I’m Sorry Grandma
“One, two, three,” we yelled as my sisters and I squeezed each other’s hands and jumped into the pool. As we leaped into the pool and water jumped out, the vibration of our jump shook for blocks. We turned towards the old wooden door, as we heard the creek and my grandmother’s voice before seeing her. “I dun told y'all bout jumping off that pool, hear”, grandma fussed. The pool was no deeper than three feet but grandma was always so paranoid. “Sorry Grandma we forgot”, we lied in unison. “Y’all aint forgot nun, come get your supper before it gets cold”, Grandma demanded. “Yes Grandma” we obeyed. As I walked through the old hallways of Grandma’s house which now had the aroma of freshly baked chicken, homemade butter biscuits, candy yams, and macaroni and cheese my stomach smiled. I then smelt something that I didn’t see on the counter, it smelt like cinnamon. It must’ve been dessert, me and my sister raced to the oven noticing an apple pie baked to perfection. My sisters and I then argued over who’d get the first piece, because at 7 years old, no piece is as good as the first one. Grandma always made dessert with dinner, something my momma never had the time or patience to do. The greatest debate came about when it was time to be seated; we all wanted the seat closest to grandma. My younger sister and I began pulling the chair back and forth until it finally wobbled, fell and broke. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM” the shattered pieces hitting the floor made the house roar. Grandma looked over after hearing the commotion and yelled “Y’all done broke granny’s chair”. Tears came to both me and my sister’s eyes because of the seriousness and anger in grandma’s voice. “Sorry Grandma, we didn’t mean to break it,” we pleaded. Grandma turned away and didn’t reply, I felt little and ashamed, I knew how much grandma loved her hand carved antique chairs. My grandma was always tough but it was the type of toughness in which her love overpowered her nagging words. The bass in grandma’s voice could travel for miles and make any child squeal, however her tone of voice was something I had learned to appreciate.

Nine years later, sitting in my 7th period class it was as quiet as a church mouse; I was rushing to finish my Algebra exam with only eight questions left to go. A dean assistant then walked in making all heads turn and by the look on my Math teacher, Mrs. Stock’s face, she was furious. “We’re in the middle of an exam Miss, whatever it is I’m sure it could’ve waited”, Mrs. Stocks said nearly screaming. The dean assistant handed Mrs. Stocks the note, then left the class with an embarrass look on her face. I looked over at my teacher as she read the note and she looked back at me. I then had a nasty gut feeling that I was in trouble. I suddenly developed a feeling that made my stomach uneasy and my palms sweaty, what had I done this time? As I finished the last questions, I handed her the scantron and before she even took it out of my hand she said lightly, “Gather your things and go see your dean Miss Taylor”. “Why”, I questioned “I didn’t do anything”. Mrs. Stocks never replied she just pointed towards the door. Walking down the hallway I couldn’t think of a time I was in the dean’s office for something that was rewarding. I was a troubled student and all my visits to the dean’s office ended in a suspension or detention, my nervousness began to make my heart race.
As I turned the corner I saw my dean along with my momma and three sisters. I went into defense, “I didn’t do anything, why did you call my mom again”, I protested. My dean took my books out of my hand and said gently “Have a seat Miss Taylor”. “I don’t wanna have a seat Mr. Walery, how about you have a seat.” I shot back. My mom dropped her head to hide her face that was stained of tears that left permanent stains on her make-up. My big sister looked towards me and began to sob louder. I looked back at my dean then back at my mom and at that point, I knew I wasn’t in trouble. My body began to warm up, my eyes felt heavy, my cheeks felt wet, I was crying, I knew that something was wrong and it went further than just me skipping class. My mom finally held her head slightly and said “Its Grandma.” I felt my body tense as I embraced the words in the pattern and tone that I had heard only once before. My momma struggled for a couple moments to reproduce the words that hurt like knives to a wound. I went numb and deaf; I didn’t hear anything after “its grandma” because I knew what “It” was. My youngest sister looked towards me to finally finish my momma’s statement "It’s okay sissy Grandma is with Grandpa now,” My little sister said joyfully. I’m guessing that was the way my mom had explained it to her, in the only way she’d understand. I don’t think she knew exactly what that meant since my grandfather had passed long before she was born. I would’ve taken any suspension or disciplinary action over those words any day. My Grandma had died that morning. What seemed like days, but was only 30mins later, we joined the rest of my family at the hospital. As we walked up the concrete stairs to the second floor, my body began to get heavy. We walked in military style unison, our faces covered with pain and confusion. As we turned to room 2038 the last room in the corner on the 2nd floor, my heart skipped a beat. Turning the nob, entering the room, seeing my grandmother’s favorite Kenneth Cole sneakers hang out from underneath the blanket that covered her lifeless body, I blacked out only awaking to my mother’s screams. As I stood about 8 feet away from my grandmother’s body, I cried. I cried because for the first time in my life I wanted my grandmother to fuss, I wanted my grandmother to complain about me being a cry-baby, and I wanted my grandmother to tell momma she didn’t have to cry. I felt alone, in the room full of people I felt like it was just me and grandma, and she had to get up. I collapsed, with only the support of my cousin’s arms I could stand. I cried “Grandma, please I’m sorry”, but my grandma didn’t flinch. I looked over and saw my dad, who had the look of a frightened child on his face. No more than twenty minutes later, a woman dressed in a bright yellow nurse jumpsuit came in and said “Sorry for you loss, my prayers are with you and your family” my uncle shook her hand. She continued “We’ll allow ten more minutes and we’ll have to ask you all to relocate to our family room.” “Yes, Ma’am” replied my uncle, the only person who was able to speak. My family all gathered hands and said a final prayer around my grandma’s body. That was the last time I saw my grandma. I live my life as if my grandma was alive and still watching me. I haven’t gotten into much trouble since then; I want her to rest peacefully and not have anything else to fuss about.