Fall Of 97

"Fall of '97"

I don't think anything could have prepared me for the fall of '97. Being as young as I was, I didn't necessarily understand the meaning of "death", and I certainly didn't think that it would have such an impact on who I am today. It wasn't until I had witnessed the death of my grandfather that I questioned the beliefs that I had grownup with and started to develop a different outlook on life.

I grew up as a Catholic and religion had always played a role in my family. Every Sunday, my mother took my siblings and I to church for mass, and afterward, to bible school. Of course, being the children that we were, we dreaded every Sunday, for the thought of sitting in church for 3 hours when we could be at home playing didn't fancy us at all. However, my mother insisted on educating us. She taught us prayers to say before we went to bed at night such as Hail Mary and Our Kingdom Come. And when I questioned why, she calmly responded with: "because everyone needs something to believe in."

My grandfather's death didn't come as a surprise. In fact, my family was well prepared. We knew that he had lung cancer, and that he only had three months to live. Although I'm not completely sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing, to everyone's surprise, he lived well past those estimated three months. At first, I didn't understand clearly. All I knew was that every time I visited him, he looked weaker and weaker. He grew noticeably pale and thin, eventually needing an oxygen tank to help him breathe. My mother decided that it was in our best interest for my siblings and I to stop visiting him for she thought that the idea was too much for us. And it was. All this time, I believed that everyone lived forever. Death wasn't in my vocabulary, certainly not when my family was involved. But I was young and naive. Right in front of me was a person, whom I loved, who was dying and I knew that couldn't do anything about it.

At the funeral, I walked slowly towards his coffin.