The Silence Behind the Door

I woke up on November 29, 2010. Like any other day, my alarm sounded at six. Like everyone else's thoughts of school, immediate knowledge of complete boredom.

I got on the school bus at eight-twenty-eight, just like every single day. I climbed up the three steps that separated the bus from the ground. I got on the bus, still tired and half asleep.

As the day progressed, I realized I was having a bad day. I forgot everything at my house, I couldn't find my homework, and I lost all of my supplies. I lost just about everything I was in possession of. It was rather irritating. I thought it was all over until I walked through the front door. The silence behind the door filled me with curiosity.

Mom was at home? She's never home at this time... Why wasn't she at work? She's sick. That's it. No, I don't know. Millions of questions raced into my mind. I opened the door, finding the answer. Mom wasn't sick.

My dad came into my room as I logged onto Facebook, my addiction. He said the most hurtful two words, I have ever heard in my entire life, "Grandma's dead."

These complicated two words explained why mom was at home. And why there was silence behind the door. As my sweet dad took a few steps back, it took me a while before I broke down in tears. I was confused. I wouldn't process the words in correctly.

Sweet, graceful, young, generous Grandma was now dead. She wasn't cooking her enticing foods in the kitchen anymore. In fact, she wasn't even breathing anymore. She was gone.

I didn't know what to do, think, or say. I was lost. Without her comforting religious words, what was I supposed to think about life now?

I suddenly stopped thinking about myself and scrapped off the tears that wouldn't stop coming out. Poor, poor mom. Clean, proper mom... Nothing but broken. I cried, oh about 1,343 times more harder when I thought about her stage.

With oceans running down my cheeks, I couldn't help but to cry. My eyes were now swollen within few minutes. I needed to find out what had occurred. This was a shock to everybody.

I waited, waited, and waited for somebody to explain. For somebody to tell me. Soon enough I was informed. Grandma had cancer, everybody's enemy. It was too late for anything when it reached Grandma, she just couldn't take it. It was unexpected; unwanted.

As days passed by, people came over and gave words of solace. Mom needed that. She was still oh so very broken, she tried not to show it though. We prayed the rosary for Grandma for nine days.

Not only did I have to put up with my own crying but also with relatives. I hated hearing everyone's voice tremble. I hated watching everybody's posture bend.

As days passed by, everything went back to normal. Well at least it felt like it. In reality everyone is still torn up.