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Tiffany Rittenour Mr. Harrell English Comp. 1 16 September 2013 Fighting For Grandpa Surrounded by faces unknown, I sit in the silent room staring at the five inch black notepad. There are so many memories; I cant select which ones to write down. The paper starts to get damp from the tears rolling down my face. I jot down a few of my memories: fishing, cooking spam together, crossword puzzles, and watching game shows together. They may seem like little things, but those are the ones that mean the most. I stare at the page for another minute or two. I wish I could write down more but I dont know how to describe all of the memories shared. There was so much love and laughter I had experienced with my Grandpa. I skim the other pages and see there are stories and stories of times shared with him but I cant scribble anything down. I feel lost. I want to be able to write something so bad, but I never did. I passed the book to an unfamiliar face. I think back to all the memories I had with my Grandpa. Hed ask do you want to go fishing? It would be mid-night on a Tuesday and he would take me out fishing. Sure, stop by, was something I heard him say a lot. He was always willing to help someone out for nothing in return. My Grandpa was truly an amazing man. As I am walking around the funeral hall, I am repeatedly stopped to be introduced to someone new. I had family in North Carolina I never knew about. He knew so many people. He had been a father, son, brother, and friend to so many in his life. More and more cars filled the parking lot; some now are parking in the next lot over and on the newly paved streets.

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People file in the hall. Black, black, and black is all I can see. The room is so packed. People are standing on the side of the rows of tin chairs set up, and in the back of the room. The pastor, a dear friend of my Grandpas rises and starts to speak about him. A few people follow and say kind words about him. At the front of the room flowers line the coffin. They bring color to the dull room. Huge planters of daisy, roses, lilies, and carnations hang from the ceiling. Some are set on racks. They are beautiful assortments of blue, yellow, purple and pink. It reminds me a lot of the flowers we first brought my Grandpa when he was admitted into General Hospital after his first heart attack in 07. The doctors did many tests and found nothing wrong. After smoking most of his life, if he did not stop he was going to die. He said Ill never touch another cigarette again. And he didnt. Just being around smoking even makes me sick to my stomach. The smell makes me gag. Knowing that second hand smoke can be worse for a person than actually smoking can be disgust me. I can be harmed by it, even though I will never touch a cigarette. Seeing my other members of my family smoke breaks my heart. Many of us were close with my Grandpa and after seeing him struggle, I thought they would quit. Not one person has. I really hope the will. I never want to watch another family member be in so much pain again. After watching my Grandpa through his last six months, it taught me to value life in every way possible. You never know what can happen in the blink of an eye. In my opinion, family is very important. Losing a family member really changes your life and you start to value things more. Family will always be there no matter what happens. Be thankful for that and cherish the moments you have together. I was aroused from my second floor bedroom by a pounding on the wall downstairs by my Grandpa. I ran downstairs to see what the problem was. He says wake Mom up, I need to go

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to the hospital. I started to freak out. My Grandpa was a very strong man. He had and Im always right attitude and he didnt need a doctor. He was always fine. When he said Hospital, I knew something was seriously wrong. I stare out of my upstairs window as my mother, father, and Grandpa pulled out of our gray gravel drive-way a little after 3AM. I dont remember falling asleep again that night. All I remember is worrying and hoping everything was going to be alright. The next morning, all three were home again and everything appeared to be fine. They diagnosed my Grandpa with bronchitis and sent him home with a few medications. He continued to take them but nothing seemed to be getting better. It was round two. Another pounding woke me up. At the bottom of our burgundy carpeted stairs, stood my Grandpa yelling for B which is what he called my mom. She was already awake this time. My dad was also up. My Grandpa had been coughing up blood for about a week or two and was having serious pain. At the emergency room, they ran several more tests until they finally found the real problem. The doctors diagnosed my Grandpa with lung cancer in January of 2008. It was still in the early stages and could be cured they said. He would have to complete radiation and chemotherapy sessions to kill the cancer. He would look at me every day and say Im feeling good. I wanted to believe him, but I could tell he was hurting. He wanted to be strong for us. After his diagnosis, he was in and out of the hospital often. I remember visiting him and seeing him lay there hooked up on machines barely being able to speak. With a grin on his face he said to me I love you. I held his hand and repeatedly told him that I loved him. He had heavy eyes and a weary look on his face. I had never seen him so exhausted before. As he completed his sessions, he started to change. He was losing a lot of weight and not wanting to

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eat. My Grandpa could barely even get the food down himself. My mom had to cut and mash up his food for him to be able to eat. Half of the time he still wouldnt eat, not even on Easter. He was back in the hospital for the holiday. He said bring me back a plate of actual good food. We all know how nasty hospital food is. The sight of someone you love being in so much pain is horrible. I sat by his side until the visiting hours were over and I was forced to leave. I left thinking everything was going to be alright and that he would be home soon. We had just finished up at my other grandparents for Easter dinner when my moms phone rang. It was the hospital. My parents needed to get down there right away. My mom and dad left, while my brother and I remained with my Grandma and Grandpa. A few hours later, my moms silver car pulled back in the driveway to take us home. No one really spoke on the way home. That night I slept downstairs in my Grandpas room, just waiting for him to come home. I woke up to my mom shaking me telling me to get up. My dad was next to her. Both of them had looks on their faces that something was not right. As my mom started to speak, tears started to roll down her eyes as she tells me my Grandpa had passed away that night on April 1st of 2008. Tears flowed like a river out as I hugged my parents and didnt let go. It couldnt be true. 70 does not seem a young age to die at, but I think it is. There was so much more my Grandpa could have done in his life. Its been five years now and not a day goes by I dont think about my Grandpa. Id love to be able to hear him say Whos the prettiest girl in town, just one more last time. A huge smile lit up on face when I walked in. His room was the first place I use to go to when I got home. Now I try to avoid going in there as much as possible. When I do, I see his bed in the middle of the room, his ugly chair that he loved so much in the corner, the model cars lining the walls, and him happy. When I open the door to our house, I still hear him yell

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Whos in my house. The memories will stay forever. I know that he looks down on me and watches me. I know he is proud of me and that is all I could ever want.