Death, Grief and PTSD-1998

My first experience with death happened December of 1998, christmas morning to be exact. I was 8 years old. I didn't know it at the time, but, it was the main event that would change my life forever.

I remember sitting in the living room, with my family opening presents I knew we couldn't afford but by some miracle here they were. "Christmas magic" my mother called it. My Aunt came over, pulled my dad aside and talked to him quietly. Christmas day continued as if nothing had happened.

Later that evening I saw my dad in his room, sitting on his bed and staring at a picture of my grandpa. He was quiet but I saw him shed a single tear. A reaction I had never seen from him before. It was then that I knew grandpa had died and no one told me. Don't ruin Christmas for the kids I guess.

A while later, I was in the kitchen; mom and brother at the table and I standing on a chair getting a cup from the cupboard. Without thought or hesitation, I turned and said "Did grandpa die?" Mom said yes and asked how I knew. I told her I saw dad with a picture and he looked really sad. Nothing else was said about it.

The funeral was a week or so later. Mom asked if I wanted to go, or stay with my friend. I chose staying with my friend like most 8 year olds would. It's a decision I instantly regretted. 1998 was a time before cell phones so even though I changed my mind about going, there was nothing to be done. For the next couple hours I sat at the kids table, in my friends kitchen and cried.

Christmas was my grandfather's favorite holiday. It's been 26 years. I can still smell the fudge pops burried deep in the freezer. I can still here him laughing and yelling my name as he turned down his hearing aid, sitting in his rocking chair as I came running through the room.

Christmas will never be the same and I still apologize to grandpa every time I attend a funeral.