Ok look, I know you think this is going to be one of those cliche stories about how when the girl met the guy her whole life changed blah blah blah and bullshit like that. Well I'll assure you now that isn't the case, this is a different form of a love story. Well I don't want to spoil it so I'll just let you continue reading.
My name? Charlie Spencer. The average soon to be sophomore in high school, average height, on the chubby side, average length blonde hair, ever-changing eye color of blueish-grayish, just the average 15 year old. Though, I have been told I'm weird. Loads of people in this generation see those who enjoy reading somehow weird or out of place. Yeah thats me, the outcast, the bookworm, the socially awkward nerd. I know what you're thinking, 'oh she's one of them kids.' Yep, you called it. But moving along from myself, let's talk about another deal in my life. Well I guess it all started the summer before I was to be a sophomore. Life was good, well as good as a boring teenager's life could be.
How do I say this? Well, I suppose that summer is when everything went to hell. 'Aw Charl, it couldn't have been that bad.' Oh I assure you it was that bad. Finding out my grandpa had cancer and had less than two months to live made it that bad. I was well, devastated, to say the least. I mean, how else would you act if you had just learnt that someone close to you was going to die a slow pain-filled death and you could do nothing to change that? Any different? No, I didn't think so.
Over the following weeks I changed. I became more antisocial than I was. I didn't seem the slightest bit happy at all. I usually ended up crying myself to sleep. My visits to him became regular, I got a glimpse into what cancer did to a person. My grandpa was an avid alcoholic and a smoker, in a way he had this coming to him but it still hurt my entire family to see him suffering the way he was.
Cancer in a way is the visual embodiment of depression. It makes one not do or want to do the things they once were addicted to, things they once loved. It completely drains your energy, your appetite plummets, you end up sleeping constantly. And yet, not everyone knows you have it, hell you may not even realize it yourself.
I walked into his house on one of my many regular visits, peering down at the frail old man I barely recognized to be my grandfather. He looked so withered and frail. The man who taught me to fish was not this man lying before me. The man who always reeked of cigarettes and always called me Angel in a sweet voice, was not this man. The man I always was told trucking stories about, was not this man. My grandfather withered into the pale body I was looking down on wasn't really him anymore. The man I knew was no longer the same. I nearly cried whenever I saw him that way. His body was coated with cancer on the inside, it was too far advanced to even try chemotherapy, not to mention his body probably couldn't have handled it.
By now we hurtled towards the end of summer, my grandfather already outlasting the doctor's predicted survival time. My long-lost uncle showed up to meet my dying grandpa for the first time ever. And honestly I think that's what he was waiting on. A couple days later my grandfather passed away. I remember that day so clear..
My mom coming in to wake me up, her eyes puffy and red. She shook me awake "Charlie, wake up.." her voice was stock full of sadness, " H-he passed away this morning, around 7." I pulled my own mother into a hug, sobs rattling her body, and I just let her cry into my shoulders, not a single tear fell from my eyes. Outside, I was told, was where my father and grandma were, mourning over him. I couldn't bring myself to even go outside to comfort them, I knew I would let loose bawling. I instead stayed inside and quiet, bottling up my sadness for when everyone was asleep. That night sobs shook my body, for a long while. I fell asleep and awoke the next day with dried tears plastered on my pillow and cheeks.
Days later came the funeral, thankfully we didn't have to have an open casket. The whole funeral, not a tear. I watched so many people cry, even my father. Never in my life had I seen him cry. Don't ask me how I did it then, I can tell you as I'm writing this, tears are streaking down my cheeks. Maybe for once in my life I was strong, I was a shoulder to cry on, just this once.
