I think that lately, my world has been making less sense.
Just to scratch the surface, my "grandpa" died two weeks ago. Needless to say, it hit home with my family and I. I was reduced to a tearless, throbbing pile of angst. And yes, I understand that the word "angst" is much too overused. So I'll cut to the chase: Everything happens for a reason and good or bad, there's nothing you can do to stop it. My approach to this topic has been very withdrawn. If I think about the enormity of my situations, I tend to clam up into a state of silent superstition. Everyone seems like they're out to get me and everything that goes wrong becomes my fault.
A few days before my grandpa died, the first --and last-- time I saw him since his stroke, I was devastated. His weak and fragile body turned my spur-of-the-moment confidence into utter despair. I sobbed, my chest heaving uncontrollably. When my sobs faded to a more fair crying, I decided it was time to say goodbye (little did I know, for the final time) to him. I walked over to his hospice bed and leaned over him, taking his small, cold hand in my unusually warm one. I thought that he'd have forgotten my name, since the stroke had killed half of his brain cells, but to my astonishment, he murmured, "Ash.... ley...." I looked at him with wide eyes, the tears building more. "Ash.... ley.... I.... love.... you....," he said slowly in his whispery voice. Thus, more sobbing. He asked why I was crying. My sorry self couldn't render the words, so my mother answered for me, "Because she loves you." I bit my lip, ashamed that I was crying in front of one of the strongest people I knew. He softly ordered me to not cry for him because he didn't want me to. I obeyed and stopped crying. Then, after I gave him a kiss on the forehead, I left and sat in my room for three hours, unable to finish my homework. These past two weeks, I haven't cried for him. I admit, I was close to breaking down from the weight of all of my homework and drama with friends with his death now on top of it. All I have to do is remember him telling me to refrain from crying, and the shivers and watery eyes disappear.
The hardest day to keep true to his request was the day that I found out that he passed away. I had just gotten back from a community service event with the rest of the assigned Color Guard: Brian, Colin, and Chris Coleman. I had managed to get changed back into my civilian clothes and was waiting out by the hatch to leave when my mom called. She told me that he passed away and I said a simple, "Okay." and hung up. I slumped against the wall and slid down until I was sitting on the floor. The first thing that shook were my shoulders. Then, my chest started to shudder. I started off into space for a few minutes, letting it sink in. Brian and Gunner came out of the locker room, Brian with his skateboard and Gunner looked like he was going to go into the office. As Brian was walking up the stairs to leave, Gunner noticed me and said, "Redman." I didn't answer. His voice kind of slipped through me. Brian immediately stopped and turned around to look. "Redman," Gunner repeated, "What's wrong?" I told him that my grandfather died. Brian turned around fully to face me. I still stared off at nothing. I don't remember what Gunner said, but I'm pretty sure he was asking if there was anything he could do to help. I kept saying, "No, sir. No, sir. No, sir." Gunner nodded and went back into the locker room. In my peripherals, I noticed Brian walk over and sit on the stairs near me. He said, "I know how you feel. My mom died two weeks ago."