The first day I realized that the world truly doesn’t stop for anyone was the day my grandmother died. Growing up in the booming (but dangerous) automotive state of Michigan in the 60s, she learned to be strong and confident at a young age. When I knew her, she was a very self-possessed woman—she knew exactly what she wanted. She was not a prodigy by any stretch of imagination, but one may think she were one of some sort by the way she constantly carried herself. Yet, here I was, an awkward 11-year-old suffering from one of the biggest losses anyone can deal with in life.
I had my first real date when I was 15. It was the first time that my dad had let me go out with a boy (granted, I never actually asked him up until this point). So how did this day that was supposed to be a memory I will remember forever turn into a complete disaster? Let's just dive right in.