The day I understood deathA Story by AlmaMy journey to understanding the natural occurence of death.I remember the day I understood what death meant, what it
was and how it felt. It was a Sunday morning and my dad had insisted on
bringing my friend back home along with me after a sleepover. This seemed
strange to me because I didn’t expect my Dad to want to do this. My seven-year-old
self and Dad were walking back home (without my friend of course, she was in
the comfort of her own home) when, with a breaking voice, he broke the news of
how my grandpa, his father, had died that morning at six am sharp. My father is
quite the joker you see, and so I assumed he was joking and laughed nervously
as I do when I’m uncomfortable. My Dad insisted and announced it all over
again. At this point, I had to believe him but the whole way home (about five
minutes but it seemed longer), I pretended not to and held back my tears. When
I got home, I ran upstairs and found my older sister crying on the couch and so
I went over to her, sat on her laps and into a hug and cried silently, thinking
about what a fantastic man he had been. I remembered the last time I had seen
him, in his hospital bed on his eighty eighth birthday. I remember holding his
hand and not even imagining that he could die, let alone die soon (precisely
three days later). I remembered my birthday party at his house, the whole
family united when he gave me a present I still have to this day and cherish: a
bracelet. I am aware that this does not sound like much but to me, it was the
best thing in the world because my grandpa, who had so many grandchildren whom
he had had so many memories with (I was the youngest, I was around twelve years
younger than all my cousins), had thought about what to give me and has given
me something I loved, which showed me that he loved me. I remembered how it
felt to kiss him when I arrived at his apartment; his white moustache tickling
my hefty chin and making me squeal with laughter. There comes a time in
everyone’s life when they experience their “first death” meaning the first time
someone close to them passes away and this was it. I had never known death and so
I had many questions for my mother who gladly answered them. The only question
that was not answered and that remains a mystery is where people go once they
die. This was my biggest question and to this day, I have many different
theories about it. Another thing I did not know about death and wish I had
known, is that the dead can never come back to life. Every morning after that, I
would wake up early, open my window, look up at the dark, starry sky and wish
that my grandpa would come back. As you know, he never did. For a year after
his death, I cried whenever I heard his name or simply the term “death”. After
his funeral, I started to be afraid of this occurrence: death. I was afraid
because I didn’t want to one day feel empty and I wanted to be sure of where I would
go because I didn’t want to simply disappear. Death is still something I am
scared of but much less than before because I have learnt to embrace what comes
next and if I disappear, then so be it because I know that when I will have
children and them their own, I will always have a place in somebody’s heart and
know that my body will leave Earth but my influence and soul never will. The
death of my grandfather was a terribly heartbreaking moment and yet, it was a
valuable moment because it taught me things and made me feel things I had never
felt before and I know I will feel this pain again one day when other people I love
die but when that happens, I will know how to deal with loss and pain. © 2018 Alma |
Stats
35 Views
Added on December 17, 2018 Last Updated on December 17, 2018 Tags: death, grandfather, sadness, journey, understanding |