Personal Narrative: My Trip To Christian Hospital

When I was seven, during second grade, my grandpa was diagnosed with stomach cancer. At the time I did not have much knowledge of what cancer even was, but I sure do now. All I knew was that my grandpa was sick and he started going to the doctors very frequently. I was close with my Grandma and Grandpa Starz, my dad’s parents. We lived just down the street from them a couple houses down. I would spend weekends and the summer over at their house around the age of five to seven while my parents were at work, doing things from working in the garden picking green beans and tomatoes with them to going to church with my Grandma on Sundays. Life went on just the same as usual for my seven-year-old self. I remember going to Christian Hospital with
The hospital became a place I was very accustomed to during late 2007. My parents or grandma would take me places in the hospital to occupy my time, seeing as there was not much to do there for a young kid. The gift shop, cafeteria, the chapel and even the McDonald’s located inside the lobby became my “stomping grounds” as you could say. I knew a handful of workers there by name and many visits to the hospital involved a quick excursion to the gift shop to see if there was anything new in store. One day my dad bought me a stuffed wolf that I found on the shelf of stuffed animals. We then went to see my Grandpa in his hospital
My family was told that there was nothing that could be done for my grandpa. Tempers rose, emotions were running wild and family ties were being divided. The doctors had basically given my grandpa a death sentence and were just counting down the days. Days before he passed away, a pastor was called in to baptize my grandpa while he was sleeping. That was when I knew he was truly sick. One morning on the way to school I remember my mom telling me in the car that my grandpa had passed away and gone home to be with Jesus. I understood the words she spoke but I did not fully grasp the weight they carried. I did not know exactly why I would never see him again, I just knew my grandpa had gone to heaven, a place that I knew was absolutely beautiful. Growing up in the church I had complete faith that God had his hands on any situation, and I still do. Looking back on that time of my life I realize it had been a monumental turning point in my life, despite only being seven years old. That was the first death I had been exposed to. At the funeral, before the casket was closed we placed a drawing that I had made showing what I imagined heaven would look like under his pillow and that stuffed wolf beside his body. I remember seeing everyone crying at the funeral