My footsteps lead me through the building, but my brain had no recollection of what I was really doing. I think there’s chattering going on in the hallway, but I have no idea of what's going on. Oh my God...  I still can’t believe it.

            I looked around dully, my eyes blurring in front of me. My heart was telling me to cry but my brain was telling me that it’d be a huge mistake to start bawling right in the middle of the hallway with so many people around me. I didn’t want everyone to see me break down emotionally and mentally in the middle of the Biology building.

            The day had gone so... normal. Around the time I got to my History class, everything started to fall downhill. I had fallen asleep slowly and surely about halfway through the class. That's when my phone started to vibrate off the hook, everyone wanting to call me at the exact same time. How irritating, especially when I was supposed to be paying attention in class. I ignored it, dismissing the calls and hoping to return them after class as finished. People around me started to look when they could finally hear the vibrations as well. They weren't exactly soft by any means and I was afraid that I would be asked to leave the class by my Professor to answer the damned thing. I finally took out my phone, avoiding any distraction that would have Professor MacDonald looking at me while I was checking my missed calls. Like she ever would. She was so oblivious anyways that I could get away with doing the crossword puzzle and not be reprimanded for it in the least.

            My parents seemed to be taking turns calling me. Something was definitely wrong if they kept trying to get a hold of me rather than leave a message. I exited the room and opened the phone at the incoming call from my father. I greeted him in my normal cheerful demeanor. He asked me if I was all right and I got worried about the response. I asked him what he was talking about and I felt my emotions shatter into pieces.

            “Your grandfather...”

            I couldn’t hear him. I asked him in a calm voice to repeat himself.

            “I said your grandfather...”

            I went back to the classroom and time just seemed to lose all depth that I thought it had. And now I was in the hallway, trying to recollect what I thought was talking around me. I could see people move, but I didn’t seem to be registering what all was going around me. I think I reached the classroom, but I really didn’t care anymore. I just didn’t care. My eyes caught the sight of a bench near me, near the classroom. I walked over to the bench and collapsed on it, my face twitching back and forth from a calm and emotionless demeanor to a twitching sniveling sob story. I felt the tears starting finally start to flow from my eyes and they just wouldn't stop. I had to hide my eyes from everyone and everything around me. I placed my hands over them and just sat there, thinking about what had happened within the last half n’ hour. My mind crossed my parents calling me and I remembered all the phone calls. My strawberry blonde bangs started to stick to my tear-stained cheeks. The bangs had been falling loose from my ponytail all day and now I didn't even care if they were tied back or sticking to my face.

            Taking out my phone, I flipped the lid open and starred into the black screen. I could see one of my emerald green eyes in my reflection,  the eye growing and swelling to a new size with the tears. As the phone's screen materialized from nothingness, I saw a little flashing icon of a speech bubble. I immediately dialed my voicemail. It took a few seconds to connect, but I immediately heard the voice of my mother and the tears flowed even more.

            “Gracie! It’s your Mother... Please call me as soon as you can. Your grandfather... He.... He shot himself. I love you so much; please call me back as soon as you hear this message!”

            Scenery blazed by my window as I looked out, my head leaning up against the side of the car door. My father and brother were in the front seats, looking out at the scenery out in front of them, dawn starting to approach the ever-lightening sky. My father cleared his throat as he took a drink from his coffee mug. I was so uncomfortable in my seat that it was nearly unbearable.

            "Hey Pops...?" I asked, shattering the tension like an enormous sheet of ice cracking in half almost instantaneously. "Grandpa shot himself, right?" There was no reply, the air growing thick with tension once more. "You knew it was coming, didn't you?"

            "Yeah.... I did..."

            My father adjusted himself in his seat, my brother shifting uncomfortably in reaction. Discussing it was still very hard especially since the memories were still very fresh. My father's face held no trace of emotion, no trace of vulnerability at all. He was a big guy so it was natural that he should stay as unchanging and as steady as a boulder than erode into pieces. My thoughts drifted to my grandfather as the sun broke over the horizon.

            Entering my grandparents two story house had proved much harder than I had anticipated. All of my extended family was already there, taking residence in where he was not more than 72 hours ago. As I walked in, my mother and older sister greeted me warmly, enveloping me in hugs and kisses, but the rest of them looked as if I was toxic.

            But I really didn't care about any of my aunts and uncles, cousins and second cousins. The only people I cared about right now was my boyfriend Mike and my best friend Troy, but they were all the way back in Colorado. The last 18 hours in a car had made me mildly edgy and I thought I was going out of my mind if I had to deal with any sorts of stupidity.

            I walked through their house, looking at all of their things. Nana's flower paintings that hung every few feet on the walls, the expensive and useless knick-knacks lined along the shelves and the cabinets, the large bag of yarn that was kept by her rocking chair which had not been moved ever since her passing. I looked around the house, finding it dirtier than I ever remembered. She had always made sure that the house was spick and span, never a speck of dust anywhere.

            Nana had died 5 years before he did. I can still remember when I used to come here all the time when I was little, playing with Nana and Grandpa. I was the youngest of any of the family, so I was naturally much more spoiled by him than by my other relatives. He had always called me his Golden Grace, a fond nickname for the youngest and last member of the clan. He'd always take me on walks and go out for ice cream, playing with me even when he was tired and cooking small meals especially for me. I felt sadness start to swell in my heart as I thought of him, but my eyes had no more tears to spill.

            I stopped in one of the guest bedrooms and sat on the bed. I had never noticed how much crap they had compiled over the years. It looked more like storage space than a house. Boxes were piled around the room, labeled in Nana's handwriting of what was in different boxes. There was also boxes labeled 'Throw Out', these never really getting thrown out. There was a treadmill in one of the corners in the room, a broken TV sitting on it. Their dresser was covered in clothing of all different colors and sizes while papers were scattered upon the desk. The house had been like this even when Nana was alive, but at least their house was a lot cleaner! Everything was organized and you could see the desktop rather than just scattered papers covering it. Maybe that's where I got my obsession to have everything so clean sometimes, from Nana. I laughed, remembering how my grandpa used to tell me not to worry whenever I made a mess. I was his Golden Grace. I could do what I like.

            And now he was dead. I just couldn't understand it. He never once stopped loving me, even as I grew old and went into college. His Golden Grace was making him proud, being able to do the things that he himself could never accomplish. His love was so unconventional and free flowing.

            “Grandpa!”

            A small girl around the age of four ran into the living room, leaping onto her grandfather’s lap. Her bright blue sundress seemed to offset her brilliant red hair. The older man put down the paper, smiling at his youngest grandchild.

            “What is it my sweet?”

            “Nana told me that you would take me to the park! Can we go? PLEASE?!” The young girl put her hands together, her lower lip quivering. Her emerald puppy dog eyes made the older man laugh heartily as he ran his slender fingers through her hair.

            “Of course my Golden Grace. It will give Nana a chance to cook you some lunch!”

            “HURRAY!”  

            I pulled myself onto the bed further, lying down on its plush comforter, smiling at the memory that had manifested itself in my brain. My mind started to drift to the cause of his problems. Pops had told me of the metal rods that Grandpa had to get in his back. He also had two in his legs, his bones deteriorating from a mix of old age and wounds from the Korean War. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain he had been in. I always knew that Nana was there for him, but when she died it seemed to go to Hell. His eyes lost the sparkle that they had when I was younger and his body seemed to go even further into hell. He had been diagnosed with Type Two Diabetes about the time Nana died.

            That’s when he seemed to lose all his will to live. Maybe he wasn’t feeling loved enough after her death. All those times I could’ve called him, asked how he was doing. Why didn’t I? All those times when I could’ve came to see him over my school breaks. Maybe I should’ve made the trip. It was hard when we didn’t live closer. When I was younger, we lived only minutes away from their house, but about the time I entered high school, my father found a job in Colorado and we moved, leaving them behind. Leaving him was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. And I never could find the time to go see him.

            My mother came into the room, beckoning me to the living room. I told her I wanted to be alone but she wouldn’t hear of it. “You should be with your family right now Gracie! We need your love and support!”

            “Mom! They don’t want me around them! All’s they do is give me dirty looks because I was always special in Grandpa’s eyes. His baby grandchild...” I told her.   I threw her an equally dirty glare. “Ask any of them. They’ll be happier when I’m not around!“

           My mother turned around and walked out, not wishing to continue the argument. I moved from the guest bedroom, standing by the railing over the living room. We’d only been here a day and already they thought of me as uncaring and a bad girl for not being around the family most of the time to grieve. If Grandpa was here, he would've told me to just ignore them, a supportive arm most likely around my shoulder, him hugging into me affectionately. My heart ached at his thought, but it also lifted up from the depression that my Mother had just put me in. Why couldn't any of them just acknowledge that the way I grieve is the way I grieve! Just because I don't go out there, crying my eyeballs out of their sockets and looking gross and fat, it doesn't mean that I'm not grieving.

            I looked down from the banister at them, seeing them all seated in front of the television. Sometimes it was troubling to me just exactly how much food my extended family ate. I could see their plates full of fried food, every ounce packed with fat and cholesterol. It was hard to differentiate between the offspring and the parent at times because they all were similar sizes. it was horrid for me to even think that, but as I gazed at my cousins, I had trouble picking out who was who. All I could see were hands scooping up food and shoving it into the mouth.

            The way that they got around sadness was pretty excruciating. I mean, when I was sad too, I would usually eat sometimes, but I’d also go exercise. I guess it was a habit I picked up from my grandfather. When I was younger and when Nana had been in and out of the hospital shortly before her death, me and him used to go on walks for hours. Even when I would get tired, he’d pick me up and put me onto his shoulders, carrying me with him. He would never leave me behind.

             My father sat in Grandpa’s chair and watched the television. I glowed for a moment as I saw a bowl of Salad in his hands. Even now some of Grandpa lived on within us. It was touching to think about. My stomach growled as I descended the stairs. A bowl of Salad did sound pretty good.

            I stood in front of the closed casket, sighing to myself. I was dressed in the respectable black, looking down at the flowers that lay on the casket. My mother was standing behind me crying. I said nothing.

            “Grandpa.... Are you alright?”

            The older gentleman turned towards the young lady sitting next to him. She flattened out her black dress, her curled strawberry blond hair bouncing above her shoulders. Two sets of green eyes starred at each other momentarily as the white-haired man sighed.

            “I never thought I’d lose her. I always thought I would be the first one to go.” he replied, looking at his youngest grandchild. The teenager smiled, her eyes falling.

            “Don’t say that... Nana led an amazing life,” the young woman told him. She grabbed his hand and patted it. He squeezed it, years of strength behind the grip.

            "I know my Golden Grace," the older man replied, looking at his granddaughter. "But it still hurts either way. It's a horrible feeling, losing someone so close to you."

            Turning around, I hurried away from the coffin and returned to the seat I had grabbed in the back of the Church. My Mother turned around, her eyes full of tears. I could sense the anger beneath her tears. Anger directed towards me for walking away. I just turned my head and said nothing. I knew I was in for it when she came over and sat next to me.

            “Gracie...” I said nothing. “Why did you walk away from the coffin? Why are you being so disrespectful to your grandfather!?”

            “I finished paying my respects Mom,” I spoke back a little harshly. “I don’t need to stand up there looking at the casket when I don’t have any more prayers to give.”

            “You will be finished when the rest of your family is finished up there. We mourn as a family.” she hissed at me, looking towards the rest of my immediate family. I moved uncomfortably as my aunts and uncles tried to inconspicuously gaze back at our argument.

            I gave her a scathing look, one that must’ve taken her by surprise. I sat there and explained to her that I was done with my prayers and that was that.

            She didn’t understand at all. Grandfather had always taught me not to be flowery in my approach of how I should live my life. He was always like that, telling my family what was what whenever it came to arguments or anything of the sort. I remember that he sat down one day and explained this me when him and my uncle got into an explosive argument. He said that tiptoeing around the bushes and making everything seem like you were waist deep in a field of shit was only showing that you were only not trying to make an ass of yourself. I giggled at him, being only a tender age of 12, but I did remember that I would carry his knowledge that he gave me on for years to come.

            I sat there, crossing my legs as the priest started the eulogy. I smiled to myself as the priest explained some who-ha about my grandfather’s life. Everyone sat there so sad, so mournful that my grandfather had taken his life. Some of them were crying, but I sat in my chair, legs crossed, my face concentrated in thought. Seeing his casket finally made me understand a little reasoning behind why he took his life. Why he wanted to be out of the great pain he faced day in and day out, emotionally, mentally, and physically. I bet that even with some miraculous superpower of communicating with the dead I could probably never understand what was going through his head when he went to shoot himself. How could you even understand with anyone who commits suicide?

             But I did understand that celebrating his life was what I was supposed to be doing. I remember that Troy’s grandfather had died only a few weeks before mine did and he was happy for it. Happy that he was finally out of pain.

            Maybe that’s what he was doing... It was nothing that I did to make him do what he did. It was his internal struggle that he had, facing all the physical pain of the past and present as well as the mental and emotional pain of losing Nana. And by letting himself leave this world, he was also leaving the pain he had dealt with day in a day out for an afterlife of peace and happiness.

            Maybe I wouldn’t understand all the reasoning behind his death. But some things did begin to make sense to me. And even though my heart still ached at his loss, I did begin to understand some of his pain. And even that gave me some comfort. The empathy I felt from his struggle helped to clear the clouded thoughts of my mind and his pain.

            I turned to my Mother and smiled.

            “Gracie, are you finished packing up yet?”

            I looked toward my Mom and smiled. I returned my gaze down at my suitcase in front of me, seeing my Nana’s slippers lying down on the very top of my packed clothing. It still would never reach me why in God’s name they had so much crap in their house. But maybe I would help them take some of the burden as well as treasure some of the precious possessions they had around the house.

            “Nana’s slippers... She used to wear those around the house all the time before she passed away.” Mom was always bad at making small talk. It was one of the things I hated her most for. But it was also one of the things I loved her most for. I turned around and engulfed her in a warm embrace.

            “I love you Mom....” I whispered to her gently.

            Grandpa always taught me that living to forgive and forget was better than living to hold a grudge. Besides, what did grudges teach you at all? They didn’t really teach you anything at all. At least nothing less than making you look like a prick.  Grandpa used to tell me that my uncle was really good at doing that sometimes, but he didn’t love him any less for the kind of person he was.

            “I love you too Gracie... I still don’t understand why you did what you did this weekend...” I groaned silently to myself, not wanting to open this can of worms. Maybe her mouth was too big for her at times.

            “Grandpa would be proud of his Golden Grace...”

            I smiled to myself as I parted ways with her. I zipped up my suitcase and looked around the house, taking in the last scent of memories. Taking in the eternal love that I had always felt in this house.

            “Grandpa!”

            “Yes my Golden Grace?”

            A little girl in strawberry blond pigtails ran through the living room, jumping into an elderly man’s lap. His wife looked over, cooing to herself over the sight that she was seeing. She continued her knitting as she went along, watching the old man hug his granddaughter in front of her.

            “Grandpa. I love you so much!”

            “I love you too my Golden Grace....”

            There was a moment's pause.

            “Can I have some ice cream?”

           I laughed to myself as I heard the deep laughs of my Grandpa echo throughout the house. And my heart lifted.