The Wicked End
I Won't See You Tonight
Trauma at age 4
When I was little. About three and a half, I went to my grandparent's house. My mom's mom and step dad. I adored my grandpa. He was like the best person in the world. I'd be with him a lot because my dad worked and my mom went to school.
He spoiled me rotten. I got everything I wanted back then. Even though he was in a wheelchair because of a heart attack that paralyzed him from the waist down, that didn't stop him from taking me everywhere and doing anything I wanted, no matter what. He even came across town in the middle of a snow storm at five in the morning because I had had a nightmare.
Everything was fine and dandy until 06/17/1999. I was four and a half. I decided to spend the weekend with him.
We went to the amusement park and then went and got ice cream at DQ like we did almost every time I saw him. We went back to the house and I took a bath and then we watched Rugrats. This was all normal, it was something very routine.
That night, I had either had a nightmare or just decided to sleep in my grandparents room with my 'papa'. My grandmother was still at work, working third shift. Everything was fine, I had fallen right to sleep. Until I was woken up extremely early in the morning by my grandmother.
She told me to go into the living room. Instead I went and got dressed, I may have been young, but I wasn't totally stupid. My grandmother called my mom and she came and picked me up. I wasn't sure what was going on.
My mom came with my great aunt and we drove to the hospital. We all sat in the waiting room. My mom kept telling me to go to sleep, everything was going to be fine. I knew better though.
Hours later, a doctor came out. He didn't look like he had good news. He told my grandmother something and she started crying. Everyone else started crying too. I hugged my mom and asked her what was wrong.
"Sierra, do you know what death means?"
"Yes. It means someone went to be in heaven with God." I told her.
"Very good honey. Well, I don't know how to really say this, but sweetie, papa died last night. He didn't feel anything, it was in his sleep."
"Oh..." That was all I said. 'Oh." I didn't ask any questions, didn't cry, didn't scream "no!". Nothing. I just said, oh.
I sat in a chair and stared at the too white ceiling with the bright fluorescent lights.
"Why is everyone crying?" I asked later, I think it was to my mom.
"Because everyone is sad, Sierra. When you're sad it's okay to cry."
"It is? I'm allowed to cry?" I asked.
"Yes, you're allowed to cry. You didn't know that?"
"No." I said, burying my face into my mom's arms.
I still didn't cry. Not until I was alone, in my own house, in my room.
I felt so vulnerable after that. Like I was never safe. My world fell out from under me.
My mom thought about getting me a therapist, but at the time we didn't have insurance or the money to get a therapist.
When you are told that the most important person in your life has left this earth and isn't coming back, and you're only four, it's not good for your mental state.
I've been scarred so deeply by this event. To this day, I still am scared to cry. I hate when people see me cry. It makes me feel weak and vulnerable. I hate that feeling with a passion.
My mom still wants to get me a therapist, but I don't know now. I think it's too late.
Thank you for listening
When I was little. About three and a half, I went to my grandparent's house. My mom's mom and step dad. I adored my grandpa. He was like the best person in the world. I'd be with him a lot because my dad worked and my mom went to school.
He spoiled me rotten. I got everything I wanted back then. Even though he was in a wheelchair because of a heart attack that paralyzed him from the waist down, that didn't stop him from taking me everywhere and doing anything I wanted, no matter what. He even came across town in the middle of a snow storm at five in the morning because I had had a nightmare.
Everything was fine and dandy until 06/17/1999. I was four and a half. I decided to spend the weekend with him.
We went to the amusement park and then went and got ice cream at DQ like we did almost every time I saw him. We went back to the house and I took a bath and then we watched Rugrats. This was all normal, it was something very routine.
That night, I had either had a nightmare or just decided to sleep in my grandparents room with my 'papa'. My grandmother was still at work, working third shift. Everything was fine, I had fallen right to sleep. Until I was woken up extremely early in the morning by my grandmother.
She told me to go into the living room. Instead I went and got dressed, I may have been young, but I wasn't totally stupid. My grandmother called my mom and she came and picked me up. I wasn't sure what was going on.
My mom came with my great aunt and we drove to the hospital. We all sat in the waiting room. My mom kept telling me to go to sleep, everything was going to be fine. I knew better though.
Hours later, a doctor came out. He didn't look like he had good news. He told my grandmother something and she started crying. Everyone else started crying too. I hugged my mom and asked her what was wrong.
"Sierra, do you know what death means?"
"Yes. It means someone went to be in heaven with God." I told her.
"Very good honey. Well, I don't know how to really say this, but sweetie, papa died last night. He didn't feel anything, it was in his sleep."
"Oh..." That was all I said. 'Oh." I didn't ask any questions, didn't cry, didn't scream "no!". Nothing. I just said, oh.
I sat in a chair and stared at the too white ceiling with the bright fluorescent lights.
"Why is everyone crying?" I asked later, I think it was to my mom.
"Because everyone is sad, Sierra. When you're sad it's okay to cry."
"It is? I'm allowed to cry?" I asked.
"Yes, you're allowed to cry. You didn't know that?"
"No." I said, burying my face into my mom's arms.
I still didn't cry. Not until I was alone, in my own house, in my room.
I felt so vulnerable after that. Like I was never safe. My world fell out from under me.
My mom thought about getting me a therapist, but at the time we didn't have insurance or the money to get a therapist.
When you are told that the most important person in your life has left this earth and isn't coming back, and you're only four, it's not good for your mental state.
I've been scarred so deeply by this event. To this day, I still am scared to cry. I hate when people see me cry. It makes me feel weak and vulnerable. I hate that feeling with a passion.
My mom still wants to get me a therapist, but I don't know now. I think it's too late.
Thank you for listening
♠ ♠ ♠
Thank you so much for listening and a special thanks to Sammi. I know she can really understand where I'm coming from with the death of a loved one that you are so close to. Thank you Destiny, I know you're always there for me too.