By Serena O.
It was a Saturday. My best friend, Jessica had called to ask to have me spend the night. My mom agreed. Some hours later, I was packed and ready to go. My mom dropped me off. As usual, the two moms talked.
Jessica and I did the normal things we did whenever we spent the night at one another's house. We played in her room and went on the computer. Day soon became night and it was time for bed.
The next day, we hung out a little bit. I was already dark when my dad picked me up. After coming home, we went to abuela's house. In spanish, 'abuela' means grandma. My mom smiled at me when I walked in the door.
There were many people there. I wondered what was going on. My mom took me by the hand and led me to the room that was never used and sat me on the bed. She kneeled down. I knew something was wrong.
We were supposed to celebrate four holidays: Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's and his birthday. My grandpa had died. I knew he was in the hospital because I was old enough to visit the room.
I cried that night. There were five of us in my sister's Alexis' room. Herself, my sister Grace, and my cousins Hannah and Ciara. All of them thinking it was Ciara when one of them asked how many wanted to go to bed.
I was in sixth grade then. When the obituary came out, my teacher gave me her sympathy and a hug. I'm in eighth grade now, two years since the death. Sometimes we go the cold, lonely mausoleum. And my mind wanders to the sixth grade moment.