,” Sullivan said. “She was really well spoken, really intelligent, and her determination helped a lot too. I can’t even imagine how good she would have been if she wasn’t sick and was able to put 100 percent of herself into it.”
Elizabeth’s talents were quickly recognized. After her sophomore year, Elizabeth was presented with the coaches’ award, which recognizes leadership among the East debate program. She qualified for the semifinals of State Forensics her junior year, and she and Sullivan qualified for the Debate Coaches’ Invitational their junior and senior years.
Despite all of her accomplishments, Witt thinks Elizabeth will be remembered for other reasons.
“I think she was and is a good role model to younger kids to think about the legacy they want to leave behind and what kind of a person they want to be,” Witt said. “Those are ultimately the things that people are going to remember about her, not her successes or what tournaments she placed in or how well she did at State.”
***
Elizabeth was a communicator. She and her father used to write books together, including one about a dog that Gribble recently found tucked away in her home. Elizabeth’s communication skills amazed those around her, including a speech pathologist that she met at age five.
“She was just amazed at Elizabeth’s vocabulary,” Gribble said. “She couldn’t believe the words and sentences that were coming out.”
Elizabeth always dreamed of becoming a traveling journalist. She long admired Diane Sawyer, and the two even met during a trip Elizabeth made to New York City.
Long before she spent her last few weeks in room 521 of the intensive care unit, Elizabeth chased her passion for writing in a room by the same number at East. Though she was the editor of the Harbinger Online, she was able to write about a variety of topics for the newspaper. She reviewed Flight of the Conchords and Britney Spears. She wrote about female self defense and she wrote a cover story on the economy’s effect on paying college tuition.
Her final Harbinger story was about the increasing popularity of Twitter and how it connects people from all over. Elizabeth was well-aware of the connecting power of words. She wrote her own blog, titled “A Reason to Smile,” in which she updated readers with reports on her day-to-day progress.
“I love to go back and read it, because it’s like I’m still talking to her,” Gribble said. “I was always so proud of her and proud of how positive she was. She really had her priorities straight. She was determined to be the best person she could possibly be and help as many people as she could along the way.”
Since Elizabeth’s death, Gribble has been updating the page a few times each week. Each note is a personal letter written from Gribble to her daughter, and each note ends with a reminder that Gribble is loving and missing her “fiercely.”
***
Elizabeth was a role model. Once when picking Elizabeth up from preschool when she was three years old, Gribble recalls seeing her daughter consoling a crying classmate, telling her everything was going to be okay.
Gribble loved the passion with which Elizabeth lived her life. The pair often debated whether or not Elizabeth would be allowed to get a tattoo on her wrist that read “Bravery.” Gribble said that it would look silly if Elizabeth were ever to become a journalist, pointing out that Diane Sawyer would never have a tattoo. But Elizabeth never gave in, and on Sept. 24, her 19th birthday, Gribble sat in the intensive care unit and promised her heavily sedated daughter that she would allow her to get the tattoo.
Her determination extended far beyond self-serving purposes. Over Elizabeth’s four year debate career, Witt and Sullivan saw her constantly supporting the novice debaters, regardless of how much time it took away from her own work.
“She really enjoyed teaching the younger kids,” Witt said. “A lot of them kind of flocked to her, because she was not intimidating at all. She had the type of demeanor that kids would feel comfortable asking her questions.”
Witt noticed that when he told his class about Elizabeth’s passing, it was the younger debaters that seemed to take the news the hardest. They were the ones Elizabeth had mentored when they joined the program.
Sophomore Eden McKissick-Hawley remembers going to Wichita last year for her first overnight debate tournament. She said that Elizabeth always tried to make the novice debaters feel comfortable around the upperclassmen.
“We were immediately good friends and really close,” McKissick-Hawley said. “She just included everyone and made everyone feel welcome. She never made anyone feel left out. That’s the kind of person she was.”
McKissick-Hawley and her partner ended up winning the tournament, and she attributes much of her success to Elizabeth’s guidance and support after every round.
Stories like McKissick-Hawley’s always remind Gribble of her daughter’s impact on those around her. Just days after Elizabeth’s death, a group of her closest friends gathered in Gribble’s home to share memories.
“I came to the realization that she was the person I wanted to be,” Gribble said. “I even made a promise to her that day that every day for the rest of my life I would try to do something the way Elizabeth would do it instead of the way I would do it.”
Gribble has an idea of one thing she plans to do the way Elizabeth would.
“My intent is to get that tattoo myself, and put angel wings on either side of it.”
***
Elizabeth was a friend. Though she was constantly dealing with her illness that kept her from attending school on a regular basis, she still offered support to her friends whenever it was needed. Shelby Langtry, one of her closest friends, recalls a time when she missed school the same day that Elizabeth underwent a bone marrow biopsy. When they spoke later that day, all Elizabeth wanted to talk about was how Langtry was feeling. Langtry was amazed at how much concern Elizabeth showed for others despite all she was going through.
“She was one of my closest friends,” Langtry said. “She was my confidant. I trusted her with everything. I trusted her with my life.”
Stories flew across the room when Langtry and Sullivan gathered both at Gribble’s home and Dragon Inn, Elizabeth’s favorite restaurant, soon after her passing. Gribble wanted to keep her daughter’s spirit alive, and the memories poured out. There was the time Sullivan forced Elizabeth to go to a strip club on her 18th birthday, even when it required pushing her through the door. Or all the times that Elizabeth planned Sullivan’s birthday parties. Or the time when Langtry, Sullivan and Elizabeth skipped homecoming, and Elizabeth ended up hitting it off so well with a SM South student at a Shell gas station that she went to his homecoming dance just weeks later.
“She had that effect on people,” Langtry said. “They instantly loved her. She had so much love to give. I wish I could be half the person she was.”
Sullivan is reminded of her friend’s death constantly. In a recent collegiate debate tournament, she beat a rival that she and Elizabeth used to compete against. Sullivan’s first instinct was to text Elizabeth. Sullivan also has a bracelet that Elizabeth used to wear, and now, she can hardly stand to look at it. Sullivan does wear a different bracelet in honor of Elizabeth, one that reads, “The future belongs to those that believe in the beauty of their dreams.”
“She was very set on her future,” Sullivan said. “She was very determined to beat her illness.”
The memories weren’t all that Elizabeth’s friends were left with. Gribble gave each of them some of Elizabeth’s possessions as physical reminders of their beloved friend. Langtry received a Tiffany’s necklace bearing a cupcake, serving as a memory for all the times the girls tried to emulate the stars of the Food Network’s “Ace of Cakes.” Sullivan was given some of Elizabeth’s old clothes and jewelry.
And they all wear the bracelet. “Always a reason to smile” is inscribed on the colorful bands that serve as a constant reminder of Elizabeth’s attitude toward life. Gribble wears her band on her left wrist, and Sullivan and Langtry on their right.
“Whenever I’m feeling sad or stressed out or mad,” Langtry said, “I like to look at it and remember that there always is a reason to smile.”
***
They rushed out of the snow and crowded into the auditorium on Dec. 12. There were teachers and advisers, friends and family. Some barely knew Elizabeth; others were dearly close to her. Langtry strolled onto the stage and sang “The Sun” by Maroon Five.
“I cannot forget, refuse to forget, so glad I met you. Take my breath away, make every day worth all the pain that I’ve gone through.”
The lyrics echoed throughout the large room, accompanied only by the emotions of those who were so impacted by the loss of a loved one.
“I wanted to pick something that would display to people how much she meant to me,” Langtry said. “I will never forget her. She’s left a lasting impact on my heart and on my life.”
After Witt and forensics coach Jennifer Hunter read a variety of reactions to Elizabeth’s passing from blog readers and Facebook friends, Sullivan took the stage. She held in her hand a speech that Elizabeth had written for her oratory for forensics. The speech discussed the prevalence of miracles in society. Elizabeth was so proud of the speech that she was upset when that season ended, and she could no longer give it again.
In her oratory, Elizabeth implored her listeners to accept miracles as part of their life, because it would help them see the beauty in the world. She defined a miracle as “something positively life-changing that can’t be explained.”
As Gribble looks back on her daughter’s life, she struggles to describe how her daughter was able to fight her disease with such intensity, refusing to give up the things that she loved.
“I’ve wondered that, her doctors have wondered that, her nurses have wondered that,” Gribble said. “It was kind of her way of coping, because it’s so hard to face your own mortality when you’re a teenager. Life had more value to her, because she knew it could be gone at any day.”
Elizabeth’s undying will to live was not easily explained, fitting her own definition of a miracle.
“She never gave up hope,” Gribble said. “If anybody should have, if anybody had a right to give up hope, it was her. She never gave up hope. It’s what fueled her.”
Though those close to her struggle to articulate the impact she made on their lives, they all agree on one thing—Elizabeth was a miracle.
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