I Am Sat At The Kitchen Table

May 15, 2014 I hear my grandpa calling my name from my room upstairs. I walk down stairs and he tells me my dad’s had an accident. At this point I think my dad’s dead, because of how my grandpa word’s it, and my initial shock, but he’s alive. He was living in Virginia with my sister when it happened, so we leave for Virginia that night. We make it there the next afternoon and I finally get to see my dad. It was a challenge seeing a loved one with hundreds of tubes coming out of them, hearing that he might not make it through the night, and if he does he might not be able to see and so on. Seeing what at this point didn’t even really resemble my dad was very challenging.

I know that he’s always watching me now. I was living life just as normally as the other 10 year old. That was until my grandpa had been acting up in the following weeks of my 11th birthday, he was not being his normal self. He underwent a CT scan in early December, and it revealed a tumor on his brain. He underwent surgery to remove the tumor and lost his beautiful, prized hair. Not many men could grow hair like he could. He was recovering well from surgery, and according to the doctors, he would have 6-12 months to live. All was well I was until I was in Fort Wayne, Indiana for a hockey tournament with my PeeWee A team 6 weeks later. My father had received a call from my mother, who was my grandpa’s daughter. She told him that a tumor had regrown behind one of his eyes, and it was the size of a softball. They had no choice but to put him on life support because the tumor rendered him brain dead, and let everyone say their goodbyes. “Feed the good wolf,” was something he would always say to us kids. He loved that saying. He lived by it. I lost the man I wanted (and still strive to) be like. He was the perfect grandfather, and although his life was taken from him at the age of 63 by some horrible disease, he lived a full life. On the dark, candle lit night of January 14th, 2012, I realized how precious life is, and I chose to “Live Like Larry.”

It was of a time when he and his family went to tour Glacier National Park in Montana. They took Chinook with them. When they were stopped on the side of the road to look at mountain goats, mistakenly leaving the car door open. Chinook saw this opportunity, and jumped out of the car to chase the mountain goats. Seeing this, my dad’s sister chased after the dog offroad, running alongside the cliffs. Fearing for her daughter’s life, my grandpa, or my father’s dad, chased after my sister. Then, for fun, my dad chased after my father. It was a complete mess and I had a blast listening to the

It was back sometime in the summer of 2004 when my life would be uprooted and changed. The day we left, my dad sat me in his bedroom and said he would always be my dad, and that he loved me. My mom had packed all our things in her little white Nissan that worked only half the time, and we made the trek to our new home. The ride was long, and my brother being only three years old was not too happy about that. When we got to the house, the shudders were black and the drive-way was unpaved. In the front yard stood a man I had never seen before. His beer gut was small but obvious enough, what little hair he had left poked out of his trucker hat. His face had

That first day, we drove him to the community medical centre despite it being less than a five minute walk away. At just 52 years old he could barely walk. His shuffled slowly from the car on shaking legs. A dull silence fell as we sat in the waiting room, I placed a reassuring hand on my fathers withered knee while he stared into the near distance, barely acknowledging my touch, mute and withdrawn. He smelled of urine and booze, of unclean clothes, the toll that comes from

It’s 1965, my legs have gone numb as I sit cross legged on the soft carpet, flipping through piles of medical bills. They say his condition is improving, that he will be able to recall simple memories. I think to myself how impossible it seems at this moment, after watching him wake up every morning, lost and confused as to who I am, who he is. It’s like he doesn't have control over his own body.

James Blanco had invited Michael Steiginga and me to go with him to Camelback Water Park for his birthday. I was excited and could not wait. On September twenty-three, I got to skip half of the school day to leave for Camelback Water Park. In the car ride there, I attempted to nap, but I was too eager to fall asleep. After waiting in a boring car ride for what seemed like years, I could see our destination.

The other day I spotted the corner of an album tucked carefully under my mother’s wedding dress in the attic. In the album I saw a photograph of Father proudly smiling in his soldier’s uniform. There were photos of Father and I tightly hugging each other, grinning at one another, and Father playfully flinging me into the air. They were all frozen, nostalgic moments in time. Tears brimmed my eyes as I recalled memories of my Father. The strong yet kind, agile face with twinkling brown eyes and bushy eyebrows was no more.

"Emily?" My dad asked. "Yeah?" I replied. Our eyes met as he looked into the rear mirror, at my face. "Are you excited about it?" he asked. "What do you think?" I asked in disbelief. "I think you absolutely hate this trip and just want to be back home." He grinned into the rear mirror. "You know perfectly well that I'm absolutely thrilled!" We continued chatting for a while. I then opened the book that I had gotten for my birthday, 'Many years from now' and was soon deeply enjoying

Peering hopefully out the window yet again, I watched as my dad eagerly entered his truck without hesitation. As loud as a distant gunshot, its engine interrupted the previously calm evening. Down the driveway and onto the dusty, old dirt road, he disappeared to a familiar place where he remained until dark. I patiently waited for his return so I could ask about what he had seen. Imagining the beautiful scenery that was described to me provided a connection unlike any I have ever had before with my dad. Spending as much time as possible together was important to me; I was finally ready to accomplish this activity with him and make him proud.

It was a hot, sticky, end of July day; and I was in for a sandy time. I was in Ocean City, Maryland, with my grandmother, who I call Ganny; my grandfather who I call Poppop, and lastly my grandmother’s friend, Gayle. Poppop was yearned to go on this vacation. He was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease about a year before I was born, it was rough the last few years for my grandmother to help him, she told everyone it was like taking care of a grown baby. Despite her struggle with taking care of him, she always loved him and never left him side. Just the way he did not leave her side when she was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. The beach was so close I could taste the salty air, and Gayle owned a town house about a block from the sandy roads that was convenient. First stop Assateague Island. The sand was blowing away, as if it was burning, and my feet were melting it away. Walking sideways, we found a perfect spot, and set our chairs up.

A few hours earlier Adam had packed his small carry on item for his hour and a half plane ride to La Paz, Mexico from San Diego, California. Adam had been joined by his best friend and college roommate John Stevens. They whistled for a cab outside their hotel, they climbed in and drove off to San Diego executive airport where their private plane was waiting. They arrived minutes before takeoff, as a result of the stand still traffic

We arrived at the restaurant and ordered our food, we took in the amazing view of the sun setting over the ocean, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. “Do you remember?” my mother said to my father “how much fun we had in this same

Jonathan’s pursuit of the perfect flight took everything from him. He lost his health, his family, his friends, and even his home. Although he struggled at times

He has a scar on his left cheek. I reach out and stroke the little pink line as a room full of people looks on. I don’t have to gaze into his eyes to know he is crying, but I do anyway, because I know I will never get tired of staring those two grey moons that move the ocean inside my soul. I feel the joy that fuels his tears and I must look away before it over takes my emotions as well. I look instead to my right and there stands a man in a suit I have never met before today; his name is Todd and he works for the city of Santa Fe, New Mexico.