Every after school I sit on the bus. Then I see this little chinese girl stop at her bus stop. Her grandfather is there waiting for her. It made me think about mine. Tears started to build up. Knowing that I could never see mine again. I was 13 when he passed away. I was thousands of miles away from him. They told us his time was near. That he was really sick. I did not understand, or maybe I just didn't want to understand. I never showed my tears though. I remembered how he used to take care of all of us. How he would treat us "taho" and "dirty ice cream" on holidays and weekends. How we all go to church with him. Then it struck me, that there was no time left. I wanted to go back home, but can't. Only my dad did, but he still didn't make it on time. He was gone. I just couldn't believe it. We were in grief. Then there was a poem read at his funeral, saying that we shouldn't grieve and leave it all to God's hands. That now he is free. And I ...
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