I woke up to my alarm clock roaring viscously at me to get up. It took me a second to notice it had been ringing for ten minutes but once I did, I leaped out of bed to get ready for school. I hated being late. It always left me anxious and embarrassed. I threw on my clothes, brushed my teeth, put on some deodorant, grabbed a granola bar, and sprinted to the car. Right before I turned the keys to start the car, I remembered my brother, Grant, who was fast asleep. He was four-teen, so he hardly ever woke up.I hopped out of the car and ran inside. I shook him, and once he awoke I said, “Hey, hurry or else we will be late to school.”

He yawned, “Okay, I’ll do my best.” I began to tap my foot on the car floor as I waited for him to get in. Once he did, I started the car, and sped like never before. “You shouldn’t speed,” Grant said, “It’s dangerous.”
It is alright. If I don’t we will be late to school.” I said I continued to go faster.

“Danny, be smart.” He turned the temperature nob to the left.

“Be quiet mom,” I said in a joking tone, “Here just eat this granola bar.” I handed him the granola bar, and slowed down a bit to get him off my back.

“Thank you,” he replied with his mouth full. We were one light away from the school. The light turned yellow. I could’ve stopped, but I didn’t. I sped up. I checked the clock. We had four minutes until school started. I was crossing the road in no danger, until a driver decided to jump the gun. He ran right into us. The hit was so hard I felt as if a herd of bulls stomped on top of me. I looked over to see Grant hanging out of the car. I reached over and checked his pulse. My heart dropped. I felt that his heart stopped. I dialed 911 with the little strength I had left. I was in so much pain, but none of it amounted to the loss of my brother.

All I could bear doing was cry out, “Help! Help! Help!” The ambulance finally arrived. “Hurry up. We don’t have all day.” They helped us in, and we drove off.

Once we got to the hospital they drove me around in a wheelchair, since I couldn’t walk on my left foot. Grant was carried out quickly on a stretcher. They told me I broke my foot, so they started to put my leg in a cast. I bombarded the doctors with about Grant.

It’ll be fine. Just calm down.” They said. When they asked me the color for the cast, I quickly told them yellow. This was purely out of my frustration, since I hate the color yellow. I finally got an update on Grant. As they finished putting the cast on, a tall doctor named Sam walked in. I heard him mumble, “I hate this part of the job.” I began to worry, a lot.

“Hello Danny,” Dr. Sam said, “It appears that your brother did not make it. I am sorry for your loss. We did everything in our power to save him, but we couldn’t.

“No, no, no. This can’t be true. Your lying to me.” Tears were streaming down my face. I knew it was true, but I didn’t want to accept it.

“I am so sorry. We did the best we could.” Dr. Sam said with a sorrowful expression on his face.

It is all my fault, I thought. He even told me to slow down, but I didn’t listen. “Where’s my mom?” I asked. They brought me to the room that my mom was currently in. I still hadn’t stopped crying. The expression on her face was like never before.

She managed to get it out in between the tears and sniffles, “How are you?” I couldn’t find any words to say, so I instead went straight in for the hug.

After a while of just standing there, finally said, “I am so, so sorry. I am fine, but…” I couldn’t get the rest out as I burst into what seemed to be endless tears.

“I know,” she said, and continued to hug me.

For the next couple of days, we juggled between grieving and planning the funeral. We were deciding the place, time, music, and who was going to be there. We decided it was going to be a week from that day at the church we have been to since he was born.

I was looking for pictures of Grant to use for the slideshow. After I passed the one of us together as kids, I threw my computer down. I couldn’t get over the fact that it was my fault. I kept imagining the different outcomes that could’ve happened. The what ifs. Until I realized they didn’t. I decided to go to bed early that night.

That morning I woke up on time, and allowed my mom to drive me to school. Every time I looked into my mom’s eyes all I could say was, “I’m sorry mom.”

Her usually response to this was, “It’s not your fault honey.” After she said this she usually started crying. This time I joined in with her. When she dropped me off she said through the tears, “I love you Danny. Have a great day.”

At school a couple of kids I didn’t know tried to reach out to me. Out of frustration at myself, I turned most of them down. All of my teachers loved on me like never before. But even with all these people I only really talked to Kyle, my best friend. He was being smart by taking my mind off of it. We would just talk about the latest Spiderman design, or the new Superman author. Before I got in my mom’s minivan, I thanked Kyle, and told him bye.

“How was school?” My mom asked me as soon as I buckled up.

“Not so good. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I, I, I just feel that it is all my fault.” My hands were fidgeting.
“It isn’t honey,” my mom said, “You are fine.” I thanked my mom, and took a little nap on the rest of the way home.

When we arrived at the house, we didn’t do too much. I basically just worked on homework, and my mom just cooked some chicken and vegetables. We were silent for most of the night, looking at the empty seat at the dinner table. I ate my chicken slower than usual. The vegetables didn’t taste as good as before. I finished up, and decided to go to bed early again.

The next days leading up to the funeral were the longest days of my life. I had the same routine. Go to school, have Kyle distract me from thinking about Grant, get sad with my mom, and lastly, get mad myself. It never got better. At least it didn’t until the funeral. That’s when my view of Grant’s death changed.

The pastor talked about joy. He was saying that when Grant was alive, he was very joyful. He went on to say that God’s presence in his life is why he could be joyful. That’s when I realized I need to forgive myself to get into God’s presence, which will bring me real joy. So I did it. I forgave myself, and then went straight to God.
During the dinner after, I was actually smiling. My mom on the other hand, still wasn’t doing great. We were having fried chicken for dinner, so that helped too. With dinner finished I went to talk to my mom.

“Hey Mom,” I said, “I figured out how to move on.”

“Um… How honey?” She replied.

“It’s as simple as turning to God. Mom, we need to accept that it was all apart of God’s plan. Once we accept that, we can find peace.” I took a sip from my ice water.

“You may be right. I don’t know. I just need to go to bed.” She walked up the stairs. I decided to go to bed too. I actually had a good night sleep.

The next day at school I talked to those kids who came up to me. I thanked them for reaching out to me. I walked up to Kyle, “Hey you seem joyful.” He said.

“Well, I am.” I picked up my backpack up from the ground, and headed to class with Kyle.

“Good,” he whispered, “How’s you mom doing?”

“Uh… Not so good.” I got up to sharpen my pencil.

“Just tell her whatever you did. It seemed to work.” Kyle said pulling out his math book.

“Be quiet!” Our teacher yelped. We did as she said. Paying attention for the rest of the class.

Today during our ride home I was a lot more talkative. “Hey Mom,” I said, “I think you would be a lot happier if you dd what I talked about last night.”

“Ya, you’re right. Remind me what I need to do please.” Her eyes were focused on the road.

“Just accept it, and move on from it. It’s that simple. He is in a better place mom.” I said in response.

“Thank you Danny. I love you so much.” She gave me a side hug. From then on our memories of Grant were joyful. We always remembered to thank God for our blessings, not hate Him for our losses.