Young Writers Society

My dad had a maniacal look in his eye as we weaved through traffic. I could only guess at what was running through his mind. Grandpa Erv had been diagnosed with emphysema ten years previous and eventually had to be put on an oxygen tank. In July, we had admitted him to Sogge Good Samaritan Center in Windom. His health had been slowly deteriorating, eventually forcing him to get around in a wheelchair. On this day, August first, 2004, my dad got the call in St. Peter on the way to a baseball game that Grandpa has taken a turn for the worse.

We sped around the turn leading to the hospital. Bypassing that, we went into the parking lot of the Center. My dad put the van in park, opened the door, and failing to turn off the van, ran into the building. Worried, I opened the van door and followed him in.

We raced into the building, turned left at the lobby, turned right into another hallway and stopped in front of his room. My dad paused in the doorway, and I gently nudged him to enter the room so I could see. He took a few steps in, and I stood on my toes to try and see what was going on.

My grandpa was laying on his bed, petting his favorite cat, Thomas John. My grandpa, Pat, was holding the cat above his chest, my aunt, Beth, was standing off to the side. The Price Is Right was on the television in the room, but no one was watching it.

My grandpa's frail fingers ran through Thomas John's fur. He scratched Thomas John behind the hears, patted his head, and said, "I love you, Thomas John." The cat meowed in response, as if to say, "I love you, too, Grandpa."

Then the most awkward moment in my life occured. My grandpa's chest fell and didn't rise. His stomach seemed to deflate, his lips sank into his gaping mouth, and his eyes seemed to gloss over. He died right in front of me.

My mom and sister were coming to the room about that time. Grandma Pat came out of the room after handing Thomas John to Beth. She walked out to my mom and said, "He's gone." After a moments hesitation, she burst into tears and threw herself into my mom's arms.

My dad and Beth left the room, but I stayed behind to look at the body. This wasn't the man I knew. The man I knew was always ready with several jokes, and although they were all horrible puns, they were still hilarious. The man I knew pinched my leg to "check my calf muscles" to see if I would be a good football player.

But that man was gone. In his place was a man with yellowed skin, a sure sign of liver failure. This new man's arm was dangling limp at his side, his eyes were half open, and he was eerily still.

Slowly, I made my way out of the room as the pastor came to the room. I sat down on the couch with a glass of grape juice and an issue of the National Geographic while the pastor said a quick prayer and began discussing funeral plans, lost in my own thoughts.

Reading my grandpa's obituary, I learned that he did everything he wanted in life, like joining the Army and doing volunteer work, and he never regretted it. That taught me a very important lesson: life will end. Life always ends. It's just a matter of what you make out of it.