December 15, 2008 started out as a normal day. I bolted off the bus and onto the hard concrete sidewalk. Casually strolling home from the bus stop, I felt the crisp, cold winter breeze on my face. Soon, I hear my father’s loud footsteps, and see him ambling towards me. I thought this was bizarre. He’s rarely home when I get back from school, and he never walks me home. I was pondering this when soberly he gave me the news.

“Bryan,” he said. “Your grandmother passed away this morning.”

I couldn’t believe it. My grandmother, who had been in and out of the hospital for a few years, couldn’t give up the fight, but she had. I knew deep down that it would happen eventually, but it was still a shock.
I rushed to my room crying and slammed the door. I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to hear false words of comfort. I was as stubborn as a mule. My mother came up and tried to talk to me, but I didn’t want to hear it, so she left.
Then, my grandfather walked in. He tried to comfort me as my mom did and gave me a hug, but I could hear his soft, hidden sobs and feel his hot, wet tears on my back. I had never heard him cry before, and I knew he was grieving much more than I was.
“It’ll be alright,” he said. “Everything will be all right.”
“Yeah, sure,” I thought. “How could it be?”
Then I began feeling guilty. He had been with her from the beginning, through all the medication and procedures. I, on the other hand, had turned down most invitations to see her in the hospital, and had felt awkward when I had to go. I began wishing I had spent more time with her when she was alive.
I’ll always remember my grandmother’s faith, affection, and interest in her family’s lives. Looking back, I can remember all the good times we had, like grandparent’s day. I also remember how she was supportive and came to all of my shows. Even though she’s not physically with me now, I know she will always be with me in spirit.