The world is a real-life paradox, devised of joys and sorrows. If today we are exultant, tomorrow we may be miserable and vice versa. There are times when life appears to be radiating with success, everything seems to be decked in glistening joy, while there are some instances when life becomes so sad that they leave a trace of it for the rest of our lives.
The most appalling day of my life was the day I watched my grandpa die.
April 21, 2015, the only date that I can remember, and the only day experienced in which I can vividly recall. I was laying down on my bed looking onto the dark sky. The endless amount of stars were flawlessly laid on top of the dark blue sky while encompassing the violet swirls. Although this moment looked perfect, there was still something in me doubting its existence. I began to have a feeling, that I have never felt before-I felt my heart clench leaving me in great agony.
Being the person that I am, sleeping for the duration of the night was not an option, a move of a muscle could wake me up. Several hours into the night, I heard a small wheeze from the hall that I chose to ignore. Moments afterward, that small wheeze became more deafening eventually developing into agonizing and distressing coughs. I got up hesitantly, every step I took towards the door my legs trembled like they were made of thin sticks. Finally, as I reached the gleaming silver doorknob of my bedroom, I heard a rush of synchronized footsteps thumping against the cold marble floors of the hallway towards the room right next to mine- grandpa’s room. I froze as the frantic footsteps came to an abrupt halt, my right hand was still touching the warm doorknob and my left ear was against the cold fiberglass door. Fear became a tangible, supernatural force that slithered over me like a snake, paralyzing me- my brain, holding me hostage. Although I could still hear the muffled agonizing shrieks of my mother, my brain was still frozen. Steadily as my brain began to regain its function, I instinctively started to open my bedroom door.
I gazed over to see my parents and my grandpa in great anguish. My mother was pacing around the hallway speaking to the 911 dispatcher in a low screechy voice as if she is trying to hold back her tears, her hazel colored pupils were fixed and dilated and her eyes were moist. She could no longer able to control the movements of her hand; they were shaking in a bizarre twitching rhythm. My dad was on his knees on the floor, next to my grandpa who was laying down on the beige marble floor. My father had death-like eyes, bare of all emotions; while he desperately tried to intubate and perform CPR on my grandaddy in order for him to clasp his breath and regain his consciousness. Like any other nine year old, I would undoubtedly shriek from watching this horrid scene, but I didn’t. I couldn’t scream. I could only open my mouth to discover that even words had deserted me.
There was a long pause. My father stopped trying to save my grandpa’s life, and my mother stood there in disbelief. She was paralyzed on the spot, the menacing feeling of denial was holding her in a consolidating grip. My father’s face was blank-emotionless, but his eyes were full of grief. I felt an immense sadness in my heart, that moment was when I understood that never again my grandfather would be with me. I have experienced pain in which I have never until this day experienced. My body began to act to what is defined as a panic attack. As I walked toward my mother every step I took droplets of water slung down my face, and onto the gleaming floor. In the distance, I could discern the defining sounds of wailing sirens, but it was too late, grandaddy had already died.
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