My Heart Trampled

         As we walked into the house, I waited for the warm, fuzzy feeling that I always got when I saw my grandpa. As we turned the corner and entered the dining room, I saw him. I ran over to my grandpa and jumped onto his lap. He reached behind him and pulled out a bubble gum cigar, which they don't make anymore, and handed it to me. He was bouncing me on one knee while he carried on a conversation with my dad. All I could think about was how much I loved him, how amazing he was, and how every time I came over he always had a bubble gum cigar and my favorite food waiting for me.
         “Are you hungry?” He would always ask me, and my reply was always the same.
         “YES!”
         “Chicken Top Ramen or Cookie Dough Ice-Cream?” This conversation always took place when I went to visit my grandpa, the most amazing man in the world.
         I noticed over time that we stopped going to see my grandpa, and instead I would spend more time with my dad. I just assumed it was normal, but I would come face to face with the biggest tragedy of my life soon after. One weekend in 2001, I went to visit my dad for the weekend. When I got there, he asked me to follow him to his room because he had something he needed to tell me. I remember looking at his large king sized bed and sitting on the edge of it. I sat my backpack on the floor in front of me.
         “Kristin, I need you to listen to me very carefully,” he started, as he looked at me straight in the eyes.
         “Okay. Dad, what's going on?” I asked with curiosity in my voice. I had absolutely no clue what he was going to tell me.
         “There was an accident,” with that I started looking towards the floor. “Grandpa was driving down TV Highway, on his way to work, and he was hit by a semi-truck. They took him to the hospital, but he passed away yesterday.” As he finished, there was a long pause. The only thought I had was why didn't anyone tell me? I would have been able to say goodbye.
         “Are you okay?”
         “Yeah,” this was the only word I could say to him throughout the entire conversation. He gave me a hug and walked out of the room. He headed back to the garage where his friend was working on his motorcycle. As I sat there, I cannot remember what I was thinking. All I can remember is my dad coming back in the room three or four hours later. He found me in the same spot he left me. The only difference was the tears that were streaming down my face and the heavy rise and fall of my chest as I cried.
         “Honey, are you okay?” This was all my dad could say as he wrapped his arms around me once again. I sat there, and as I wrapped my arms around him, I cried harder. Every memory and thought that I had ever had about my grandpa was flowing through my mind; however, I was also thinking about the fact that I would never have the chance to add anymore memories to those.
         I don't know how long we sat there hugging, but I remember crying that night as I tried to sleep on the air mattress in my dad's guest room. I went home the next day, and I asked my brother why he didn't tell me about grandpa being in the hospital. “Oh. Sorry, I forgot,” that was all he could say to me. He said the same thing when I asked him why he hadn't told me about the funeral that Friday of the following week.
         I thought about my grandpa, every night, for years. Most nights, I would cry myself to sleep while thinking of my memories with him. The only thing that mattered to me was that I loved him, and I thought no one else could ever love him more. I was so frustrated and so angry because I never got to say goodbye to him; although, everyone else in my family seemed to have the opportunity to.
         Gradually, I have put this tragedy behind me. I refused to talk about it, let alone even think about the accident. Eventually, I realized I was not told because it was for my own protection. Perhaps they realized that it would have been even harder for me to go and see him in the hospital. If I'd had a choice, I still would have wanted to go to the funeral. After much debate, I decided to put it all behind me. I was no longer mad at my family for not telling me. They thought they were acting in my best interest.
         I did receive one item of memorabilia to remember him by. My dad gave me on if my grandpa's harmonicas. It was with great appreciation that I took this item, and it is still with me to this day. I always leave the harmonica out where I can see it every day. When I do, I am always reminded that, even though he can't be here to say it, my grandpa is always proud of me. I never realized how much I truly loved him, until he was gone.