September 6, 2002
I was born at 8:16 am.
I opened my tiny little eyes for the first time
to find who was around me, in this compartment.
Mommy, daddy, and granny.
They were all so beautiful, but I knew something,
or may I say someone was missing
September 6, 2003
I’ve been alive for 364 days.
Every single morning I crawl to the door
By now I’ve learned how to walk, yet I haven’t learned how to talk,
how to defend me,
how to drive,
or what the word death means.
Night comes and yet you haven’t opened the door.
The door to meet your granddaughter.
Four, four years you took to enter into my life.
Four, the first word I’ve ever said.
By now you thought me how to add, one month later and I’ll know how to multiple,
yet I don’t know how to speak,
still, I don’t even know your real name.
Six, the number I was handed in class.
The number I hated because it was to close to ten,
and too far from one.
Six, how old I was when you taught me to read.
It brings your hero to the school day,
and I decided to bring you because you're my hero.
I presented you to my classmates as my grandpa because I still haven’t learned your name/
Miguel, the name I call you because it sounded familiar.
That name had six letters,
I thought your name had six letters,
but I was way off.
Four letter your name had.
Luis, that’s your name.
This summer you taught me how to drive. You saved my life when I decided to open the car door on a hill,
I almost fell off the car along with my red gatorade,
but you grabbed my red t-shirt.
how much I begged you to get my gatorade back.
That shirt was your favorite shirt,
because with that shirt I learned to defend myself from that bully.
That kid you hated because she made your little girl cry herself to sleep every single night.
Family meeting, we all gathered in the dining room.
‘Were moving.’ My mom said.
Those words took me away from you.
Those words that took me away from you but closer to our dream.
June 6, I said to my goodbyes to you, not knowing it was going to be my last.
I’m in the car with my family, on my way to Asheville.
Ring Ring, my mom’s phone turn off.
She answered the call, I knew something was going on.
You could have looked into her eyes that day, and see her pain.
My mom hanged up the phone and looked at us.
‘Your grandpa is in the hospital, he’s sick.’
Those words killed me because I knew something else was going on,
but she didn’t want to tell us.
A couple of days later when she returned from her trip,
she pulled me apart from everyone else and said
‘Nicole, your grandfather died December 31, 2014.’
I’m fourteen now.
I only knew him for a couple of years,
yet he was a big influence on my life.
His friends say he was a bad human.
He did fire my mom,
because she wanted to spend more time with us,
he would yell at anyone if they were too loud,
he would ignore people for ages if they did something wrong.
He may have done some bad choices,
but that doesn’t make him a bad man.
He taught me a lot of things.
I sometimes wonder if he was that red Gatorade,
the Gatorade that slip of out my tiny hands without any warning.
We also made a lot of promises together,
he accomplished all of them.
One of them was that he was gonna come to one of my hockey games.
He has come to every single one,
not physically but mentally.
He will always be with me, in my heart.