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I was 5 then. I didn't....really understand what was going on. Nobody told me that it wasn't just that Chirstmas that I wouldn't see my grandpa again. Nobody told me it would be forever. I cried, because Dad cried. I cried because Mom cried. I didn't understand what was going on. I just knew that I should probably cry too. Death was a...foreign concept to me.
11 years. I was 5 then. We were at my mom's parents' pool, and Brother was telling me about a crocodile on the other side of the pool that would eat me. Everything seemed okay, except that I was scared of that imaginary crocodile with a 8ft long snout, wanting to eat me up.
11 years. I was 5 then. Floundering around in the hottub, and being bored as usual. This Christmas was special, because I got to see my Mom's side of the family. I didn't like my mom's side of the family. Or my mom. I still don't. There was nothing special about this Christmas. It was agonizing and filled with dread and grief. It wasn't just this Christmas that I wouldn't see my favorite Grandpa. It would be forever that I wouldn't.
It's funny, how fears are often reversed. The side of the family I don't like was only visited, because Yzma felt that she needed to see them as she was afraid they'd die that year. 11 years. They're still alive today. The one that I wanted to see, that I always saw, every Christmas since I was born, is the one that isn't alive today. The one Christmas he doesn't visit us. The one Christmas we didn't spend with him, but with the side of the family I don't like, is the one Christmas, in which it all ended. 11 years ago. I'd never see him again. I didn't understand what death meant entirely just yet. Even though I lost a beloved family pet, he was just a cat, not a human. I didn't understand that next Christmas would be different. We wouldn't be having any visitors, we wouldn't be going anywhere. Because the visitor I wanted, couldn't be there....

3 days. Watching an old family movie on the computer as Dad was checking how his new DVD computer drive worked, I heard a vaugely, but still unknown, familiar voice to me, from behind the camera. I had to ask who owned that voice. After a moment, Dad replied with, "That's Grandpa Ceci." I felt like my intestines were being twisted and wrenched from my gut. I had forgotten the sound of my Grandpa's voice. Forgotten. I wonder what he would say, if he knew that....I feel horrible.

2 days of mourning. 2 days of beating myself up. 2 days of flinching away from his photos and hiding my face. Before I finally saw what was intended by that video. And listening to what was intended by it. That Mother had reminded me what his voice sounded like. I wasn't supposed to be upset. It's like the song "When I'm gone" by Eminem. "Rejoice every time you hear the sound of my voice, just know that, I'm lookin' down on you smilin' - you ain't gonna feel a thing so baby don't feel no pain, just smile back"
She let that video happen, because she knew I needed a reminder. And she gave me that. Thank you, Mother <3
She also promised me, that everything would be okay. And I believe her. She wouldn't break her little Wolfy.And it took my Pack-Brother's help to let me see that.
Thank you Mother, Shawny, I love you <3

And now, suddenly, 11 years later...I realize why it is that I hate change so much. Because the one time something was changed, a tradition, I lost someone I loved and cared about very much. This means that change leads to very bad things. This is why I believe that, and this will continue to be my belief.

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