I was now on my way to my grandmother’s house to be with the family during her funeral.  It was quite a shock to everybody that she had died after fighting her sleep apnea for so long.  A condition that affects thousands and she was one of them now.  Dad kept telling her that she should’ve swallowed her pride and tried to lose the weight, but she still thought that medication was the most effective method.  When grandma thought something was good, she stuck to it, even if it killed her. 

“Everyone’s so shocked about her apnea, but her pride was the one thing that killed her,” my Dad said driving while my mom sat in the passenger seat beside her, crying.  I looked at my brother and sister sitting next to me and neither one of them had their usual energy.  My sister had become sleepy and was holding her teddy bear as she slept with her head on the arm rest.  My brother, however, had become lethargic and depressed.  He didn’t eat, sleep, he didn’t play with his friends or do any of his favorite hobbies; he had become a living vegetable.  I don’t blame him though; he loved grandma and he was one of her favorite grandkids.  I was grandma’s other favorite and not just us, but I’m sure everyone felt the void created by her absence.

Soon we pulled into Grandpa’s driveway and we all filed out.  “Are you coming, son?” My father asked me.
“Soon,” I said.  “I need a minute.”  My father kissed me on the forehead.

“Be strong, Alexander,” he said going in to join the rest of the family.  I got out of the car and walked to the end of the driveway.  I lit one of my cigarettes and reflected on her death.  “Why,” I asked with tears streaming down my face.