I Have Experienced Loss
I don't know why I'm here or what I'm doing exactly. All I know is that I'm here now and I'm typing.
Let me take you back to a long ago time: March of 2011.
I'm not sure if this is where [i]everything started[/i] but this is a good enough place to start at I guess.
It's my first day back at school. I'm mostly recovered from the flu but not completely. Gym class is what sent me home that day so long ago. Running laps got to my stomach and I lost it.
I called my mom from the nurse's office to please come pick me up. I'm not sure why I even called her - I lived with my grandparents and hardly even knew my parents. Papa had always been the one to pick me up from school previously and he handled everything. My parents were (and are) unreliable. But it was done, mom had answered and said she'd take me to my grandparents soon.
The more time that passed in the office the worse I felt. It was this small ball of dread in the pit of my stomach, a nagging in the back of my head that I couldn't shake. To say I was on edge would be an understatement, sitting in that room watching the second hands on the clock tick by was a special kind of torment.
Over an hour passed before my mother made it to the school. We stopped by Dollar General on the way home because she wanted to pick up some ice cream. I remember joking with her at the time about how wrong it felt to both of us to be there at that time. Did we both somehow know something was wrong?
When we arrived at home, mom came inside with me to talk with Nan instead of leaving and going to her home. Weird, but whatever. Inside, they sat together at the red checkered kitchen table talking. It was a serious toned conversation and mom called me back in there to discuss a relationship with a friend I had.
Then then phone shrieked and that bubble of panic began spilling out of me again. Mom and Nan shared a look between them as Nan picked up the phone.
"Yes, I'm her..." Followed by silence. Then, "he's being flown to Roanoke in a helicopter? And my son?"
.
.
.
.
.
His legs were broken and mangled so baldy only the top of the casket was open for viewing. You could see some of the bruises through the caked on makeup. His hands were clasped together. It only vaguely resembled him.
This is the last time I saw Papa.
Let me take you back to a long ago time: March of 2011.
I'm not sure if this is where [i]everything started[/i] but this is a good enough place to start at I guess.
It's my first day back at school. I'm mostly recovered from the flu but not completely. Gym class is what sent me home that day so long ago. Running laps got to my stomach and I lost it.
I called my mom from the nurse's office to please come pick me up. I'm not sure why I even called her - I lived with my grandparents and hardly even knew my parents. Papa had always been the one to pick me up from school previously and he handled everything. My parents were (and are) unreliable. But it was done, mom had answered and said she'd take me to my grandparents soon.
The more time that passed in the office the worse I felt. It was this small ball of dread in the pit of my stomach, a nagging in the back of my head that I couldn't shake. To say I was on edge would be an understatement, sitting in that room watching the second hands on the clock tick by was a special kind of torment.
Over an hour passed before my mother made it to the school. We stopped by Dollar General on the way home because she wanted to pick up some ice cream. I remember joking with her at the time about how wrong it felt to both of us to be there at that time. Did we both somehow know something was wrong?
When we arrived at home, mom came inside with me to talk with Nan instead of leaving and going to her home. Weird, but whatever. Inside, they sat together at the red checkered kitchen table talking. It was a serious toned conversation and mom called me back in there to discuss a relationship with a friend I had.
Then then phone shrieked and that bubble of panic began spilling out of me again. Mom and Nan shared a look between them as Nan picked up the phone.
"Yes, I'm her..." Followed by silence. Then, "he's being flown to Roanoke in a helicopter? And my son?"
.
.
.
.
.
His legs were broken and mangled so baldy only the top of the casket was open for viewing. You could see some of the bruises through the caked on makeup. His hands were clasped together. It only vaguely resembled him.
This is the last time I saw Papa.
26-30, F
