One December Night

Fast forward about two years after the night of my grandfather's incest and I am 15 and watching my brothers for a short time while my parents are out getting Christmas gifts.  It is early evening and it's dark outside with lots of snow and ice.  The telephone rings, I answer and it's my grandmother.  She is very upset, crying and talking really fast about not being able to find my grandfather.  I tried to understand exactly what the situation was, but couldn't and knew right away that I had to get up the street to their house.



I couldn't leave my brothers alone, so I wrote a quick note to my parents, got our coats on and started running toward my grandparent's house.  Just a few yards up the street, I suddenly felt I should get an adult to go with us.  My mind was racing with fear and uncertainty about what we would find.  I ran up the icy steps to a neighbor's front door, but before I could ring the bell I thought of how elderly the neighbors were.  Afraid that involving them in this frightening situation might cause a heart attack, I changed my mind.  As I hit the top step to run back down to my brothers, I slipped on the ice and fell to the sidewalk below.  There was no time to think about the fall and I jumped up, grabbed my brother's arms and ran the rest of the way to my grandparent's front door.  There were lots of lights on and my grandmother was sitting in the living room as we barreled in. 



I went right to her and did my best to calm her down.  She was crying and hysterical and kept saying that she had looked everywhere and Grandpa wasn't there.  I reassured her that everything would be okay and that I'd find him.  I checked all through the house and he wasn't there.  I had always hated going down into the cellar, but I knew I had to and steeled myself.  He wasn't there either.  I ran back quickly to check on my grandmother and brothers and then I went to look outside.  I ran around the back yard and not seeing him, I came to the driveway and looked up at the one place left to check, the garage.  It was dark and hard to see, but as I went closer to open the door, I heard the car running.  The glow from the streetlights hitting the snow lit the door handle and I pulled the door open.  I found my grandfather.  He was sitting in the car on the passenger side of the front seat, his head slumped over to the side. The smell of the gas was overwhelming.  I walked over to him and opened the car door.  I remember thinking that this is how I would always remember my grandfather, the sight of him slumped over dead in the front seat of the car.



I don't even remember walking out of the garage and back into the house or what words I used to tell my grandmother that grandpa was dead.  I can hear her wailing that she wanted to die and saying she had nothing to live for.  I said over and over to her that she had to live for us, for her son, my mom and her grandchildren.  I told her we loved her and we couldn't lose her too. 



All I have of the rest of that night is a few "still frames" my mind hung on to.  I have a still picture of my parents at my grandmother's side along with the feeling of relief that came from knowing I was no longer in charge.  Another black and white frame remains of looking from the front of the garage and seeing the blinking light of the police car and the officers at the end of the driveway.



In the obituary, there was no mention of how my grandfather died.  My parents told us it should be kept a secret to protect the family name and that only us would ever know what really happened.