Tear-Stained Memory

This is a paper I wrote my Senior year in High School, for my English class. The assignment was to write about an experience or award that changed you. Being only four months after my Grandpa's death, that's what I picked: The last time I saw him. This will eventually be incorporated into 'Spontaneously Combustible', if I ever get around to finishing it. I hope you enjoy reading it, it's a piece that's very dear to my heart.
SKS
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Tear-Stained Memory
February 7th, 2000

The most recent experience that deeply changed me was on October first, last year, the day my Grandpa died. I saw him an hour after he had died, and the images are imprinted into my memory forever. It was the last time I saw him, and I’ll never forget it.

Grandpa died at two o’clock in the morning on a Friday, and my Dad woke me up fifteen minutes later with the sad, yet happy, news. I couldn’t cry, because Grandpa had been suffering for a long time, and I was happy that he was finally home. Dad said he and Mom were taking Grandma up to Villa Maria, the nursing home where Grandpa had spent the last three months, to see him before the mortician took him to the funeral home. Dad asked me if I wanted to come with them. Under normal circumstances, I would have said NO WAY!!!! But these weren’t normal circumstances. I was shell-shocked, and barely able to keep my eyes open, so I’m not surprised that I said I’d go with them. We left at two-thirty.

Riding in the back of the car on the way there, I just sat, numbly staring out the car window at the stars. It was such a clear night. Not a cloud in the sky. Just as I spotted the constellation Orion, I realized what was about to happen. I had never seen a dead body before, never been to a funeral. Now, I was about to see my Grandpa who, just an hour ago, had been alive, and was now teasing angels, making them laugh. At that instant, I wanted to jump out of the car and run home. But I couldn’t move a muscle; it was like someone else had control of my body at that point.

We got to Villa Maria at three. My mind was still racing. The monologue in my head went something like this: “Oh my God!! What the hell am I doing!! I’m going to see Gramps dead!?!? NO WAY!! GET OUT OF HERE!! Just start screaming!! Tell them you don’t want to go in!! Why am I not moving? RUN!!” My feet were now moving towards the building, and I couldn’t stop and turn around, as much as I wanted to. I see it like a video that’s playing in my mind, the memory is so vivid.

We were inside. I saw Grandma talking to the nurses. They were crying. So was Grandma, as she thanked them for being so kind. Then, we started down the hall towards the room where Grandpa had been just an hour ago. The clamor in my mind got louder and louder with each step closer. Halfway down the hall, the words turned into screaming and my head started pounding, like there was someone inside that was banging on the walls, trying to get out. Grandma was softly crying.

I remember pausing outside the door. My Grandma went in first, then my Dad, then me. My Mom was somewhere behind me, as were the nurses and the mortician. As I walked in, I saw the shell of my hero, my Grandpa. I held my breath.

He looked like he was sleeping, like he was going to wake up any second, sit up, and tell me that he wasn’t dead, but very much alive, and back to the way he used to be… but he didn’t even move. His body just lay there, his spirit no longer in it. His eyes were closed, his cheeks were like a caved-in prune, and his mouth was gaping open, like he was gasping for breath that wasn’t there. I noticed his teeth weren’t in as I heard the most disturbing sound. It was a cry of anguish, almost a moan, and it was coming from my Grandma. She bent over Grandpa, her husband of fifty-eight years, and started talking to him, kissing him over and over while stroking what little hair he had. She was telling him she always loved him, and always would. She told him she would miss him so much, and that she can’t wait to see him again in Heaven. As I stared in disbelief, it finally sunk in that he was really gone. For the first time that morning, I cried. I wanted Grandpa to tell me it was going to be all right. Most of all, I wanted to have been able to say good-bye. I cried harder, because I missed my Grandpa. I still do.

Then we left. The ride home, like the ride up, was very quiet. Halfway home, Grandma started crying softly again. Tears silently poured from my eyes.

I have never been the same. Memories from when I was little: Grandpa playing with me and building ramps for my brother and I to jump our bikes off of, going swimming together in the summer… they’re so hard to remember. I see pictures, but whenever I try to picture him in my mind, it’s the last time I saw him. The whole thing plays over and over, and I can’t deny it happened, though it feels like it was just a horrible nightmare. I wish it were. It’s so hard now, to go anywhere. I’m always reminded of Grandpa, and what a good man he was. It’s hard to tell someone how that night changed me, but I know it did. It scarred me badly, but it’s a scar very few see. It’s so hard to even be typing this. I can’t see the computer screen through the tears that are raining from my eyes. Seeing what I saw touched me so deeply, I don’t know the words to describe how. I don’t know if they even exist.