The Best Friend: Told in the eyes of a six-year-old

By , Louisville, KY
I didn’t know at that time, what was going on
But I knew that it was tragic.
Dying from brain, lung, and heart cancer.
Nobody thought I was old enough
To know what was happening, but I did.

He was my best friend.
But now I don’t have him,
Gone at sixty-five.

He had white hair,
He was kind of chubby,
And most of all, supportive.

I remember he gave me starbursts,
Then asked for one.
He was always there for me,
And now he’s not!

He didn’t even get to see me
Graduate from fifth grade,
Nor from kindergarten.
And he didn’t get to see me
Learn how to drive or go to college.

He never went swimming.
He was afraid of strokes and heart attacks.
I never blamed him really.

He passed away September seventeenth, nineteen ninety-six.
His funeral, September twenty-fourth, nineteen ninety-six.
The same day as my dad’s birthday.

We never celebrated.
I have never seen my family cry,
As much as they did at the funeral.

I sometimes hear a ringing in my ear
Or I see him in my dreams.
People say it’s scary; it’s not though,
It’s a comforting feeling for me anyway.

Thinking of my grandpa,
I know some people should be grateful,
But most aren’t.





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