My Grandfather : Short Story

It was near the end of my 8th grade school year, about 2 month away from graduation, when something I never expected to happen actually happened. This event really changed my life forever and shaped me into who I am as a person today. I had just arrived at my house after school when my parents received a call that my grandma was ill and that we should come down to check on her. As we rushed down to my grandparents house, my family was deeply concerned about what may have happened because my grandma had never really had many health issues before this. As we arrived at their house and walked through the door, we were greeted with the sight of my grandma sitting in a chair with a blanket around her while she was sleeping. My family’s first reaction

There have been countless influential people in my life that I’ve come across. One who was a meticulous inspiration continues to be my grandfather. My grandmother had remarried to the one I call “grandpa” when I was at the age of five, and they both took to each other’s grandchildren as their own. With my mother and me only living a mile down the road from their farmhouse out in the country, I’d spent heaps amount of time there as a child. Indeed, I had been without a father but my grandfather stepped up to the plate and had taken me under his wing and willingly played the personification of a father figure.

“That Ray was not unhappy, he knew nothing of what was to come and so he did not suffer…he was happy in his lifetime, he loved his work, his domestic life, loved to garden…he did not suffer the loss of meaning that his survivor feels. Ray’s death was no tragedy but a completion” (Oates 241). This revelation was very powerful to me, as much as she is suffering depressed and having suicidal thoughts; she is able to start having moments of clarity. I saw this as a positive step in her healing. As she states “the widow must remember, her husband death did not happen to her but to her husband. I must stop dwelling upon the past, which can’t be altered” (Oates 228). She reminds herself that “you have your writing, your friends and your students” (Oates 264) and this gives me a sense of hope for her. I am eager to proceed with reading the last section of this book and knowing the outcome of this memoir; that I have enjoyed

16 years old. That’s how old I was when my whole life changed. Not only did I lose a man that raised me and taught me to be the best version of myself, but I was also diagnosed with Wegener’s Granulomatosis with Polyangiitis. The beginning of my junior year was, to put it lightly, hectic. The first day I missed went by, my head pounding as I sat in a hospital room. My grandfather laid in the hospital bed and I caught word of the diagnosis. Stage Four Pancreatic Cancer. That word, “cancer”, spoke volumes within my buzzing mind. I laid my head on my Papa’s bed next to him and began to cry, keeping my face hidden because I didn’t want him to see me cry. He ran his fingers through my hair and sang a song I’d heard my whole life, “You Are My Sunshine”;

As soon as we finished the job, my uncle went and sat in the front

The call was from the hospital. We suspected something horrible had happened. I started crying right there. My mom turned the car around and sped back to Good Samaritan hospital. At around 1:15 my mom and I rushed into the hospital and ran back onto the floor that he was on. My mom got there first, she stopped in the doorway and that’s when I knew something was wrong. I started to sob harder. I fell to the floor sobbing into my hands. When I heard my Grandma cry out in anguish, I knew it was all over for my Grandpa. I

I was probably eleven years old when my grandmother, my mom-mom, had to move into our house. She had been fighting lots of medical difficulties for months upon months. She no longer was able to take care of herself, for she could not

I was a sophomore in high school. I remember that day distinctly, my parent’s sat my sisters and I down to have a family discussion about how the tests my uncle underwent resulted in the diagnoses of stomach cancer. When I heard the words stage four and cancer, that I was losing an uncle who was more than just an uncle. He was my tutor when I was struggling in my English and math subjects in my pre-operation stages of life. Without my uncle, I would have fallen back cognitively because I struggled with language pronunciation and concrete logic with math as we saw in the video shown in class (Piagets Cognitive Stages). I helped take care of my uncle till his last few days of his life. It hurt me to see my uncle suffer. After my uncle passed, I grieved completely different than I did my papa. I cried over the loss of my uncle, yet the thought of knowing he was not suffering any more helped heal the heartache I felt. I think that the reason why I grieved differently on this occasion was because I was older and more cognitively developed. It is amazing how much a mind can mature and understand the concept of death in just a short span of death. Without losing both my uncle and papa to medical conditions, I would not have explored the career fields in the medical

Around six to three months before this tragedy occurred, my grandpa’s health had taken a turn for the worst. We would be awake at midnight, hearing him violently vomit crimson colored fluid. He couldn't get up or walk without my mother or grandma’s assistance. A brutal cough would take both his breath and voice away. Yet, he was so understanding and caring of both my brother and I. He would do everything he could to play with me or tell me a story, since he knew that I didn’t know any better. A couple months before his passing, I came home from school to find no one home except my anxious looking aunt and my then three-year old cousin. I remember running to my grandparents’ room to greet my grandparents, but when I opened the door, no one was there. I ran to my aunt and asked her where everyone was. I could see in her face that she was worried, but she tried to be as calm as possible so she wouldn’t scare me.

My grandfather was in his house, not feeling very well due to a battle with pneumonia. He was in the quiet home by himself as a result of my grandmother being gone and busy. It was a peaceful afternoon and a normal day for all of us. All of a sudden, WHAM! He was starting to experience extreme chest pain. This had caused him to call her.

I have an abundance of grotesque, yet, barely visible memories of childhood. However, no breathtaking family trips, no unique family togetherness that taught a moral lesson, no abnormal holidays. We still ate family meals together, but most often the children and adults lived in different worlds. When I needed comforting or wanted the best of both worlds, I could turn to my Grandpa.

The crunch of frozen grass could be heard a mile away at five o’clock in the morning. My grandpa and I whispered conversation as we strolled over to our favorite deer blind. We cautiously marched over sticks trying hard not to make any sounds. We eventually made it without spooking any deer and set our guns down, waiting for sunrise. These are the times I enjoy the most with my grandpa. It is a chance to sit back and enjoy life with one of my favorite people on this planet. Time goes slower in these moments. It gives us a chance to share conversation about anything. We swap stories from the past and I always seem to learn something new from my grandpa. Whether it be from advice he gives me or from an experience long ago, I’m always listening. Although our experiences may be different we still love to enjoy the same hobbies together, whether it’s woodworking, hunting, or time out on the lake; sharing life with my grandpa is priceless.

I think the person who has had the most profound effect on my life besides my parents is my grandfather. I never realized before how much of an effect he had on my interests and goals for the future. Years ago, he used to tell me stories about historical events and experiences he had fighting in Vietnam and my great grandfather fighting in World War 2. His vivid descriptions always made it so interesting and, in some cases, more light-hearted than what actually happened. To this day he still has more stories to tell me, and never fails to captivate my interest. In doing this, he opened my eyes to my biggest interest, history, and encouraged me to pursue this interest throughout school. I feel like it would help to give a short summary of his life and how it affected me.

When we were together we were invincible, us against the world. I’d look up to him, not only because he was 6’4, but because he was my grandpa. I have clear memories of him picking me up from school, playing old school reggae music during our adventurous car rides. We’d always sing along to our favorites, sometimes turn the music up so loud the people in the cars next to us could hear it. When I would visit his apartment, the familiar smell of drywall and pennies would fill the air. It was my hideaway, my home away from home. My grandpa collected pennies in water jugs. He would say that one day they’d be worth more than just pennies. I loved it there, not only because he had a freezer filled with many flavors of ice cream to which he would often say to me “you can have all you can eat” but because it was our time to bond. For five years it was my mom, my dad, and my grandpa helping me to grow. Those are my favorite people, my role models. Being around my grandpa brought me such comfort and joy.

“I can’t believe that’s true!” I exclaimed, my laughter echoing through the room. My grandpa and I had been chatting on the phone for the past half an hour. You would imagine a man his age would be boring and dull. However, he was quite the joker. At least with me, since I was, of course, his favorite granddaughter.