“Chance! Missy!” I heard for the back door, my poppop yelling, “Get in here!” The screen door screeching behind him as the dogs followed in front. The sun, shining through the back screen door, leaving the heavier, first door, wide open. My older brother and I, watching 90s game shows in my pop pop’s dark blue, velvet-feeling recliner with our little brother sitting in between us. A calm Chincoteague, Virginia setting sun in our peripheral vision, with voices and steps in the background. I’m more interested to overhear the background, than what is playing on the television. “Cash!” I hear, “Get over here!” Thinking, to myself, who’s Cash? “Dad!” I heard my aunt say from the living room, his name is Chance!” Hearing my family laugh amongst themselves in the other room, I decided to get up and join them. I see my grandfather having an ice cold glass of Pepsi given to him by my grandmother, sitting in an upright rocking chair, grabbing, the drink from her hands with a subtle, “thank you” given to her. His hands shaking, bringing it up to his lips, always wondering, why his hands would always shake like that? Later to find out it was his Essential Tremors. Admiring this view of him, sitting next to my mother’s side, with the huge air vent in the floor, behind him, separating the bathroom for the living room. It hurting like hell to step on it barefoot.
The long hallway room at the end of the house. A door that goes to the backyard on the left wall and a table meant for breakfast and newspapers right before it. At the very corner of the room, his giant velvet blue reclining chair and flat screen tv with his white new balance brand looking shoes next to him. A couch to the left of his chair, the family would sit there. If you were lucky, you would be able to find a spot on his chair on his lap, With as many grand children that could fit on it with him, watching 90s nickelodeon tv game shows. Occasionally getting up, when he asked one of us to put the dogs on the leash and let them outside. May 2nd, 2006. One of my aunts, (that i’m closest with) pulls into my driveway in the afternoon, with her friend in the passenger seat. “Hi Aunt Chris!” “Not now, where’s your mother?” I was taken aback by this, since she usually greets with me with a more loving tone in her voice. I tell her that my mother was on the third floor of the house, taking care of my little brother. She races up the stairs, and has my mommom follow. She lives with us, follow her up the stairs.My aunt’s friend, Stephanie, took me into another room on the second floor of the house, in my parents bedroom. All of a sudden I heard incredible screeches from the room above me, saying,”Oh my God” “Why” “Why God, why?” and all around just pure screams coming from that room. I start panicking. When you hear your mom in such a state of hysteric, you automatically think the worst, My mind went straight to my dad. He is a police officer in the City of Chester. Where is he? He went to work didn’t he? Why is he not back? Is he okay? Did he get shot and killed? He must of. I think my dad is dead. I start crying a great deal of emotion, screaming and crying. However, I’m still very greatful to this day, that Stephanie, who was with me, reassured me that my dad was okay over and over. My mom called both me and my brother up to the room upstairs. I left Stephanie's side and bolted up the stairs to see my mom. I look around the basketball themed room with the slanted roof, and I see my aunt, my mom, and my grandmother with blotchy faces and tears dried on their faces. My mom sat me down on her lap, and carefully explained to me that my poppop had a heart attack earlier that night and died suddenly. I couldn’t help to be relieved that it wasn’t my own dad, but hearing that your pop pop had died was not something you want to hear either. I started crying, immediately questioning the how and whys? The funeral was lead up to the front door, by a fake looking grass ramp. Staring it down uncomfortably as my mother explained to me, with tear strained eyes that, “pop pop's body is going to look like he is sleeping in a box, but he is up in heaven forever now.” Me and my cousins stayed in the car at the burial, but was forced to come out of the car at the last bit, because he loved his grandkids so much, he would've wanted it that way. This was the first day I ever saw my dad cry. As I write this, with tears slowly making its way down my face, I remember the memories of that house and the screen door that annoyed me to no end and how it would never shut all the way. I never thought it would become a memory that won’t ever leave my mind. In the moment, I hated that obnoxious door. Now, I realize, it’s the sound of him welcoming him into our house, and waving goodbye when we left. Still being able to hear the door close by itself behind him, when we were pulled out of the driveway. “Snake eyes! Snake eyes! My poppop would yell, as he taught all of his grandchildren, very patiently might I add, the game of Monopoly. Never having any of the fat pieces off of a steak on anyone’s plate because he had asked for them all. His giant round belly, his slightly balding head. Not letting any of his grandchildren leave without, “giving poppop a hug”and telling us he loves us. I yearn for the days back of having him around again, hearing his voice again. Hearing that stupid door again with his waving signal of hello and goodbye from it. Needing to know what his voice sounds like again, but having only certain phrases I can put his voice to. That long hallway room. The breakfast table? now filled with clutter. The blue reclining chair? Gone. Along with the couch and the beloved tv. The side door to the yard? Closed off. I haven’t seen the backyard in years. I see the old dog leash from the window still attached to the ground so the dogs would never run off. Every monopoly board game I come across reminds me of him. When there’s fat pieces on my streak. I try to enjoy them like he did, but I just eventually throw them away. Every time I pick up a pair of dice. “Snake eyes! Snake eyes!” I would shout. Could never do it better than he did. Chincoteague Island. That was an annual excuse to go see my poppop and his family around the same time as the annual pony swim that we went to every year. I desperately yearn for the togetherness that my poppop bought when all of his families were together. The only thing we all had in common was him. I definitely feel like I took for granted the time I had with him and what he did for our family as a whole. It is not the same anymore and I’ll never get that time back again, His wife, still lives in that house. Occasionally, we would visit, My brother and I, who was too young to realize, would walk to the back of the house, and I would see the difference in the hallway room. I want to reexperience it, the past, with him. but only be left with the memories of him and our families being brought together.
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Melanie
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