I remember January 20, 2010 like it was yesterday. It was a cold Wednesday morning. When I woke up, I knew something was wrong. Both my parents were in my room. I sat up, thinking "Oh no. They found out about that algebra test..." I was so wrong. My mom started crying and my dad hugged her. My mom turned to me and said, "Grandpa died last night." My world went black. I was shocked. I was crying and she was holding me. It was so wrong. He was my hero. He couldn't die. He wasn't supposed to.
The rest of that day was a blur. I remember sitting in my chair and staring out the window and crying most of the day. I was sad and confused. I wanted to believe I was dreaming. I wanted someone to come up to me and say, "Just kidding!" But no one did. My friends told me it would be okay. That now he is in a better place. He is out of pain. My mom assured me that he died peacefully. All I could think about was how little I had done to help him.
When my Grandpa moved to North Carolina from New Jersey, he was failing in health. He was still able to walk around and play golf but he wasn't nearly as mobile as he used to be. I will always remember him as the energetic man who I loved more than anything in the world. When he moved, he was grumpy all the time and never wanted to do anything. I hated visiting him. Maybe it was my teenage hormones kicking in. I feel so bad about it now. I would do anything to go back in time and fix those mistakes. I loved him so much and I don't know if he really knew that. I don't know if he knew that I love him more than anything else in the world.
After he died, I blamed myself. Maybe if I had gone to see him, he wouldn't have died so soon. Maybe he could have lived another year. After he died, I had nightmares and I couldn't stop thinking about him. I cried all the time and never told anyone how I felt. When my mom would leave, I would lock myself in my room and cry. I had trouble getting close to anyone. I used to tell my best friend everything. I don't anymore. I just can't. Nothing seemed important anymore.
After his funeral, things got worse. I blamed myself even more. Nothing could console me. I didn't talk to anyone, I didn't hang out with my friends. My parents were too busy trying to get his house ready to sell to notice. They made me come along, to his house. I hated it there. I broke down crying the first time, and still every time I go there, I expect to see him walking down the hallway. I expect to see him smiling at the kitchen table, or sitting in his favorite chair watching TV. I have to remind myself that he's not here.
The one thing I am grateful for are the memories. That he touched my life and changed me for the better. I am not the same person I was before. I am a lot stronger and smarter. I can't say I'm happier. But I have learned so much from him. I am so grateful that the last thing I told him was that I love him. Don't ever forget to tell people that you love them. You never know if you will get another chance.