Personal Narratives
Death of a Great Man

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"This Is The Year"
The Warehouse
Incident In Mrs. King's First Grade Class
Death of a Great Man
"Growing Up"

By Leanne F.

     I walked into that room one last time. Only this time, I carried with me a feeling of relief and finality instead of remorse. Where then was once a hospital bed, there was empty space. The folding chair and night stand were packed away in a closet somewhere.
    "What has happened to this room?" I said almost in a whisper to no one in particular. This room used to be full of life and happy memories and now its just empty.
     It seems like just yesterday I was standing in this same place looking at Grandpa for the last time.

                                        *******

    I wasn't quite awake yet; after all, it was only 4:30 in the morning. Just fifteen minutes earlier, my mom had awakened me with the words, "Leigh Anne, Grandpa's gone." At first, I didnt know what she meant. Then it hit me. 
    "Grandpa's dead?" I asked in disbelief.
    "Yes, a few minutes ago," was her reply.
    I was numb all over. I managed to walk into the room to see my grandma crying hysterically. My Aunt Linda, who had flown in from Pennsylvania, was trying to comfort her. My dad was standing on the other side of the bed looking out the window onto the fog-covered lake. I walked past my mom and saw Grandpa just lying there. He was paler than ever. It was April 17, a date I would never forget. I kissed his hand, then went back to bed. 
    I again woke up, this time to my alarm clock. After I got ready for school, I left my room and walked down the stairs just in time to answer the door. It was Smith's Funeral Home. They had come for Grandpa. I watched them go upstairs and come back down. With them they carried a stretcher with a blue, fuzzy bag. While they loaded it into the back of the van, we all stood on the front porch. All I could think of was that Grandpa was going to suffocate in that bag of theirs. Grandma was waving goodbye.
    "Goodbye, goodbye," she cried. Then she added, "Whenever Truman left in the mornings for work, I always stood on the porch and waved goodbye."
     The van drove off, and there was a dead silence. 

                               ********

     Now all that's left is an empty room. There is a gun rack of my grandfather's filled with rifles that are forever locked in a glass case. A single couch and table line another wall across from the window. I walked over to the window, maybe looking for some sort of unknown source of consolation. I wasn't quite sure what I was looking for. Whatever it was, I didnt find it.
     I closed the curtains, took one last look around, and shut the door.