Life after Death
By: Shannen Lippard
If I had to choose the worst time of my life, it would have to be the time when my grandfather had unfortunately passed away from lymphoma. This is not where the bad day began, so let's start at the beginning.
I woke up 6 o'clock sharp Monday morning, not being able to move from some sort of stiffness that happened the day before. I had to get up because the annoying "beep" sound from my alarm was being pounded into my head like a bad song being played over and over again. I had to get ready for school. Procrastinating as much as I could, I grabbed a tee shirt, jeans, a hoodie, and started for the kitchen. Now for breakfast, the stuff my mother says I must eat, but most of the time I can't stand.
So to let mom think had an "ok" breakfast, I grabbed the reddest apple I could find and shoved it in my bag, which was overflowing with homework I forgot to do. With the infinite oops, I instantly remembered that it wasn't due until Tuesday and continued my day.
I went to go brush my hair and had seen it was dirty, so I hopped in the shower, but only after a few minutes everything goes cold. Great, no hot water left, the batter to my cake. I hurried to finish my cold shower, get dressed, and ran to the bus stop. When I left the house I started the run, for yet again, I was going to miss the yellow jungle I can't believe I call a bus. Not even half way to my bus stop I realized I didn't have the key to my success, my backpack.
Five minutes until bus arrived and I was still not ready. While running back home the January air was getting colder. I finally got my backpack and now I'm "ready" for the day. Three minutes until my bus arrived and I was back at the beginning. With this small amount of time I had, I decided to run. Finally I reach my yellow jungle stop with 30 seconds to spare, and now my "day" has officially started.
At this point in my life, I was at a weird pre-teen stage. This is where nothing would ever be the same, not my emotions, not my thinking process, not even my ideal of a "normal" day. Still, I determined to go on.
When I finally got off the big over crowded yellow jungle, I walked into the school thinking I could continue my journey into the over crowed cafeteria. Also, thinking I could start my homework that was due the next day.
I sat down and grabbed the first text book and matching note book. Two minutes in and I felt a slight pitter patter on my shoulder. Looking back not knowing what awaited me, I turned my head. Of course it was the "cops" as so "many" people call them. To me, they are simply over paid people to watch a bunch of snobby 10-15 year old kids and to make rules that they knew kids would most likely break. But I still turned around to hear what she had to say.
"Shannen are you doing homework?" a slightly irritated voice questioned me.
"No," I said while thinking about the next series of words. "I'm, just doing some pre-test studying." Of course with my genius words, that left Mrs. Batinger even more annoyed than before, worked out just fine with what I had on the table. Social Studies had once again saved my school career, and the battle between cafeteria staff and student body was won.
As my day continued into first hour it seemed to get easier. First and second period seemed to fly by. Third hour was a little different. It consisted of commas, periods, and punctuation theories, defiantly not my cup of tea. This English class seemed to never end, but the worst part was…what came next… lunch. As the stomach of the student body roared with hunger, Mrs. Mckeeman said words that brought many kids to joy. As I hurried to lunch like every other hunger crazed child, I felt pain. This pain was like no other, it hurt in a way words cannot even describe. With this pain I could tell something was wrong. Maybe it was hunger? So I grabbed some food and ate in silence, but my agony did not change. Some of the pain went way but not the feeling as if I was missing something, or something was gone. My day was almost over and I still had two hours to go. Next class was math, and boy did I wish it would go faster. It seemed as if someone heard my plead, and before I knew it class was over, but still my heart and my stomach still ached. Last hour, social studies, although this class saved me earlier it would not save me now. Only a minute now before the bell rang, and almost every child was jumping out of their seats anticipating the bell. I was the exception to almost every child. I was not too thrilled, because yet again my stomach felt was if it had butterflies, but I didn't know why.
When I got home I saw that I had a phone message. I was very shocked about who had called. My father had a strange slight worry in his voice, but it also had a distant pain. This was something I had never heard from my father. Of course out of the kindness of my heart, and also wanting to know why he sounded so distant, in pain, and worried I wanted to call him back. I didn't know if I should wait until I was no longer alone and with my mother, or call right away, but I knew this would hurt me either way. I chose not to wait and called him. The words my father spoke did bring me pain, pain that hurt emotionally more than the physical pain I was in.
"He is in the hospital in ICU, and he is getting worse," these words my father spoke shocked me, but at the same time I knew something was wrong. A few days later my father called again saying grandpa (his father) was in and out of the hospital and ICU. I was defiantly scared. Another series of days passed by and I again got another upsetting call. This time it was about death, my Grandfather had passed away. Death was NOT my thing to be talking about, but still I lived through it. My grandfather was like my best friend, and he left me. I forgave him, and I am happy for him because he no longer suffers with the everyday pain of life.