It was early one morning.

Raining.

Cold.

I was five.

My parents said everything…

Everything was going to be fine.

Well…

Parents lie.

It was Christmas. Actually.

We were at Grandpa Tom’s house.

And he was dying.

Brain cancer.

I was five.

Well, when you’re that age,

You don’t understand death.

Death is like,

“I’ll be on a vacation for the rest of my life.”

Haha.

That is actually probably

exactly what I was thinking.

Oh, Grandpa Tom isn’t waking up

for his vacation.

Now I look back on that and think,

He passed away in his bed.

And I was in his room when it happened.

I watched as his eyes closed.

I watched as his breathing stopped.

I remembered that day vividly.

Right after, Grandma Cheryl cried.

I just continued playing.

I wish I told him I loved him so much.

I wish I told him how happy I was,

that he battled cancer for four years.

But I was five.

And now… he’s gone.