Personal Narrative Essay: My Father's Death In My Life

I remember it as it were yesterday, the morning of October 31 1986, I heard my dad’s voice early in the morning; “Mike, get up! Your grandpa died!” It was Friday morning and I was in the 5th grade at the time. My father decided to pull both me and my brother out of school. My mother wasn’t home. She had already gone up to the hospital with my grandmother.
Evidently my grandfather dropped dead from a massive heart attack. In fact he was chopping firewood the day before and seemed perfectly healthy. He woke up around 4am with chest pains. My grandmother called for the ambulance and he walked to it. When he got to the hospital he was dead.
Throughout the morning I didn’t know what to feel. I have seen distant family and friends of my parents

He was in bed for the last year of his life. He was suffering so much, it was a relief. He was always full of life, and to see him suffering was truly heartbreaking. I along with the family made the decision enter him into hospice. After two weeks, he died.
It was a Sunday morning. We got the call from the convalescent home. I went up with my mother and brother. As I walked in, I remember seeing him in the bed. He just looked so peaceful; it was the best thing that could have happened. Even so, death is terrible no matter what the condition of the person. No one is prepared to accept death no matter what, where or how it happens.
The funeral and wake were especially difficult because of having to stand in the greeting line. Having to greet everyone is truly annoying. This is especially true when you don’t know who most of the people are, and when you yourself are under emotional duress. That point aside, it was very interesting to see the reactions of the different people. One thing I noticed was the conversations between my father’s cousins. They were depressed, but not because of the death. The overall tone was “who’s going to be next”; they were all in their fifties and sixties. At this time I was 25 years

By this time I lost three of my grandparents and a couple close friends. I became accustomed to going to funerals. This one was no different. The only thing that was different was it was my father. I got over it rather quickly. My Father dying has a profound impact on my perspective on life, and time. In fact it was the first time I considered how much time do I have left? Whereas when my grandfather died it was all about the emotion of the loss. It was also a learning experience in that I never dealt with death before. Now that I’m 38 years old; 13 years since the death of my father and 28 years from the death of my grandfather, I find my perspective changing all the more rapidly. I often ask myself “what is time?” I come back with the same answer whenever I think about it. Time is our most valuable commodity. More valuable than anything that we my own or have. It can’t be bought. Time is constantly moving. Once it passes, it’s gone, never to be repeated. We can’t go back and redo anything we have done. As death has proven many times; we all only have so much of