It all started about six years ago on December fifth of 2005. I was seven years old. I still believed in Santa Clause and I couldn't wait until it was Christmas. I still believed in God back then to.
I woke up late that morning. I look back now and see it as if it were a sign. A sign that the rest of my day could only get worse. My mornings usually were the same thing, wake up, get ready for school, go down stairs and say good bye to my grandpa. He had Alzheimer's disease so my mom lived with him to take care of him. They were always fighting and papa could never remember anything much.
So sence I was running late I couldnt go down stiares and tell papa goodbye. I rushed out the door and climbed onto the bus. I dont remember much of that school day, I just remember when we went to the library. Once a week the class would go to the library, pick out books and listen to the librarian read us a story. We were all sitting on the risers, listening to the beginning of whatever story the lady was reading. My teacher came around to the reading corner and asked for me to come with her. I remember going out into the hall and seeing Joe, my brother in-law, walking down the hall. I ran to him and gave him a hug. I think I even yelled his name as I ran past my teacher but I'm not sure.
While we were standing at my locker getting my things (apparently my sister Angie and her baby Hannah were waiting out in their van,) Joe told me some very bad news. He looked at me and said, "papa is dead." I think it hadn't really hit me yet because I just stood there looking at him, waiting for him to start laughing and tell me it was all a joke. He didn't.
I stayed a few nights with my Angie and Joe but I cant even remember how many nights I stayed. All I remember from that short period was laying in bed one night thinking, this is just a joke. Papa isn't dead. I will go home and he will be sitting in his green recliner, smoking a cigarette.
Needless to say that is not what happened. I went home and there was no Papa in the chair. Little Hannah was so innocent. She looked at my mom and asked in her little baby voice, "were is papa?" and my mom and Angie started crying. I think that's when it finally hit me that this wasn't all a joke. I remember walking out in the kitchen later that night after Angie, Joe, and Hannah had left and I cried onto my moms shoulder.
I dont remember much else up until the funeral.
