And just like that, he was gone. I had received the worst news on that school day in sixth grade. I was in the car on my way to school with my mom when her phone began to ring.

It’s probably just Dad, I said to myself, thinking nothing of it.

 My mother picked up the phone and began to cry.

My mother’s raspy voice was somewhat raspier than before. She spoke “Come home,” into the phone. I began to freak out because my underweight, young body was in the backseat as curious as can be about that phone call.

 “What happened?” I asked my mother.

“Your pawpaw is in the hospital and is not doing well,” she responded, hoping not to hurt my innocent heart, but I could hear the hurt in hers as she spoke.

Still, those words came out as if someone I didn’t like spelled them out. Slow and painful. My pawpaw was my best friend. He was a short, cute grandpa and always made my day better. In the past, he had breathing problems, and he carried an oxygen tank, but this was completely unexpected. As my eyes began to fill with tears, my mother turned around and gave me a hug and a kiss because we were approaching a stop in the carpool line.

“Please don’t make me go,” I whined, scared that if I went in there I would never see him again. Sadly, she told me to go into school.

I went in and sat at my desk. Immediately, my friends approached me with concern. I told them it was only because I felt sick and sent them back to their desks. In reality, there was a constant thought roaming through my head.

Why me? I thought. Why me? We went through the daily announcements. The sound of the mumbled Pledge of Allegiance was drowned out by the thoughts in my head. The announcements finished, and we were sent off to our first class; mine was religion. My teacher was Mrs. Ashbrook. She is one of the nicest, most caring ladies I have ever met. She was a parent of a friend of mine. She was no taller than I am, with short brown hair, khakis on, and shirt tucked in.

I was zoned out the entirety of the class, with that thought in my head once again. Why me? I laid my head on the desk only wishing that it was the shoulder of my grandpa. Apparently, my puffy pink face, messy golden-brown hair, and saturated blue eyes gave away that I was not doing okay because my teacher asked if I was feeling well. I raised my head from the desk and replied with a shake of the head, indicating that I was most certainly not okay.

“Emma, why don’t you come see me outside?” she asked. I agreed even though the last thing I wanted to do was speak to anyone. I stood up and walked out and as soon as I heard the noise of the closing door behind me, tears began to stream down my face.

“What’s wrong Emma?” she asked. “Are you feeling okay?”

Please just leave me alone, I thought. I did not want any attention.

“My grandpa is sick,” I replied as I sobbed, wondering if she could even understand what I said. My heart sunk as if my grandpa had past away in that exact moment. I sank to the floor and covered my face, embarrassed by the horrifying sounds of my crying. My teacher put one hand on my arm and the other around my shoulder.

“Ms. Stivers, can you come here please?” she called the counselor over as she passed us in the hallway. “Emma is feeling sad at the moment.” Mrs. Stivers has bright blonde hair and big blue eyes. I have a feeling this is why she became a councilor. She was a pleasant sight to talk to when you were upset. Ms. Stivers then gently grabbed me by my arm and raised me from the ground and began to walk me to her office. I got into her classroom and immediately walked to her couch and laid my body down.

“So what’s going on Emma?” she questioned. I began to tell her what was wrong, and she began to offer me treats to ease my suffering, such as hot chocolate or candy.

“Oh I’m fine, Ms. Stivers. Thank you though,” I replied, knowing that the only thing I truly wanted was my grandfather back. By then, he was gone.