Reconstruction of Memory - Amaris Ortiz

I was only in seventh grade when my mom picked me up after school to go straight to the hospital. This time it seemed more serious than others, but I didn’t fully understand the circumstances. Not even a few days later, my oldest brother, Jesse, got a call from our family members that were at the hospital. I remember responding to him as he yelled my name with an attitude. I was annoyed by him rushing me to come to his room, without thinking of a reason why he would want me to run.

My mom wanted my two brothers and I to come say bye to my grandpa. I didn’t begin to cry. Instead, I grabbed a tastykake and got in the car with my aunt, who would drive us to the hospital. She tried to talk to us about our day and have a casual conversation, and I still wasn’t fully aware of what I had to say when I got to the hospital. Looking into the hospital room, I saw a few of my aunts and uncles standing around the hospital bed where my grandpa was laying down. They stepped aside for my brother Seth and I to come in. My brother must’ve went first because I remember being in the room when he started to speak. Whenever I recount what happened that day, I hear Seth’s voice in my head, “Uh grandpa… this is Seth… I love you.” I followed up just by telling him I loved him. I had never lost a loved one before, let alone have to figure out a way to say goodbye. When I turned back around to look at him after leaving the room, I felt like I was falling apart. The tears that were streaming down my face wouldn’t stop. Whether I went back inside to make another remark or stayed outside crying, there was nothing I could do or say that would change him being gone forever. Saying goodbye to someone makes you think about everything you could have done before that moment to appreciate them more, but it was just too late.