The Trigger

499110301 Peggy

No matter how dull life exists there must hid one special someone or something in this time mezzanine. The first story comes from me and my grandma. My parents both had very busy jobs. As soon as I born, my grandma took care of me in day, and my parents took me home at night. This status continued until I became five. She died. I remember just that very day. I saw her lie on this shabby bed, with nothing she liked on it. Normally, little kids like my age at that time, I assume they mustnt know what means die. Not like cartons, in real life, death come slowly, quietly, and expected. I just know she was dying. I did not cry in front of, as I remembered, I cried in my father s car in our way home. I did not cry like a five-year-old. I cried quietly. Let my tears slide down my cheek, just like mourned for her death. My parents shocked, they didnt know I would understand.