Death in the Family

A personal narrative I had to do for my portfolio in creative writing about someone who was very dear to me.

It was quiet that day, nothing unusual about it really. Well, there was one special thing about it. It was the Fourth of July; Independence Day in the United States of America. I was in Bermuda at the time, so no one was making a big fuss about it. I remember this day for a different reason. This reason is more important to me than the history of the United States, or anything happening in the world that day. It was a day of a reality check; that nothing lasts forever.

In the days before the Fourth, my grandfather had suffered complications from a dislocated shoulder. It appears that you shouldn't stand on a stool to change a lightbulb, especially if you are older and less mobile. He was in the Bermudian hospital, which didn't do much for him and caused a septic bladder due to complications with a catheter. My mom took him to New York, trying to get him to Boston, when complications soon arose in the New York JFK airport that resulted in my grandfather hospitalized in the New York Hospital Queens, the nearest hospital to the airport.

I remember those days, sitting down outside and inside my grandfather's hospital room, a cafe, and pretty much anywhere we went where we could sit down, writing in a Muji notebook about a fun, fantasy, coming of age book I planned to write. At first it was just a past time for my visits to my grandfather, but eventually it turned into something more. I started getting invested in my own characters and creating a story around them that would be engaging and interesting. I started thinking about how the world would work, what was in it, who ran it, etc. I was completely indulged in my own story, even though I hadn't even written a real sentence for it.

Eventually, my grandfather started getting better, but the Queens hospital was to quick to dismiss him and recommend hospice. My mom quickly fought to get him home in Bermuda for him to go into hospice. By the time he was back in Bermuda, the hospital said that my grandfather could be rehabilitated and that he was doing so well up to the Fourth. It was also at this time that I stopped writing as much in the notebook.

I don't remember much of that day before the hospital. I only remember that my family received a call from there to come right away. While there I remember that the woman told us we had to wait until everyone else arrived. I was among the first to arrive at the hospital, along with my dad. I believe that my mom came into the hospital later, but not my sister. She was in a dance class. I don't remember when my grandmother came but I remember she was there. When we were all together, we wondered what kind of complication has my grandfather suffered this time. We had been back and forth in Queens, New York with a new complication almost everyday, so this was nothing new.

We all sat there, anxiously, waiting for what new complication my grandfather had suffered this time. Then the nurse came to our waiting selves for whatever news there might be. She sat down in front of us, with a look of what seemed to be “I really don't want to tell you this, but it's kind of my job.”

The nurse then just outright said to my mom, “Your father has passed. We don't know what happened; he was finished eating his breakfast at 10:30, and when we came at 10:40 to bathe him, he was dead.”

It seemed unreal at the time, what she said. It was like, this was the biggest news I have received thus far, and I didn't know how to react. I could barely even cry at the time.

My mom in front of me began crying into my dad's arms. My grandmother began to cry as well. Next thing I know is the nurse is offering my me and my family to see my grandfather's dead corpse.

Once we all got into my grandfather's hospital room, we all gazed at my now dead grandfather. His skin, instead of being light and rosy, what now yellow and pale. His dentures where put in to give shape to his mouth, and a towel was placed under his chin to prevent it from locking into place open when his body turns stiff.

The room had a large window with a view of the street and parking lot of the hospital. Looking outside the window, it was a bright and sunny day. What a perfect day to die on.

The last thing I remember, other than the adults talking about what could have killed him and how he will be buried, was looking into his face, then out the window, then I thought back to the book I was writing. It was on that day, promised to complete the book, starting my path as a writer.