Personal Narrative: Home

I sat in the lobby of Presbyterian/St. Luke’s Medical Center, a hospital located in the heart of Denver. My mom sat next to me and her three sisters next to her as we patiently awaited the results. Waiting in that lobby was a long and uncertain moment for me; I had never experienced such a time in my life. The doctors could either come out with bad news or good news or no news at all, but I didn’t know, and I needed to know. I had so many questions too, questions that I wanted to ask so badly but if I did no-one in that lobby with me could possibly know the answer. When my grandpa came out of the back followed by two doctors he glanced around the room, acknowledging his family in the lobby, and then briskly walked to a chair, sat down and stared

As I nailed the boards together to create a piece of the framing he looked into my face which was sullen as it had been for the past year. “What’s up grandpa?” I asked in an annoyed tone. “Nothing hijo, let’s finish up for today and head home.” So we did, but while loading the tools into the truck he turned towards me and asked, “Why don’t you laugh anymore?” he paused, “Or smile?” “Are you not happy anymore?” I looked at him, clearly shocked and I didn’t know how to respond. The sweat glistened off of my furrowed brow as my brain searched for a quick riposte to his criticism. “I don’t know grandpa, I’m happy, look I’m happy right now,” I smiled attempting to hide my discontent. “You have a whole life ahead of you,” he said in a concerned tone, “and it’s going to be a good one, but you only get one chance. You shouldn’t waste such a life being sad and mad at the world,” he concluded. He looked to me for a response but I didn’t have one. I was clearly impacted and at that time it was terribly hard to get through to me. He smiled and we got in the truck to go home but it stayed in my mind for a

I thought about all my experiences with them. How they bettered me as a person and how much my grandparents have done for me. Even though it was my grandpa that talked to me then and my grandma that was in the hospital bed now it didn’t matter. I saw them as a team, I still see them as a team. In reality my grandparents saved me from depression, they taught me how to deal with my emotions and the value of hard work. They taught me so many things and now they were in harm’s way and there was nothing I could do. That feeling of helplessness took me back to those days when I didn’t have the advice from my grandparents; when I didn’t spend enough time with them and in an instant I wanted that time back. The thought of my grandmother being sick with cancer was my worst nightmare. It was more terrifying than every horror movie in my life combined, than an axe murderer coming into my room while I was sleeping, and it turned out to be true. When I saw my grandpa’s eyes I knew that my grandmother had been diagnosed and I remembered my grandpa’s words concerning my life, “…you only get one chance.” That philosophy was a giant stone protruding from the center of the room, as prevalent as it ever could be. I had one life and one life would never be enough time with my