My Worst Moment in my life

When I was little, I had a grandpa named "Pops". He was and always will be very special to me...............................................

He saw me when I was born. He held me. He and his wife, Grannie B., loved to be with me. I didn't know, at that time, that I was the FIRST grandchild on their side. Later did I realize that I was incredibly special to them.

When Grannie B. died when I was just 9 months old, I know now that Pops must've been very sad. When I grew up, age 3-4, Pops visited me every Saturday. He never missed a day, maybe once because Mom had errands to run. He was always so excited to see me. 

Sometimes when my parents when off to work, I didn't get to stay often at his house. My nana, my mom's mom, wanted to babysit me.  
On Sundays, after church, Pops got to take me to his house. He'd have toys and books, and a metal game called: Tic-Tac-To. As always, I'd always watch the movie The Jungle Book . 


He visited and came to ALL my birthdays, then. My parents took pictures of me and him, and videos. Then one day, my brother and sister, were born into the world. He held them.  


As I said before, he still visited me, and of course the twins, who were still newborn babies. Life was so perfect. He made me laugh, and I loved him more than ever. Nothing would ever go wrong........................




Maybe I WAS wrong. One day, I was about 5 or 6 years old, my dad was playing tennis with a friend, at a park. His friend hit the ball and it accidentally hit my dad's knee, HARD. I was at home, not knowing what was happening. My mom got a phone call and was told that my dad was in the hospital. My nana, who happened to be there, said she would watch the twins for her. I begged my mom to let me go with her, so she did. 


In the meantime, Pops and my uncle Mark, were riding in their car on the way to the hospital. Another car hit theirs.....a car wreck. Pops wasn't weariness seatbelt. It was too late. Pops had died, but my uncle survived. 


When my dad was able to come home, I realized that something else was wrong. Where was Pops? Pops, my Pops, who would give me a nickname and always visit me, EVERY  Saturday. I asked my parents and they told me he died. 


Later in my life, when I was old enough, my mom told me the real story. I was devastated, still am. Everyone in my family LOVED Pops.   
The sad part is, my little brother and sister barely knew him. 


My grandfather was really, really special to me. I ALways will remember him.  This was my story of my grandfather and I.


THE END