The Man I Never Knew

December 15, 1997 was the one of the first times I experienced real pain. I am not talking about stubbing my toe or even breaking my arm, pain that is more normal for a seven year old girl. This was losing your breath, stomach churning, heart wrenching pain. This was the day that my friend, my hero, my grandpa died. This was the worst pain I had felt in my short life.

Summer of ’97 we learned he was very sick. We soon enough found out it was even more serious than we thought. Stage 4 lung cancer. He went through treatment. He lost his hair, his voice, and little parts of him that made him “him”. On the way home from my cousin’s house one weekend, I was told there was nothing more the doctors could do. That my grandpa was going to die not matter what. Don’t get me wrong. This pain was bad too. However, the pain didn’t seem really and truly real until he was really gone.

Until this point I don’t think I really understood what death was. I didn’t really want to find out either. When it came though, it felt like a bus hit me. My small little head could not comprehend what was going on. To my young eyes, the world seemed to be crashing down. It seemed it should be ending. Despite what I thought, the world continued. It did not wait for my little mind to catch up. It did not show me that everything was going to be ok. It just kept on going.
I remember being angry for a very long time. Maybe I still am. I hate that I was not able to really get to know such a wonderful man; someone I truly admired. I was bitter and upset. I would pretend I was fine and everything was ok. It just seemed easier to do that. The anger and resentment was stored in my heart for a very long time. I think I just recently have started to get rid of it.

From what I am told I am a lot like my grandfather. I love hearing that. I think I got my love for music from him. He loved music. He loved to sing and did it whenever he could. I am told that I have a sense of humor that was like his. He must have been hilarious! He loved to have fun and play games. He loved to travel and experience new things.

While I only knew him for a few short years, I am so thankful for those ones. I have some wonderful memories of him that I would not trade for anything. One time when I spent the night at his house, I must have been making lots of noise when I should have been sleeping. I was in a room all alone and I remember him coming in. He started singing to calm me down and make me go to sleep. I love this memory. It is mine; not one I have to share with anyone.

I wish I had more time to get to know what a wonderful man he was. I wish he could have gotten to know me too. Hear me sing, listen to my jokes, and experience something new with me. I think he would have really like me.

Looking From A New Angle

Before, I could have told you at least a million different reasons why I disliked it so much. I was not interested, never had been and thought I never would be. I am slowly-very slowly- realizing it might not be as bad as I once thought. I hate that I am beginning to soften up to the idea of it. In all reality, it could give me everything I need. It would make me feel secure. Am I willing to put aside the rest of my feelings of disgust and “just go for it”? I am not sure. I am trying to be open; trying to see all the wonderful possibilities that could come along from it.