A Not-so-merry Christmas
I remember the day exactly. It was Christmas morning, I was an excited little five-year-old. Curious about what lied beneath the colorful wrapping paper. After ripping open all of the gifts, my mom and stepdad sat me down at the dining table, both on either side of me. My mom said she had news to tell me before she broke into tears. I looked at my stepdad worried and expectantly. He told me she passed away earlier that morning. I didn't believe it. I couldn't. I didn't even say goodbye. I put my head down on the table and tried to cry. It was hard. The tears wouldn't come, but I didn't see how they could lie about something like that. My mom told me we were going over to her house. She lived across the street from us. I ran to her house. I can't remember who exactly opened the door. I just wanted to show myself that my grandmother really wasn't gone. I went into the room she had been in for the last couple of months. No one was there. The bed was made as if she had never even been there. All the machines- gone. I ran upstairs to my grandparents room, no one. When I went back downstairs, my family just looked at my through eyes full of tears. I fell to the ground as reality set in. In my mind, "I never got to say goodbye" and "I'll never see her again" kept repeating. The pain never fully went away, it just became easier to cope with as time passed.