April 13, 1991 continued…
That Saturday morning, we left Hilton Head. On the way back, I got more car sick then I had ever been before in my life. I threw up until there was nothing left inside of me to heave. It was a miserable ride home.
We got back in time to watch the Duke-UNLV game. Then, at the beginning of the game, we got a phone call. My grandpa died. So did my great grandma. All this happened while we were gone. Suddenly, the Duke-UNLV game didn’t matter.
My grandpa was gone. The one who always told those corny jokes. The one who always told me how beautiful I was. I would never see his bright eyes or warm face again. I would never have another grandpa. He was gone.
My dad stayed in his room. He came out later on and patted me on the shoulder. “I was just thinking about my dad,” he said. I really wanted to be able to comfort him, but I didn’t know how.
I fell asleep on the couch and woke up around 3:00 a.m. I couldn’t get back to sleep, all I could think about was Grandpa. I have to admit, I really didn’t know him very well, but I did love him. I hadn’t seen my great-grandma since I was a few months old and couldn’t remember her at all.
Some annoying singer was whining on T.V. on Showtime at the Apollo, so I shut it off and went to bed.
I woke up at about 7:00 a.m. and found an Easter basket filled with candy and a pair of Sam and Libby’s ballet flats.
Despite the wonderful presents, it was the saddest Easter ever. Dad sat in the living room, listening to classical music, and reading poetry.
Later on, I practiced my violin contest piece, and then at about 4:00 p.m., we went to the Top of the Tower in Cleveland for dinner.
