Most 5 year olds don’t have a grasp on death. Most people don’t remember things from when they were 5 years old. For me, I was an exception to both of these statements. To this day, I can remember being 5 years old, in a fancy dress, at a funeral home for my grandfather.

   When I entered the funeral home the first thing I saw was my family, all wearing pained expressions. At 5 years old, all I wanted was for everyone to be happy, so I put on a smile to ease the worried faces, not realizing just how severe the situation really was. At the front of the room, my grandfather laid on a coffin, peacefully asleep for eternity. I can remember walking up to the coffin, and seeing him lying there, realization slowly sinking in that he would never again open his eyes. I can remember exiting that silent room, the only sound being the sobs from my relatives. Tears cascaded down my chubby 5 year old face. The only things I could taste, being my salty tears, and the air as I struggled to find breath through my sobs. Pretty soon, my sobs ended up being the only thing I heard, as I tuned out the rest of the world, mourning for the loss of someone who I considered my best friend.

   As it was time to leave the funeral home, I knew that this would be the last time I would see my grandfather. When the rest of my family exited the building, I grasped my dad’s hand, as he led me back into the room, so that I could say my goodbyes. Slowly, my little feet moved towards the edge of the coffin. I can remember looking down at my grandfather for the last time, telling him goodbye, telling him I loved him.

   Most 5 year olds don’t experience loss. Most people experience loss when they are much older than 5 years old. For me, I was an exception to both of these statements. At 5 years old, I understood that as my grandfather was laying on the coffin, he would never open his eyes, or spend time with me ever again. I knew that when I said goodbye to him, that it would be the last encounter I would ever have with him.