Just talk for once, open that mouth of yours and blab on. For some, like me - cough, cough - that's the easiest thing in the world. For others not so much. I believe that it’s best to sometimes just open up and talk, to express yourself, show emotion, and communicate your greatest ideas, or even just talk about life. Talk to a trusted adult about something, whether it’s sad, happy, devastating, joyful, exciting, annoying, frustrating, just express yourself. For me I would practically die of it didn’t talk as much as I do, (even though sometimes my family likes to say I talk too much) because I wouldn’t be able to express how I feel, all my emotions would be balled up inside me like a growing bomb. And it wouldn’t be good when the bomb explodes. 

Unfortunately, I did have a bomb inside me that was ready to explode. It started to take shape when my grandma got diagnosed with cancer. This type of news to some people is the scariest thing in the world, especially if you are the person receiving this news, for me this was terrifying. But, I still talked on, expressed how scared I was for the future, how sad I was for her, how I just hoped that one day she would get better. That scary future slowly became a reality. She lost her hair, said only yes or no, and started to struggle to eat. She started to look much older than what she really was, but so did my grandpa.  My grandpa was facing too much stress, too much fear. He saw that she was forgetting things, alzheimer's had became a part of this reality. Her few words reminded me of the things she was forgetting, and the terribly fast progress of her sickness.  But, I still talked on. I talked about how there was still hope. How this wasn’t going to be the end of it, how we still had time to make things right.

However, I did stop talking once, balled up my emotions, too confused, too scared of the future, too sad to see the true reality, to talk the way I do. This happened the night where my grandparents house became too quiet for things to be normal. The night where I could only watch in silence, watch my grampa sob and cling to her cold hand saying he had just lost his everything. That night where she slipped from our grasp. Then the funeral came, along with the hugs, soft reassuring whispers, and tears, lots of tears. I had wished time would just stop, no freeze. I wished it would freeze before she knew she had the sickness when everything was fine.  With the funeral, came my silence. It was a respectful, yet painful silence. Partly for my grandma and partly for myself, so I didn’t have to face the truth.

About one day later I was that bomb, the one that exploded. Though I knew I would be a mess, I talked. I let all of my sadness out talking to my parents. But, I felt better. They were there for me and didn’t care how much I cried or how much I said I missed her, they are there for me, they let me to just talk. I was a mess,and they didn’t care. After a while all that I needed to talk about had slipped out of my mouth. Then they started talking to me, how I should look on the better things in life. My parents started talking about her amazing cookies, how fast she was

when she biked around Mackinac Island, or the long days picking the best blueberries in the world. They talked how this was for the best, that her suffering was over with. And for a moment I thought talking about this helped them too. It even helped me do one thing I thought I would never do for the longest of time; I smiled.

That was the power of just talking. Expressing yourself, or helping yourself through the hardest of moments. For me, I became the chatter box I am, very quickly after that talk. It helped me. Because of this, I believe in the power of letting loose and just expressing yourself, and you can’t do that without talking.