It was cold that day. It felt like the whole world just stood still. I couldn't even feel the pulling back from the force of my car moving at a rapid pace. I just went numb. All that was going through my head was that I didn't want to lose him. If I did there was no way that I could show my weakness because I knew I had to stay strong for my mom, as well as my other family members.

I remember being so over come by my emotions that I couldn’t find the courage to talk. I couldn't even cry at first, but that changed as soon as I saw the ambulance drive past us. I remember my mom calling me out of my dark room sounding like she had just finished running, but I know she doesn't run. My dad had just transferred for the winter to a new fire station that just so happened to be close to my grandparents house. Him being the first on the call was the only thing that kept my mom sane about what had just happened. She called my uncle who, shakily, told us that my grandpa was no longer breathing. He had been peacefully sitting in his cushiony recliner that he loved so dearly while enjoying a game of baseball just as he did everyday after he would get home from a hard day of work. A violent sharp pain clenched around his heart prohibiting it from beating.

By this time we were already on our way to the scene. We were almost half way there when we saw an ambulance driving towards us in the opposite direction. I felt my heart sink when I saw the look on my mothers face, but I then noticed my face looked the exact same way, terrified and shocked. She made an immediate U-turn and proceeded behind the ambulance. We arrived at the emergency entrance and saw them wheeling him in while continuing to pump oxygen into him through a circular blue balloon like item. We tried to run in after him. The doors closed before we could make it and nobody would let us in.

We waited for what it seemed like hours. My dad called us into a small room of sadness and disappointment that my family somehow managed to cram into. I was the last on in. When I finally got in, everyone was crying and holding one another. I didn't know what was going on, but maybe I did and I was just trying not to let myself believe that it was true. Everyone was already crying, so I didn't really understand what they were just told. My eldest cousin just grabbed me and began to sob loudly. I angrily began to ask, “what happened”. Nobody said anything they just continued to leak tears out of their eye sockets. My uncle, who was the last one to see in, franticly stormed out of the tiny, stuffy room crying. I kept yelling, “what happened” over and over again. My dad finally came up to ma and told me that he died, at his house while he enjoyed his final game of baseball just as he used to everyday after he would get home from a hard day of work. Instantaneously tears began to flow down my florid cheeks as quickly as rivers. I buried my face into my cousins chest trying to drown out the sound of the pain that we were all experiencing.

They took us all back to see him and to say our last goodbyes for the last time. When I got to the door way I couldn't go in. There was a forcefield prohibiting me from entering, but I was the one that put it there. I couldn't gain the strength to see him. I just wanted to remember him just how I used to see him every Friday after school. I always sat in his chair at the dinner table when he came in from work and then got up so he could have his normal seat, even though every time he would tell me that I didn't have to move. I felt his rough hands touch my shoulders when he would hug me. He always grabbed a bag of walnuts, because they were his favorite, and would make his way to his recliner and share them with me. That’s exactly how I wanted to remember him for the last time. However, my dad convinced me to say goodbye. It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do, but I did it because I knew he would have wanted me to. Four years have gone by and I still wish I could have watched one last game with him in that recliner that he once loved so dearly.