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The Day My World Was Shattered

You never know what day is going to be their last... you just never expect it to come so soon.

By C. ReyesPublished 6 years ago 11 min read
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Photo by Roman Averin 

“Sorry for your loss…” I’ve always hated when people say that crap at funerals. Of course you’re sorry, someone just died. I mean what is that? As if I didn’t already feel terrible and unhappy for the death of the most important person in my life. I don’t mean to be rude, and of course I accept every stupid “sorry” from people who want to express their sympathy for my family and me, but Jesus Christ it just makes me feel worse. Sorry, I don’t exactly know how to deal with grief. I’m working on it, okay?

My grandpa was the only one in my family I really ever cared about. Sure, my grandma was an angel and I had some pretty okay uncles and aunts and cousins, but my grandpa was the one who raised me. I guess he felt that he needed to do something because he knew my deadbeat dad and drug-addicted mother weren’t going to do too much good. What a blessing, right?

Everyone who knew him either had a funny memory to share or gratitude to give; he never said no to someone in need, no matter how much it would financially or physically hinder him. One year for a school carnival he had built a booth, but in the process of cutting down the trees to make the booth he got stung by a bunch of bees… I felt horrible, but he brushed it off like it was nothing. My family members always loved coming to our house just to be in his company. “Fun” is never a good enough term to describe Grandpa.

Not only was he a hoot to be around, he was the wisest, most gentle person I knew. When any parent would have scolded me for getting into trouble, he sat me down and spoke to me like a human being. He had a way of talking to you about your mistakes that made you want to change your ways from then on, without making you feel bad about yourself. He never had to raise his voice and he always got his point across and still had you heeding his advice.

Granddad taught me everything I know. He would take me fishing and hunting, he taught me how to shoot and how to drive a stick shift. We’d spend hours upon hours at the gun range after he had me falling in love with shooting. He showed me the importance of keeping your word and the significance of helping people who can’t give you anything in return. He was a man of God and a gentleman with every girl and woman he came across. All the important lessons in life came from my grandfather, and I will be forever grateful for his existence. He was just the best man I knew.

But… Sometimes those good qualities will get you into bad situations, and no matter how good you are bad people are still bad people. And I don’t think he was ever able to wrap his mind around that.

It had been the coldest winter we had gotten in a few years. As usual Grandpa was out in the yard chopping a bunch of wood for the fireplace. He always wanted to be prepared, so he was chopping a lot of wood. Grandma and I were several yards away on the porch drinking hot chocolate and trying to decide what we were going to do for dinner and what movie we would watch. I had talked them into getting Netflix, and although my grandpa was a little hesitant to introduce himself to the Internet, it wasn’t long until he was binge watching all the action movies Netflix had to offer. Anyway, Grandma and I were hanging out waiting for him, and as he was finishing up, a truck pulled up. Two guys looking for directions, they claimed they were from out of town and couldn’t find their way to a gas station, and were practically running on fumes.

Gramps, being Gramps, told them “I got some gas I keep in the shed for occasions like this, let me go ahead and grab that for you so you have enough to get to the station. It’s about 10-15 miles from here.”

They seemed so grateful, saying, “Gee that means a lot to us sir, thank you.”

They all walked to the shed together.

Now me, being me, I’ve always had a bit of a sixth sense for people who weren’t as genuine as they looked. Something told me things didn’t add up with these strangers. So I told Grandma I didn’t feel right, and followed the three to our shed. Far enough so they didn’t see me, close enough so I could still hear anything they’d be talking about. Sure enough… my gut was right.

The first guy who got out of the truck and spoke to Grandpa was a skinny bearded redhead who had a bit of a limp. His friend, who was much bigger than Guy #1, had broad shoulders, and a big baldhead. You could tell he was the muscle.

Guy #1 was making small talk with Grandpa while Guy #2 kept quiet and constantly looked around. Guy #1 then started asking weird questions like, “This looks is a pretty big property, you got any cameras up to keep track of your animals?”

He simply replied, “Nah I don’t get along with technology, I’m old fashioned that way.” They all chuckled.

Then things got stranger as he inquired about his financial choices.

“You old fashioned in the way you save money too? My folks never put a cent in the bank, always kept their earnings stashed away in the house.”

It was then that Grandpa started getting suspicious, so he asked, “What are you boys in town for?”

They just grinned and responded, “Oh nothing really. Just travelling through.”

I could tell Gramps didn’t like the way the atmosphere was shifting, so he picked up the 20-gallon container of gas and handed it to Guy #2.

“There ya go, you boys should be set with that.” Guy #1 suddenly became offended. “Whoa, you said you would give us just enough to get to the nearest gas station, now you’re giving us the whole thing? You trying to get rid of us, old man?”

“No, I’m just helping you is all, I wouldn’t want you to die down somewhere,” he replied.

Things escalated quickly after that.

“If you’re so eager to help, why don’t you go in that house and get us all the cash you got. I know how you country folks are; you don’t like the idea of banks. So here’s what you can do. Go in there, get that cash for us, don’t tell the Missus and we’ll just be on our way,” it was the first time I really heard Guy #2 speak more than a few words.

At this point Grandpa had changed his body language from friendly to defensive. “How about this. You guys get the hell back in your truck while I still let you do that, and we’ll call it a day.”

My heart was racing. I always carried my firearm with me, especially when there were strangers on our property. I never had to fire it at anyone… until that day.

Redhead and Big Head just laughed. They hit him, and before I knew it Grandpa was on the ground from Guy #2’s right hook. I started running toward them with a gun being pointed to me. Natural reflex from all the hours Pops and I spent at the range caused me to draw my own firearm. He shot once and missed, I returned fire. He took one in the shoulder and to my surprise fired one into my grandpa’s chest. More bullets spit out from my gun to both of them and they both fell. I dropped to my grandpa’s side and it was at this point that my grandma had come running to us. My tears blurred the sight of his face. I could feel the blood on his hands from trying to put pressure on his wound and I could hear the shakiness in his voice.

Looking back I don’t really remember hearing the gunshot that got my grandfather, as I was so occupied with the sound of my own shots. I can’t remember what he was trying to say to me either. I do remember is my grandmother sobbing over her husband of 50 something years. I remember his grip on my hand so tight and then all of a sudden it wasn’t. He was no longer there. He was gone, faster than I could react to… Two bad guys looking to make a quick buck shattered my world. In return I shattered theirs.

The sheriff showed up thirty minutes later and got our statements. The coroner came by ten minutes after that to collect the bodies. I begged and pleaded with them like a crazy person not to take my grandfather away. Grandma had to hold me back while she was trying to hold herself together. It was the worst night of both our lives.

The funeral was held at our home, just like Grandpa wanted it. He always wanted to be buried under the oak tree on our land a few acres from the house. He and Grams made me promise to bury them there, together, when it was their time. But that’s what put me in such a crappy mood; it wasn’t his time. He had a lot more life in him and it was taken from him in the blink of an eye. But he always told me the only place he’s going is under that oak tree.

“This house is yours when we’re gone, because I need you to come visit me every day. You’re the only one I can count on,” he’d say.

I couldn’t help but be angry with him at first. Now whom was I going to count on? So many thoughts ran through my head during the funeral. Why did you have to be so nice and generous? Why couldn’t you have just given them directions and make them go away? How could you not have sensed they were up to no good? What am I going to do without you?

Everyone came; even my mother who hadn’t come to visit us in… I don’t even know how many years it had been. She only came around when she wanted something, which always made me so angry because Grandpa never refused her. Every single time she’d show up and act like she cared, she’d leave in the middle of the night after she got what she wanted. And I’d ask him why he even bothered when he knew what she was going to do.

“It’s my job to take care of my family. What she does with my help is not my choice. There’s nothing else I can say to her that’ll make her stop from leaving. You just gotta let ‘em go and hope they return safely.”

I wish I were as forgiving as he was. I barely spoke to her. I barely spoke to anyone. The house filled with his family and friends, all whom I didn’t care to mingle with. The only person I wanted to talk to was laying in a casket…

Let’s get back to my poor way of processing grief. The last “sorry for your loss” I could handle had me storming out of the house, running to the big oak he was about to be buried under. It was a perfect day, full of sunshine and a cool breeze. Only it wasn’t perfect at all. My grandma told me it was Grandpa giving us such great weather for his day to be laid to rest; he would be the type to want his family to not go through a lot of trouble trying to bury him in the rain, but I was still too upset to see any positive in the day. I ran all the way up to the tree and screamed through my tears. I knew this day would come, I just didn’t think it would come so soon. He was always there to save me; from my parents, from myself, and the horse that almost kicked my head clear off. He was my best friend…

Anyone would probably feel good about getting the guys who hurt and killed his or her most important human, except I wasn’t. I didn’t care too much for revenge, and I didn’t think there was any justice in it. The justice would have let me keep my grandpa after such a horrible altercation with those intruders either behind bars or exactly where they are right now. No, I didn’t feel good about having experienced that kind of event. I just want my grandpa back. I know that’s impossible, but if you knew him, you’d feel the same way. The most significant thing in your life has just been snatched away. Your heart has been ripped from your chest and stepped on. You’d feel every bit of hurt as well. You’d be devastated beyond all recognition.

You’d be… sorry for your loss.

grief
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About the Creator

C. Reyes

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