I was prepared. Or at least I thought that I was prepared. He was my great-grandpa’s brother. Seems far away relatively. But we were close, very close. I remember the tricks he taught me, how he carried his video recorder on every occasion. I remember the day I found out he had cancer. The day of his funeral. To my cousins he was the great-grandpa’s brother, but to me he was just “Grandpa”.
Grandpa and I were close. We did everything together. We attended the same church. We saw each other all the time. When I saw him, I would go up, say “Hi”, grin and give him a big, tight, teddy-bear hug. He was my grandpa, but not literally.
Every time I came over to his house, Grandpa would play with me. He was like a clown. There actually was a time when he wore the big, red nose. He would teach me his cool tricks. One trick that I remember, was called “From 2 marbles to 1 marble”. Grandpa made me close my eyes, then he ran a marble between my middle and index finger. With my eyes closed I thought he had 2 marbles. When I opened my eyes there was only one marble. The 2 of us laughed that day, like never before.
Grandpa was a good video recorder. Everywhere he went, his video camera was tailed after him. If it was someone’s birthday, he would make sure it got recorded. If it was a holiday, he would make sure it was recorded. He recorded a video for everyone. When the camera was shown at me, I would grin and wave to the camera.
Then came a day, when I was told that Grandpa was diagnosed with cancer. It was the last stage. I couldn't imagine my life without him. I saw him rarely. When I would finally see him, I could not run up, grin and hug him tightly. I would give him sad smile, and stand there. Just standing and understanding that it might be my last time seeing him in this world. He went to Ukraine for treatment and came back 6 months later. On a Chilly March day, I heard that Grandpa died. I was sitting on a couch and doing my Math homework, when I heard my mom and grandma talking. My mom told my grandma that Grandpa died. When I heard this, a tear started streaming down my cheek, then another, and another. I cried quietly so that no one would hear. My parents delivered the news to me 2 days later, but I didn't cry. I asked if I could attend the funeral. They agreed, only under one circumstance: as long as it wouldn't change who I was.
On the day of the Funeral. I wore everything black. A black skirt, black sweater, black scarf, black tights, black boots. Before walking in the funeral home, I promised myself that I wouldn't cry. That I would stay strong. I stayed strong the whole time. But when the men started lowering the casket, I broke my promise. I collapsed into quiet tears. I cried. I cried until the men finally filled the ground with soil. Then I stopped.
I was only 11, but already I understood the difference between life and death. There is a time for everything. A time to weep and a time to laugh. A time to mourn and a time to dance. I laughed and danced with him. And at the end I wept and mourned for him. He was my Grandpa.
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