I am so sad; and I have been this way for several weeks now. I don't think I will ever be happy again.
My Grandpa, Grandpa Joe Xavier Kensington, died two weeks ago; he had a sudden heart attack, and no matter how hard they tried, the paramedics couldn't save him after they had gotten to our place. One minute, Grandpa Joe was sitting in his favorite easy chair, reading the evening newspaper, and the next, he grabbed his chest, gasped audibly and loudly, and just sort of slumped over in his chair and then fell to the floor with a loud, heavy "THUD!". I heard the noise from my upstairs bedroom; and when I came running down the stairs to see what had happened, or who had fallen, I was horrified to find my grandfather lying on the floor, his face all mottled blue, and the veins in his neck sticking out like cords. His eyes were halfway open, and his mouth was hanging open, too. He looked scary, and that was when I had mom call for the ambulance.
Well, the paramedics got to our house, and soon, they were working on the limp form of my grandfather. They were starting I.V.'s in his arms, and they had cut his shirt off of him; and now he lay there, on his back, naked from teh waist on up; and the paramedics were putting wires and leads on his chest and were connecting them to a machine, and soon, they were also trying to help him breathe. They stuck a tube down his throat, attached a small, black rubber bag to the end of the tube; and started squeezing the rubber bag every few seconds. As one paramedic took care of the breathing, a second paramedic started pushing rhythmically on Grandpa Joe's chest; and counting aloud, "One, one thousand, two, one thousand, three, one thousand, four, one thousand, five, one thousand, and breathe" (during this time, the paramedic doing the breathing for Grandpa would squeeze the bag, delivering a breath of needed oxygen to his still lungs). It was rather interesting, to say the very least (I watch the paramedic stuff on the Health Channel; I have seen people getting revived before; but it sure was different when it was happening right in front of your very eyes, especially to someone you knew and loved, like I did my Grandpa Joe), but at the same token, it was as scary as hell. I was so scared that Grandpa Joe was going to die on us.
Well, the ambulance people soon loaded up Grandpa Joe onto a rolling stretcher (all the time, they were still pushing on his chest and was also helping him with his breathing; they were still doing CPR on him) and rolled him to the rear of the ambulance, where they soon loaded him into the back, locked the back doors, and soon took off into the night. The lights of the ambulance flickered on the houses and on everyone's faces as they watched it pull out of our driveway and then go screaming down the street, towards the closest hospital, which was Key West General. (As you may have guessed, we live in Florida. We live in Key West.)
Mom and dad followed the ambulance to the hospital; meanwhile, I stayed home with my two younger brothers, Kyle and Cory, and our sister, Georgia, and worried and fretted over Grandpa Joe. We waited for nearly a half hour when the phone rang; and when I answered it, it was mom; but she was crying; and that was when I feared the worst. Grandpa Joe had died; they couldn't save him. He had died of a massive heart attack, and in the emergency room, he never even regained consciousness or got his pulse or breathing back.
At the news, I felt as though a mule had just kicked me in the stomach; but I tried to be brave for my younger siblings. They were all pretty young (8 years old or younger), and they didn't really understand the concept of death or what it all entailed. But I knew all too well what death was (I had lost a friend, Felix Alvarado, to gang violence; he died in a drive-by shooting), and death had once again paid a visit into my life. Death had claimed my grandfather, Joseph X. Kensington, and he would have been 78 on New Year's Day, which was in a few short weeks.
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Thankfully I don't remember much about the funeral; but I DO remember that mom and dad were both crying, and I remember that our Aunt Sudie was down from Lafayette, Louisiana, where she was watching the younger kids. She was sad, too, but she knew that she had to be strong for the little kids, so she tried her best to put on a brave affront and tried to act like nothing had happened, which was, of course, a big, fat lie. The worst thing had happened--and right before Christmas, too: our grandfather had died of a sudden and massive heart attack, and nothing could ever bring him back again, no matter how hard we prayed to God or wished on a star. Grandpa Joe was dead, and that was that.
Ever since Grandpa Joe has died, our world as we had known it has turned upside down, and everyone around me...mom, dad, my younger sibs, and Aunt Sudie and her husband, Pawpaw Lirette..all had sad or unhappy faces; and it didn't take much for them to start crying at the mere mention of Grandpa Joe Kensington. It's like a bad nightmare that we can't wake up from, and everything somehow seems surreal and foggy, like we are stuck in some kind of nightmarish fog, and it still seems odd that Grandpa Joe is gone from our lives forever, and we can't believe that he had the nerve to pull his heart attack stunt and die on us.
Hello Karen,
I sympaphise with you in your loss, no matter how prepared we are it still has that shock factor and that is only to be expected for if we love somone darly the parting is always dramatic. If it wasn't dramatic it would mean we didn't care. A nicely writtem true account from the heart. Well done John W
Rovella is a beautiful woman with a cold heart whom blames herself for an unfortunate old family secret that is literally ruining her life. This secret impedes a gorgeous woman from having happiness in her childhood, and throughout her life. Dark sec
