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Description
Dear Friends
I am in grief.
My grandfather died on Saturday the Twenty-Fourth of September in the year Two Thousand Eleven, Anno Domini, from Pancreatic Cancer.
I was in the car with my cousin's family when I found out. And after Aunt Jess told us kids, we went to El Sombrero where my seven-year-old cousin Olivia had a conversation in perfect Spanish with the waitress.
Then we went to the house, where he was laid out on the bed. I only lasted a minute of viewing, before I left the room and went behind the house to hyperventilate. The thing that disturbed me the most was not the air of death or the fact that he was yellow in skin tone, it was the fact that his mouth was open. I don't know why, it just made me ill.
We spent the day with family. All of John's kids were there with their families, as well as my cousins and my mother. We ate food, shared stories, and then shot off illegal fireworks on the beach in memoriam.
I went home with my cousins, because my mother was remaining at my grandmother's house, where I could not bear to be. We spent the next day in the Kitsap Mall, and then my uncle Andy took me to my own house, while giving me a Rock History Quiz by the radio, which I'm pretty sure I failed.
Then we returned to my grandmothers house, where the Anger part of grieving came into play.
Then, this morning, we came home, and here I sit, typing this letter for the world to see. I am not in school today, I will return tomorrow. I ask not for pity, but for understanding that I will not be myself for quite some time and perhaps will never be quite the same as I was.
The process of bereavement is a long one, and it is a journey I will not be able to make without support.
-Z

Description
Dear Friends
I am in grief.
My grandfather died on Saturday the Twenty-Fourth of September in the year Two Thousand Eleven, Anno Domini, from Pancreatic Cancer.
I was in the car with my cousin's family when I found out. And after Aunt Jess told us kids, we went to El Sombrero where my seven-year-old cousin Olivia had a conversation in perfect Spanish with the waitress.
Then we went to the house, where he was laid out on the bed. I only lasted a minute of viewing, before I left the room and went behind the house to hyperventilate. The thing that disturbed me the most was not the air of death or the fact that he was yellow in skin tone, it was the fact that his mouth was open. I don't know why, it just made me ill.
We spent the day with family. All of John's kids were there with their families, as well as my cousins and my mother. We ate food, shared stories, and then shot off illegal fireworks on the beach in memoriam.
I went home with my cousins, because my mother was remaining at my grandmother's house, where I could not bear to be. We spent the next day in the Kitsap Mall, and then my uncle Andy took me to my own house, while giving me a Rock History Quiz by the radio, which I'm pretty sure I failed.
Then we returned to my grandmothers house, where the Anger part of grieving came into play.
Then, this morning, we came home, and here I sit, typing this letter for the world to see. I am not in school today, I will return tomorrow. I ask not for pity, but for understanding that I will not be myself for quite some time and perhaps will never be quite the same as I was.
The process of bereavement is a long one, and it is a journey I will not be able to make without support.
-Z