My Grandfather's Life: Death Can Positively Impact Your Life

Death cannot positively impact your life. When my grandfather passed away this summer, I had believed that. Lost in the foreign state of Washington, consoled only by my distant relatives, I learned of his afflictions. For a while, I bathed in numbness and could not seem to understand exactly what mortality was. I would wait all day to receive another update on my grandfather's health, only to be disheartened by the news. Anxiety riddled and restless, I wandered the world with sunken eyes and a quivering voice. Despite being unrelated by blood, I had known him most of my life. He was dying, and although we had never been close, I felt like a part of me was dying with him. Afraid of losing a loved family member, I prepared myself for his departure.

I was roaming through the grieving process blind. Thoughts spun around in my mind; how am I not involved in my own fate? For a long time, I craved control in my life or at least a say in it. It is scary to say that I cannot run away from the world’s cold, iron fist, but I can reject the negative feelings it is associated with. Although the world is cruel and never considers me, I have the power to take unfavorable events as a challenge and not a hindrance. Dependent on the attitude you have, every day has the potential to be a positive and productive day. An individual does not have free will over his hardships, but does have the liberty of choosing to see the optimistic side of life. I wanted to take my suffering back into my hands and learn to live with the memories of a loved one and accept that that is all they are now. Albeit a memory, I loved him and cared for him the same and could not deny the reputable impact he made in my

My original grandfather had passed away many years ago and my grandmother remarried a man named Ed. He was quiet and dressed himself with a cute, wrinkled smile. When my Grandparents first married, he was cautious with boundaries as a foreign body in our lives. He would throw a ball for the family dog all day in the warm sun. In my youth, I typically did not to pay any mind to him, but as I grew more mature, I opened up. We had barbecues together in the low Oklahoma sun, country music gently flowing in the background. He would sit snugly next to my grandmother with a coca cola in his hands and tell stories of his youth. In the evenings we would all huddle in my grandparent's small living room around the television, talking about family drama and grazing over a bowl of popcorn. Grunting and sighing faintly, my grandfather would watch the news with a furrowed brow. I remembered the last time I saw him. I took a day trip to his city and stopped by. When I arrived, he opened the door confused. He did not know who I was anymore. I let myself in and in an uncomfortable silence, we watched the news for a few hours until his son returned home. Dwelling on the past was not good for me, but it reminded me of how this man wandered through my