I still remember the day when my dad sat my family down to let us know my grandpa had two strokes and was placed in the hospital. We all sat speechless-we couldn’t come up with anything to say. It came as such a surprise. We booked the first flights we could find going to Wisconsin, and packed a weeks’ worth of clothes. Being in 7th grade I was almost more excited to skip a week of school than to see my grandpa for potentially the last time; but once we got to the hospital it got very real. The first night there my parents didn’t let my sisters and I go inside because they didn’t think we were ready to see my grandpa in the shape he was in.

After we had gotten some rest that night, my parents decided that we were going to visit my grandpa with the rest of the family. Walking down the hall of the hospital I was trying to imagine what he looked like. Entering the room he was lying in was unreal. It was weird to see the sweetest old man who was always smiling be transformed into how he looked then. There was no smile on his face. There was no motion. He couldn’t even get full words out of his mouth because his face was swollen, and half of it numb. He was pale. There was barely sign of life. As he lay in the hospital bed, we all stood watching him—trying to soak it all in. Taking turns talking to him, tears began to fall from our faces. At that point, there was no holding our feelings in. All my aunts, uncles, and cousins had tears in their eyes.

After spending a couple long days at the hospital my grandpa was transferred to the living room of his old farm house where he had earlier wished to spend his last moments of life on earth. Our family spent every minute we could in that living room. Some of us reminiscing on memories with my grandpa, and some of us wishing we had made more memories with him.

I vividly remember going outside for a few minutes with my cousins to feed the cows and collect chicken eggs so my Grandma could stay in the house with my Grandpa. My aunt came running out of the house screaming “No” and hysterically crying while she ran into my other aunt’s arms. We all realized at that moment what was happening. It was my grandpa’s time to go.

On October 7th, 2006 my grandpa took his last breath, and we all watched. He was a man of few words. A man who only spoke when he needed to. A man that everyone looked up to. A man with worn hands that resembled years of hard work. My grandpa was a kind-hearted hero, and will never be forgotten.