Today is June 16, 2002, Father's Day; I am eleven years old. Today is supposed tobe a day of happiness, a day to celebrate fatherhood; instead, it is a day filled with sadness and tears. My grandmother died today.
It is a warm, summer day, and I am outside helping my mom tend to the garden.Through an open window, I hear the telephone ringing. I run inside to answer it, but the
answering machine beats me to it. As I stand in the living room and listen to the message play, my eyes slowly begin to fill with tears. Just then mom walks in, seeing the state I am in she asks what is wrong. I turn to her and tell her what I just heard: Grandma Annie died this morning.
Yesterday I found out my grandma died. Today we are driving up to Ohio, where the funeral will take place.
I am silent for the entire ride; I can not believe that this is happening, that she is really gone.
We finally arrive at Grandma Annie's house the next evening. Everyone is already here, and they all have the same sad look on their faces. We stand around the kitchen for awhile, consoling each other and talking about our favorite memories of her. It hurts too much for me to listen to them talking, so I head upstairs to lie down. I am not looking forward to the next few days.
It is the morning of the Wake, and we just arrived at the funeral home. Everyone walks into the viewing room, but I choose to wait in the hallway for awhile. After two hours of sitting here, I finally have enough courage to go in. When I enter the room, I see her and my heart...