One thing I never got over was the day I stood alone at my grandfather’s bedside, staring at him as he slept. It was just the two of us. The room was cold, and my best friend was dying, although at the time I had little understanding of what was actually happening. I simply wanted to be near my grandfather. He had always been a father figure in my life.

His biological children had flown in from Canada, and I remember feeling as though they were in a hurry to return. There was something about their demeanor that made me uncomfortable, although I was too young to know how to explain that feeling to anyone in the house. I just remember not feeling at ease around them. At some point, I overheard a conversation about how they believed they were entitled to a percentage of the house and some of his assets.

While I was sitting in the room with my grandfather, his son came in. I will leave his name out. In an angry tone, he said something to the effect of, “Get out. I want to be alone with my father.” I remember leaving the room and sitting alone on the front steps, staring at the neighboring houses. Not long afterward, I heard commotion coming from inside.

Before I really understood what was happening, my grandfather was being taken away on a gurney with a sheet covering his body. That is about all I can clearly remember from that moment.

What stayed with me, however, was the fact that he died shortly after his son entered the room and told me to leave. That memory never left me. It remained with me throughout my childhood. Maybe it was the tone in which he told me to get out, or maybe it was because that was the last time I would ever be in the room with my grandfather. Whatever the reason, the emotions from that moment have stayed with me to this day.