I’ll never forget the moment I found out what happened to my grandfather. It must have been early February of 2024 I know it was after my birthday but before the spring play. That day is etched in my memory. It was a warmer than usual February day, at least 50 degrees. My sister’s boyfriend had stayed over, and we were all in the living room. They had slept on the couch, and when I came downstairs, I remember thinking it must have been a Sunday.
Leading up to that day, my grandfather had started showing signs that something was wrong. He had gotten lost while driving, hit my uncle’s car, and crashed into the lamppost in our front yard. That’s when we got Life360. I think I still have a picture of his license plate on my phone—just in case of another emergency. After his car was taken away, my dad started spending more time with him, driving him around when he needed to go somewhere.
One early afternoon, my dad took him to a social club they were members of. To make a long story short, my grandfather fell and hit his head. My dad wanted to call an ambulance or at least get him checked out, but my grandfather assured him he was fine. He wasn’t.
I didn’t know any of this yet, but I could feel that something was off that morning. Normally, if we had company, we’d all be up making breakfast or at least having coffee. If not, my dad and I would go visit my grandparents. But that morning, it was like the whole house had paused.
My sister took me and her boyfriend out to get bagels on Main Street. I don’t remember if we were walking there or back, but for some reason, I picture us near a parking garage. That’s when she turned to me and said, “I know I was told not to tell you this, but Grandpa got into an accident. He’s in the hospital right now. I don’t want you to find out the hard way, so I wanted to tell you. That’s why the house feels different.”
Even though I didn’t react much in the moment, those words were like the first raindrops of a storm that would eventually put my match out. I remember pretending to be indifferent, telling myself it would all be fine. But deep down, I wanted to curl up and disappear. I was also angry—angry that she told me in front of her boyfriend. I just wanted to get home and be in my safe space.
When we got back, my mom was outside, smoking a cigarette with a cup of coffee in hand. She was wearing her gray robe and slippers—a familiar sight, the way most spring mornings looked for her. I went out back and sat in front of her. I don’t remember exactly how the conversation went, but I had to tell her I knew. I could tell she felt I deserved to know, but at the same time, she didn’t want to worry me.
A small part of me hoped she’d say it wasn’t true, that it was some kind of sick joke my sister had played on me. But the look in her eyes told me otherwise.
Time seemed to slow. The cigarette smoke flickered in the sunlight, her phone screen replaying the same video over and over. The scent of coffee mixed with the morning dew. I caught myself picking at my finger and sucking my top lip—a nervous habit I must have inherited from her.
Still, I told her I understood, that I wasn’t worried. Then I went inside. I don’t think I ever told my dad that I already knew—not until he told me himself. When he finally did, I didn’t act surprised. I didn’t interrupt. I just listened and let him tell me in his own way.
I don’t remember much about the days that followed. I went to school and tried to shove the thoughts to the bottom of my book bag, pretending they weren’t there.
That’s all I’m writing for now. I guess I’ll continue later. This is kind of like therapy—my way of expressing myself without having to say it all out loud.
Thomas’s Life through words 