(no subject)
The morning my grandfather- my last grand parent, died I was a terrible person.
The house phone rang in the early morning. It always means bad news is going to be delivered.
The ringing woke me up, along with my brother and I'm sure my mother. My dad took the call out in the upstairs hallway so that his talking would not be loud for my mother who was probably in her bed with her eye mask on, but awake.
The second the phone rang I knew what the call was about and had already began crying in my bed. I put my face in my pillow so that my dad couldn't hear me crying from the hallway. I do not remember exactly what was said on my dad's side of the conversation. It was a short call. Minutes that felt never ending passed before I could hear my dad move from where he must have bee standing. I heard his heavy footsteps stumble down three stairs. I heard heavy breathing. I plugged my ears so I didn't have to hear my father crying. My grandfather was dead and I knew it. I didn't need to be told. In my bed I contemplated what to do. I didn't know whether to go and try to comfort my father but I was too afraid I wouldn't know what to say. So I stayed in bed and cried as quietly as I could.
I heard shuffling in Terry's room and he opened his door and walked out onto the landing and asked my dad what the phone call was for. He must have known, but needed reassurance. "My father died," my father said.
In my dead I kept repeating " My father's father is dead." Terry said "Oh." He may have said something else or hugged our father, but I will never know. At that point I was on the floor of my room furthest away from the door sobbing and attempting to gasp for air.
Terry couldn't go to our grandfather's funeral in Puerto Rico because of college finals. Uncle Chuck came and I hated him for coming. I hated him for seeing my cry. It took me two hours to walk into the room where my grandfathers casket was. It was the same room my grandmother lay dead years earlier. At her funeral my grandfather lifted the thin piece of lace that covered his wife's face and kissed her cold dead lips countless times and he weeped. I must have only been eleven or twelve when my grandmother passed but that image of my grandfather loving my dead grandmother sosososo much is the most beautiful thing I can think of. He loved her. At his funeral my Uncle Julio lifted the lace placed over my grandfathers head and kissed him countless times.
It has been almost three years since my grandfather's passing and I still cry almost weekly thinking about him and that early morning and his funeral. I want someone who will kiss my dead lips because they love me so terribly whenever I die.
I have a ten page paper to finish, I can't believe I got sidetracked trying to account for such a depressing story.
I suck.
The house phone rang in the early morning. It always means bad news is going to be delivered.
The ringing woke me up, along with my brother and I'm sure my mother. My dad took the call out in the upstairs hallway so that his talking would not be loud for my mother who was probably in her bed with her eye mask on, but awake.
The second the phone rang I knew what the call was about and had already began crying in my bed. I put my face in my pillow so that my dad couldn't hear me crying from the hallway. I do not remember exactly what was said on my dad's side of the conversation. It was a short call. Minutes that felt never ending passed before I could hear my dad move from where he must have bee standing. I heard his heavy footsteps stumble down three stairs. I heard heavy breathing. I plugged my ears so I didn't have to hear my father crying. My grandfather was dead and I knew it. I didn't need to be told. In my bed I contemplated what to do. I didn't know whether to go and try to comfort my father but I was too afraid I wouldn't know what to say. So I stayed in bed and cried as quietly as I could.
I heard shuffling in Terry's room and he opened his door and walked out onto the landing and asked my dad what the phone call was for. He must have known, but needed reassurance. "My father died," my father said.
In my dead I kept repeating " My father's father is dead." Terry said "Oh." He may have said something else or hugged our father, but I will never know. At that point I was on the floor of my room furthest away from the door sobbing and attempting to gasp for air.
Terry couldn't go to our grandfather's funeral in Puerto Rico because of college finals. Uncle Chuck came and I hated him for coming. I hated him for seeing my cry. It took me two hours to walk into the room where my grandfathers casket was. It was the same room my grandmother lay dead years earlier. At her funeral my grandfather lifted the thin piece of lace that covered his wife's face and kissed her cold dead lips countless times and he weeped. I must have only been eleven or twelve when my grandmother passed but that image of my grandfather loving my dead grandmother sosososo much is the most beautiful thing I can think of. He loved her. At his funeral my Uncle Julio lifted the lace placed over my grandfathers head and kissed him countless times.
It has been almost three years since my grandfather's passing and I still cry almost weekly thinking about him and that early morning and his funeral. I want someone who will kiss my dead lips because they love me so terribly whenever I die.
I have a ten page paper to finish, I can't believe I got sidetracked trying to account for such a depressing story.
I suck.