I’m 13 years old. I would tell you my name, but being new here, I don’t know if I can trust you all to that extent yet. Normally, I post poems that reflect how I feel at the moment, or how I felt throughout the day, but right now I’d like to get a few things off my chest. I’ve told a few of my friends some of this before, but no one knows all of it at its worst. I feel as though I can trust all of you with at least this, even if I don’t know you. So here it goes.
When I was little my grandparents lived only a few blocks away, and my parents tried to convince me to visit them as often as possible. I refused as often as possible. I don’t know why, but I always hated going there. I only ever enjoyed going there when my cousin went to and we would have a sleepover. I would only ever play with her when we did that, and I didn’t really pay attention to my grandparents.
Boy do I regret that now.
Whenever I refused my dad (as they were his parents) would say “you know they won’t be here forever. You should spend more time with them.” But I didn’t. I never did. I never wanted to. I thought I had plenty of time. Years and years and years and years. But I didn’t. I only had a few years.
My grandparents moved from their house a few blocks away to a motor home in my backyard, and they planned on going down to Georgia for the winter every year. Even after my grandparents moved into my yard, I still didn’t visit them often. Making up excuses such as being too busy, having too much homework, etc.
Winter came around(I cant remember if it was the first or second winter when it happened) and tragedy struck. My grandpa became sick. I didn’t visit them often, so I didn’t even know what had happened. All I remember is waking up one morning and there being ambulances and police cars scattering my yard, driveway, and even a few in the street. I held in tears all morning. My mom told me what happened afterwards at the bus stop because i had asked her not to tell me yet because i didnt want to cry in front of my grandpa (I knew there was something wrong yet i just didnt know what exactly).
We had state testing at school that day. I had just finished when I was called down to the office. I knew what it was. He was either dead,or almost dead. I met my younger brother half way down the hall.
Oh God, my brother. He was so little. My grandpa couldn’t leave now. His birthday was in a few months! He had to stay he just HAD to, but he didn’t he didn’t stay. I left the hospital that night and i remember my dad said he was going to stay a little longer. I said goodbye to my dad and my exact words were “Tell grandpa I love him, and give him a hug for me.”
I went to the hospital every day until he passed (which was that Sunday and if I remember correctly he was put int he hospital on thursday). I was glad that on Saturday I had gotten the courage to go into his room and see him one last time, but afterwards I went back home and saw a picture of him. He looked so healthy and happy. His hands weren’t purple. He was standing, smiling.
Now, I regret every time I said I didn’t want to visit him, every moment I didn’t spend with him. I wish I could go back and change everything. But I can’t. Now I need to remember that he wouldn’t want to see me cry over him. He would want me to be happy. I need to stay strong. Stay strong for him.
But sometimes it’s too much. Bullies at school, my awful luck of breaking a bone while still healing from my last break, parents yelling. Theres too much stress. To much sadness. Sometimes I just cant take it. I cut. I wish I didn’t, but it’s how I cope sometimes. One of my friends told me to tell an adult, to get help. But if my parents found out they’d be mad, so mad that I would do something like that. A therapist would piss me off. After people found out, I would be bullied. I just can’t. I need to do this on my own.