Groundhog Day.

Voices and bodies filled the hallway the minute the bell sounded instructing students to go from first to second hour. I remember laughing with one of my friends near my locker and retrieving my Personal Finance notebook from the bottom shelf. My name flooded the hallways with instructions to go to the office. Generally, this is a good thing. I am not subjected to discipline at school often, mostly because there is never a reason for me to be punished. This time however, I knew it was not a good office visit. There was a sickening feeling in my stomach as my feet reluctantly carried me around the corner and into the office.

“Your dad called and you need to go home.” The secretary informed me, worry filling her face. I backed out of the office slowly and could already feel tears threatening to spill out. The back of my throat ached as I held them back and ran down the hall and rounded the corner to exit the building.

By what was certainly a miracle from above, I made it home. I was hysterical and I could barely see, but I made it. I knew that my grandfather had been in the hospital the following few days, but my dad had said it was minor and that he would be home shortly. I knew when I got home though, that things had not gone as planned.

My brother drove us to Springfield, where my dad met us at the doors of Mercy hospital. His eyes were red from crying and I braced myself for the worst. My dad told my brother and I that my grandfather took a turn for the worst early that morning and he didn’t know how long he would make it. We followed my dad to the elevators and endured a painfully long ride until the doors opened to the letters ICU.

Long story short, my brother and I spent a few short minutes with my grandpa that day. Once when we first arrived and again right before we left to go home. The rest of the day we spent in the waiting room with the rest of my family.

The last words I said to my grandpa were, “See ya, grandpa.” Those words turned out to be false. That was the last time I spoke to him and the last time I saw his ornery grin. He died on Christmas Day, 2012.

If I could go back and change this day, I would have said more. I would have told my grandpa how much I appreciated his support in my life and how much I loved him. My family doesn’t really talk about how we feel, so I never got to tell him how proud I was to call him my grandpa. I never got to tell him what a wonderful grandpa he was and if I could go back, I would. I don’t know that doing so would affect my life today, but I would like just a few more minutes to see him again. To see the laughter that was always behind his blue eyes one more time.

We always hope that our last words to someone will be somehow comforting to both parties and will allow peace to ourselves. So often though, last words are not planned to be last words. So often it’s a “See ya later.”