I still remember...

When you’re a child you’re not supposed to know about it, think about it, or even realize it exists. Yet I remember the first time I really experienced loosing someone and what my six year old self thought. Thomas Mann put it best when he said, “A man’s dying is more the survivors’ affair than his own.” As Mann’s quote suggests my grandpa’s death really affected me. Sure, someone in my family had died before, my cousin Shawn, but I was so young I didn’t realize what was happening. To this day I only have one memory of Shawn. A two year old me waiting on the back of a truck bed waiting for my favorite older cousin to get me a glass of fruit punch and when he came back with it accidently spilling it all over both of us. When he died in a car wreck my mom simply told me that he had gone away and was never coming back and I didn’t learn the truth till I was six. My grandpa on the other hand I knew what was happening from the beginning.

            At first it didn’t really concern me, in fact one of the last memories I have of my grandpa was him taking me to the circus. It was my first time to see an elephant, clowns or an acrobat. I now know that at that point he had realized he was going to die and had insisted that he take me to my first circus. A picture of us walking hand in hand through the crowd and me clutching at a stuffed animal is the last picture we have of him. The only one we have of him and me together besides one when I was a baby.

            After that day he just seemed to get sicker and sicker. I remember being at my grandparents the day they moved a bed downstairs because my grandpa couldn’t walk upstairs to his bedroom anymore. I remember him lying there because he was to sick to get up and work on the farm. I remember tiptoeing through my grandparent’s house because he was taking a nap and I couldn’t wake him up. It’s been years since I’ve really thought about it and sitting here I can’t help but tear up a bit. I can still remember the day my mom told me my grandpa, Grandpa Benny, had died. That he wasn’t coming back. I can remember six year old me a week after his death staring up at the stars in the backseat of my parents car. Telling myself I wasn’t going to cry. Then I remembered my little brother that was due to be born in a couple months. I was six yet I still couldn’t help but cry at the fact that my grandpa was never going to meet his grandson. It’s been nine years, but I still remember the way the night sky looked that night.

            I guess what I’m trying to get across here is that nothing is permanent. Your life can change in a second. Every little moment can affect your life for years to come. Make sure you tell people you love them every chance you get. Because sometimes, it might be the last chance you get. Think about it.