My mother always said, “You never know how much you love someone until you no longer have the chance to say I love you.”  I’m never one to follow sappy sayings, yet this is one that always seems to really take part in what I believe.  I believe that you should never take loved ones for granted.  

It was 2009 and I was just an ity-bity second grade girl.  The grass was still green, not yet withered from the incoming winter air.  Celebrating his fifteenth birthday, my cousin Chaz was spending the day with his mother, father, sister, and grandmother.  Chaz was at the age where his father (my Uncle Chris) felt he should teach Chaz the ropes of shooting a gun.  Now don’t get me wrong here, my family is from Bonneville, and here it’s not uncommon for shooting lessons.  “Hold it steady.  Aim for the target,” spoke Chris. “Then, pull the trigger.” 

Chaz’s shot was far from hitting the red target.  Chris, who received his skills from his father (as well as the military), took the handgun from Chaz to show him how to properly aim.  Without a thought, my uncle released the safety button from the silver pistol.  Chris’s grip wasn’t tight enough.  There was a clunk on the dirt ground, a bang from the pistol, and a sob from my Aunt Sarah as her husband hit the ground with a thud.  Blood trickled down his bullet-shot face and all I can think is how can the worst things happen to the best people?  

I remember sitting in the kitchen eating lunch, and my dad getting a call from my grandparents.  My dad is a strong man of 47.  I’ve never seen him cry.  But the second a tear rolled down his face, I knew that something awful had happened.  My dad sadly shared the news of Chris to my brother, mother, and myself.  It was hard, being only 8, trying to comprehend that your Uncle has accidently shot himself.  

Two nights past as Chris sat in a cold hospital room.  The third night came, and at 11 o’clock, Chris’s cords were unplugged.  As hard as it is to say, you can’t live with someone who barely even knows who they are. It was better for everyone to just end it.  There we stood my family of four.  Crying in my living room as some HGTV episode was showing on the television.  I didn’t ball that night like the times before.  Only single tears dripped down my cheeks.  I can’t explain why my cries were so subtle.  Still, it’s tear jerking to have to say that I will hold my last goodbye to my Uncle Chris forever.

Ah, Christmas break; no school, presents and parties.  It’s a pretty grand time of the year.  Then again, on December eighteenth of 2013 it wasn’t such a blast. 

It was 3 or so on Friday afternoon.  My brother and I were packing up Christmas ornaments, and cleaning up my mother’s classroom before going on winter break.  As I wrapped a Teacher Santa Claus with bubble wrap, James Taylor sing “Carolina in my Mind; rang from my mom’s phone.  

“Hello?” Mom answered s she picked up the call. 

She talked for a couple of minutes, ending the conversation very unsteadily.  With confused looks to each other, my brother and I questioned our mom of what was currently happening. 

“It’s Betsy…” Mom almost whispered.  “She’s with dad at the vet: she not doing so well.” 

My heart sank in my chest heavy like an anchor. 

At the veterinarian’s office, I sat, petting my chocolate lab, Betsy.  My parents and brother were in silence, only the soft sound of weeping.  The doctor entered explain to us that Betsy had kidney failure.  He asked us questions, our answers always slipping from our lips with a gloomy tone.  The vet gave my beautiful old lab a large shot, her glistening brown eyes slowly closing.  I will always remember the fact that even in her very last seconds Betsy had with us, Betsy kept her stretched out tail ‘a wagging. 

The air was cold and would nip at your nose.  Her name was Lillian, she was my great grandmother, whom we called Mamaw.  Almost 92, Mamaw stayed in a hospital fit for the elderly.  Her pneumonia got worse and worse each day.  My parents, brother, and I had gone to see her a couple weeks before hand.  She was wrinkled and frail.  The sight of my mamaw struggling between breathes just shattered my heart like a glass jar. 

Her funeral was in February.  It was hard siting in the unfamiliar pew, Mamaw lying in silence, forever resting.  I can still hear brother bill, sharing the stories he shared with Mamaw.  

“Now, I didn’t know Lilian for a big section of my life, but for the short time I did know her, she was always a kind woman with a big heart.” 

Brother Bill really spoke out to be that day.  

Mamaw was such an inspiration for me; she still is and she always will.  I just wish I could let her know how much she means to me. 

Death is a hard situation to cope with.  You go from seeing someone every day, to only seeing them in pictures.  There will always be that last “I love you” or that final “goodbye” that you never got the chance to say.  This is why I believe you should you should never take loved ones for granted because you never know when their hearts will stop beating, and you won’t have a chance to give a hug or a kiss on the cheek.