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Leaving but Never Losing
When I was a kid I experienced my first loss when my goldfish Lucky died. I wasn’t prepared for it and was upset that I hadn’t played with him enough. Flushing him down the toilet was too painful. I put him in one of my mom’s old purple nylons inside a shoebox and in the ground forever. As a tear rolled down my cheek I never realized that this would be the easiest thing taken away from me.
Years later, summer vacation had been going all too well. I was in Tahoe with my best friend enjoying every minute of the sun drenched days. Mornings were spent tubing, afternoons passed by tanning on the beach, and nights were enjoyed playing cards, watching movies, and hanging out with other friends. Everything seemed great. I had forgotten about the terrifying problems I left behind at home. My grandfather hadn’t been doing well and had been in the hospital for almost the entire week since I’d left. Then the frightening phone call came from my father.
“Poppy has taken a turn for the worse and you should get ready to come home if necessary”, my father’s voice shaking with just the tiniest hint of tearing.
Later that night my dad and mom hopped on a plane to New York, hoping to get there in time. They had arranged for a flight from Nevada airport to San Francisco the next morning for me.
I quickly packed my clothes and prepared myself for the devastating events that were sure to occur. The one hour ride home was filled with tears, but not nearly as scary as the five hour flight with my sister and brother back East. My Poppy had always been my favorite relative with his quirky humor and all-American attitude. I couldn’t stand to lose him and was even more nervous for how my dad would react.
Having moved away from New York sixteen years earlier, my family hadn’t spent as much time with our relatives as we wished there. My dad and his father had been very close but slowly crept further apart with the...