Sad, but my favorite.

A Holiday to Forget

There we were, sitting in room 326 of St. Margaret’s Hospital. The strongest man I had ever known was at his weakest, lying on a hospital bed. I skipped school to spend the day with my grandfather, “Pap pap” as we called him. Family members and friends came in and out of the room all day visiting him, but looking back on it their faces are a blur.

Right before Thanksgiving my parents sat my brother Ben and me down in the family room and told us the news, “Pap pap has cancer,” my mother sobbed. My brother broke down and cried like I have seen him do only once before, when our other grandfather died. This time we had somewhat of a warning, but that did not make things any easier. With my whole family upset, I did not want to cry, I wanted to be strong for them. I went straight to my room and sat, staring into the darkness. In attempt to comfort me, my Dad followed me to my room, although nothing he said could change anything. I wanted to know what kind of cancer and how long Pap pap had. As gently as he could put it my dad whispered, “He has pancreatic cancer. The doctor said he has about six or seven months.” The next day I spent at the hospital with my grandfather. It was a school day, but my mother knew it was important I visited him, and she let me skip. I spent the day helping him take little walks down the hall when he got too stiff, getting him water, and just keeping him company. He never liked to appear weak to his grandchildren, and it was hard for him to let me help.

The following month around Christmas time the weather and my Pap pap’s health took a turn for the worst. On Christmas Day my mom, dad, brother, and I along with my aunt, uncle, and four cousins went to my grandparents’ house for dinner and presents. Pap pap looked worse then he did while he was in the hospital. I have never seen my Pap pap not be able to do something, especially something as simple as walking around. The entire night he sat in chair looking as frail and fragile as glass. It was strange to see him that way, and I knew time was running out. My cousin, who is four years younger than me, looked at me with a look of concern and fear that no eleven year old should ever have to experience. She has always looked up to me and I know she wanted me to tell her, “Is Pap pap going to be okay?” she asked me with hope for a reassuring answer.
“I really don’t think so, Kaleen,” I regrettably answered her. I wanted to be able to tell her everything would turn out how we wanted, but I knew in my heart that it was not going to.

Two days after the feeble Christmas Day, I decided to try to give myself a break from all of the sadness and worrying and spend the night at my good friend Courtney’s house. Courtney always knew how to have fun and laugh, and she made me forget about everything for a few hours. Around one o’clock in the morning my phone rang. I looked at my caller ID and saw that it was my dad. Something was wrong. My dad never called me that late. I answered my phone already knowing what my dad was going to say, but it did not make it hurt any less. “Ash, I’m coming to get you,” he said sternly, “things aren’t looking good.”

The dark, dreary ride to my grandparents’ house was endless. After what seemed like hours we arrived to a house full of all of our family members and close friends. Pap pap was lying on his bed, his breathing shallow. I held my cousin Kaleen’s hand and we went to say goodbye. We told him through teary eyes how much we loved and appreciated him. My aunt from Georgia was flying in on a red eye, it happened to be her birthday. Some birthday. She finally arrived and got to see her dad in his final moments. It was after midnight when he died, peacefully, in the comfort of his home with his family by his side. Our family likes to think he did not want to die on his daughter’s birthday, and that is why he hung on until after midnight.

The funeral was a few days later. The next couple of days were filled with people talking about all of the good times they had with my grandfather. The funeral home was five minutes away from my house so everyone came over to take a break from all of the crying, and to eat. My uncle and three cousins drove up from Georgia the day after Pap pap died. It was so good to see them, but it was not worth the price we had to pay. I was amazed at the number of people at the funeral home. Pap pap was loved by so many people, and it meant so much to have them there. People drove from miles and miles away to pay their respects. Even several of my friends came; most of them had met him at least two or three times and were grieving as well. That meant the most to me.

Although my other grandfather died first, his was unexpected and he was cremated therefore, there was no viewing. It was a hard two days at the funeral home, and the actual burial was even harder. The frigid December air was biting at our noses and fingers, but no one noticed, or cared. Our immediate family stood huddled together as we said our final goodbyes to the man who had done so much for us and who we were dearly going to miss.