Poppy, he was one of the greatest in my life. I've always looked up to him. He would do everything, as in helping with the choir, and meetings at church. When I came to visit him, at his house, he'd do yard-work and house work. He would help with anything, like the computer, or reading; sometimes even piano, and he always played tricks on me. Sometimes he'd pretend to be asleep, and I would try to sneak up on him, until his eyes flashed open, then I'd jump back in fright! What I liked most about him was how often he said, "I love you." He was such a great grandfather. Everything was perfect until that dreadfully, horrible day, June 23, 2008. "At 3:00 this morning, Poppy died," said my dad. I stood frozen except for my gushing tears. About 15 seconds later, I walked into my room and laid on my bed. I dug my face into my pillow and cried my heart out.
I had a tough day at school since the death of my grandfather had just recently occurred.
I was nearly depressed throughout the day. During Math, Science, Social Studies, Language Arts, and Reading, I was as blue as Neptune; even at recess I was down.
Fortunately, my mother was by his side during his death, and as I thought of how fortunate I was, not to see him die with my poor, own eyes, I began to cry as I wished I could see my grandpa at least once before he passed. The only thing that cheered me up, a tad bit, was thinking that at least I saw him on his 70th birthday, on June 1st., three weeks before he died.
Silently, I celebrated the end of the day, where I had the safe, reliable, comfort of my bed. I laid on my back, in my warm bed, and cleared my mind from homework completely. As my throat began to swell up again, my helpless, little eyes, gave way and I muttered to myself, "Why?"