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Too Late to Cry This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.


I did not cry. They say that it is all right to cry, that it is not being a wimp. Then how come I did not cry? Perhaps it is not cool, but who cares what is cool and what is not. We are talking about my grandfather here.

Every Friday night my parents, sister and I would go to my grandparents for dinner. We used to call my grandfather Paps, because that is what I called him when I was a baby. Paps would always criticize politics at this meal. He would make me laugh by saying things that I was never allowed to say. I loved him, but of course I never told him that to his face. It is not that I was not allowed, it just seemed like a corny thing to do. He would take me fishing and to baseball games. These were times I looked forward to, because I knew that it would never be boring and Paps could always make me smile.

I remember the day as if it were yesterday. The phone rang and my mother answered it in her usual way. I remember hearing a lot of whats and wheres, and then my mother said something to my father and raced out of the house and drove away. My sister and I were told that Paps had had a severe heart attack. We rushed to the hospital with my father. Paps was hooked up to all these wires. I held his hand in mine and I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but I did not. A few minutes later a nurse came out to tell us that Paps had died. I sat there stunned. What do I do? What do I say? I said nothing and did nothing. I did not cry.

Afterwards we took my mother home. She was sobbing the whole way. My entire family was crying. I wanted to cry but could not get my body to do it. What was I afraid of? How come I could not cry? I loved Paps and wanted to cry for him, but I could not. The following week was the funeral. As they lowered his casket into the ground I felt a tear, but it still would not come out. Everyone wept but me.

I loved Paps. They say that it is all right to cry, that it is good to get it out. Every night since the funeral, I lie in bed and cry. I cry for Paps. Now it is too late to cry, I cry anyway because it is too late.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.




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