The Day

As of late, many of my childhood experiences and memories (which have laid dormant for years) have been surfacing. I suppose having recently stabilized my life (for the moment at least), I can comfortably take a look at what has happened over the years.

The earliest memory of my childhood which has stayed with me through out the years is when my grandpa died. The reason as to why it has stayed with me through out the years is because I, just 8 (hm..) years old at the time, was the one who found him dead.

The day started like any other nice summer one, but ended in a fashion which I would never forget. On this particular starry night, me and my mother had gone to their house (grandpa and grandma's) for a casual visit and get-together.

Strangely enough, this particular night was one of the very few in which were not joined by my dad as he was away on business related trip in Northern Alberta.

As we got ready to leave their house, my grandma had been sitting in bed waiting for my grandpa to come upstairs. As we got prepared to leave we called his name a couple of times in hoping that he would come up and say goodbye, but he never did. As he had hearing troubles (from his enrolment in World War 2) and was in his power-saw workshop in the basement of all places, we had just assumed he couldn't hear us. So naturally, I told my mother and grandma that I'd go downstairs and get him.

As I got further down the stairs I continued to call his name, but there was no response. As I peaked into his workshop, I saw him laying face down on the floor with a pool of blood surrounding his head; I distinctly remember the red blood contrasting off the bleak 1950's blue coloured floor.

I yelled upstairs - "grandpa's not moving". My mother immediately ran down stairs and had realized we needed an ambulance. As my mother continued to panic, my grandma restricted to bed (as she need her respirator when walking around) sat in disbelief as we frantically charged around. She looked onwards with a straight look on her face and at that moment, I knew that she knew - I knew that she knew that he had passed on.

In a desperate act of panic, my mother ran to the neighbours (which had been good friends of my grandparents), and called 911. It turns out he died with from a stroke and likely died before his head hit the floor.

It's a night that I'll never forget. An image forever bleached into my mind. And after it happened, I refused to go into the basement alone. It scared me like nothing else.