Screeeech Narrative

“I promise, Grandpa. I’ll never lose it. I promise, pinky promise you,” she said, “I love you, and you will forever be in my heart.”

Losing grandma was and up until now the worst feeling I’ve ever felt…On this date, August 18, 2007 at 8:00 pm I received a telephone call. The phone call that I had received was obviously not a good one. That person who’s my grandfather told me, “Grandma’s dead.” I then replied to him and told him “no, this can’t be true.” After that his voice started fading Losing grandma was and up as he then started to cry over the phone and said, “at this point I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.” I began shedding tears because who knew that this day would’ve ever come. Although she’s gone, she’ll never be forgotten.

“As you know, Anna, Ben, your great-grandmother has had some trouble over the past few months. She’s been getting sicker, and this morning she passed away. She didn’t have any pain, and she was happy.”

"That girl, you know she can be very stubborn, but I know that singing always came first before her very own life. Like mother, like daughter, I heard people say," The Grandfather had a far away look in his eyes, which reflected pure sadness.

It was a normal night, we were eating dinner in my kitchen. I was at the table with my sister, mom, and dad. I was eating a delicious dish of spaghetti and meatballs with red sauce. I knew something was up, my mom was looking sad and she wasn't really eating anything. I didn’t want to ask what was up, but I knew I had to. I asked her “What’s wrong.”

Learning that my dad had decided to move out and divorce my mother came as a huge surprise to my family, no one saw it coming. My mother and I fell into the grasp of depression. She lost so much weight dropping down to 110-115 lbs., her face lacked color and her body was so frail. She would force a smile when my sister was around but I recognized the pain in her eyes because I felt it too. I found myself suppressing my emotions so that I would come off as OK, so that my mom wouldn’t have to worry about me, so that my sister didn’t realize that

My mother passed away last year, and I fell into a very dark place. During the 10 days she was in the ICU, the day she passed away, and during her celebration of life, it seemed like everyone weeped but me. After she passed, I felt numb all of the time, and like Styron, would spend all of my days wasting away in bed. Though I was no stranger to depression, I blamed my behavior on “shock,” a prominent stage in the grieving process, for this was a place I had never been before, and I was on a spiral headed down. I had a perception that wasn’t parallel with reality; I thought that I had to be strong for my family and peers, something that I kept up my whole life.

I was terrified at the result for my grandfather for he was not in the best of health. Everything had happened at once like a bomb had exploded in my mind. My head was spinning at full turbo. So many events were taking place, and I had so many questions. Everything felt like it was going at full speed, and I just sit there blandly in the car, speechless. When we arrived home my uncle showed up about five minutes later to take me and my brother to his house. My Aunt was leaving with my dad to see my ill grandfather. As I arrived at my cousin’s house, I greeted everyone politely and tried to treat everything like a repeated, tedious day. When I made way to bed, I just laid there like a rock, staring with a blank, emotionless face thinking of what is going to happen next. I looked like a dead starfish the way I was in bed thinking of millions of questions I could

“He was a hard worker,” she said with a hint of pride in her voice. “ He sacrificed so much for our family”. My curiosity increased and it was finally a perfect time to get answers to my eager questions, after all I don’t remember my grandpa since he died when I was about four years old.

I loved her in life, that much is true. However, I did not value her as much as she deserved. Once she died, my family read her diary where she spoke of how proud she was of her grandchildren, despite my inattention to her. Now that I know what she said of me, I want to tell her how much I love her. But dead ears are deaf ears. She had stories untold: treasures not of gold but of experience. I missed the opportunity to ask her so many questions about life, such as about how to deal with constant heartache. Grandma Lula had become a widow three times in her life. I wanted to ask her, “How do you keep moving forward?” She had a pure heart that I can only dream of

I hummed a response and returned to my music. As we parked in my grandma’s garage my dad explained it to me, “ This morning Abi went to the veterinarian to check if they could do anything for Misty. But Misty is too old, they could do nothing. So they put her down.” Tears streaking down my pale cheeks, I slammed the car door open and ran into my grandma’s house. We spent the rest of the night consoling each other and me crying into her arms.

However, a few months before my seventh birthday that changed. I had always known my grandmother was sick, but never like this. Standing in the hospital holding my mother's hand, my sister in my dad’s arms and my brother standing next to me, I am unsure of what is happening. I can tell that something is wrong as my mom is holding back tears, but I am unable to figure out why. Despite my dad’s wishes, I convince my mom to let me go with her into my grandma’s hospital room. I am lingering behind her, grasping her hand, because for a reason I can not understand, I am terrified. I walk in, see my grandma and I immediately hug her. However, my hug is not welcome and I am greeted with some contempt. My grandma’s diminishing memory has caused her to forget who I am, who my mom is, and even what her name is. Her most alarming characteristic is that when she looks at me her eyes are corrupt with

“It's fine, mom,” I tell her annoyed, I have used this line over 1,000 times, each time she breaks something. We are getting ready for my grandma’s birthday she is turning 59. Cleo Chambers, she left us when she was only 56 years old. It is now November of 2017. Also, I hurt every once in awhile around her birthday. Honestly, it doesn't feel like my grandma left, my grandma used to live in Chicago. That's where it feels like she is, in Chicago and she never visits. I am thinking all of these thoughts, and out of nowhere, I bust out crying.

When my parents got a divorce, I shut myself in a shell that I would not leave. I would not smile, I could not sleep well, and I would cry all the time. Through all of it my grandma was just there giving me hugs and kisses and taking care of me after school. She would make me hot chocolate to try to get me to smile and let me sit in her bed in her arms and let me watch as much t.v as long as I wanted and she would just stay there as long as I needed. One day after school at my grandma’s pale blue and pretty neat house. My grandma has always been very good at telling when people are upset and I knew that she knew. Once I was done with my homework my grandma came up to me and she asked me,’’ Sweetheart do you want to talk?’’

Tears finally escaped my eyes; my dad embraced me and told me that it would be alright. My four-year-old sister Rubi observed me, not really understanding and she began to cry too. At that time, I had only lost my grandma from my dad’s side; I was a baby at the time so I didn’t remember. My grandpa Juan was my