Short Story

Marissa Nicholson
D Block Silver
Mrs. Simmons
Creative Writing

I was 12 years old when my Grandpa Pete passed away. Most would say that I should feel lucky that I had him for all those years, but his death was sudden and unexpected and no one was sure how to handle it.
For as long as I can remember, my grandpa had been an important part of my life. He was there for every dance recital, every first day of school, and every other significant occasion. I remember the time when I was 6 he took me fishing on his favorite lake, just him and me. We spent all day out on the lake, freezing cold and not catching a single fish. It was the best day of my life.
Though Grandpa Pete was 83 before he died, he was still one of the liveliest people I had every met. He never once acted like his age was something that should hold him back, therefore neither did we. To me my grandfather could do anything. He hiked for miles around lakes on about a monthly base, he played basketball with the senior men’s Park and Rec. team, and he was always the one to beat on family bike races.
Grandpa Pete was known for being the one in the family to be able to handle any physical challenge, so when we got the call that he had, had a stroke, we were all shocked. The minute we found out, my parents gathered me and my sisters up and we took off in our big blue van. Once we got to the hospital and explained to the receptionist that we were here to see our grandfather, we were told to take a seat in till he was ready for visitors. As we nervously sat, waiting for the signal to go in, Ernest, his longtime friend, walked into the room. At first I were surprised to see someone outside the family who had heard about the accident, but then more and more of my grandfather’s friends starting emerging through the door. There were neighbors and children, families and couples, friends we knew, and friends we didn’t. The entire basketball team even showed up, all of them there to see Grandpa Pete. I couldn’t believe how many people were showing up to see him. Everyone was telling stories about Grandpa Pete and everything he’s done for him. I couldn’t help but cry, just seeing how many people cared about him.
What felt like years later, the doctor came out but only to tell us that Grandpa Pete would not make it. None of us could believe the news. He said we were aloud in to say our goodbyes but only for a couple of minutes. As we all crammed into the green painted room, I could hardly bare to look directly at him. It was the first time I had ever seen him look weak. He was shockingly pale and you could tell he was struggling to stay awake.
The room fell silent as we realized none of us were prepared with something significant enough to say. My heart began to pound, hoping someone would say something soon, when my mother who was kneeling by his side started singing You’ll be in my heart, his favorite song. We chimed in and my grandpa was beaming, his famous smile on his face. We were half way through the song when slowly his body relaxed, his smile fading. I knew then that we had lost him.
Though it may have seemed slightly cheesy, I couldn’t have imagined a better goodbye. It’s been 3 years since his death, I still can’t help but look for his face in the crowd every time I get on stage or wait for him to pat me on the back when I finish a race. Though I know he’s gone his memory and sprit will always remain a part of me. Rest In Peace, Grandpa Pete.