When I was young, the most I really knew about death came from watching movies and reading books. I never really realized that such a thing could happen to someone close to me; I didn't expect it.

I was blessed to have my grandparents from my mom's side live close to us while I was growing up — my grandma was a ten minute drive and my poppop moved from being five hours away to only ten minutes away. Even though they were divorced, they were basically best friends. They'd come have Sunday night barbecues with my family. They'd babysit me and my sister whenever my parents went out for the night, and we'd build lego castles or play card games for hours on end. They'd watch me and my sister whenever my parents went on a business trip; I remember helping my grandma make scrambled eggs for breakfast and joking around because they made us go to bed at 7 p.m. Randomly, my family would stop by their houses to bring a little treat, some flowers, or just to say hi and tell them about how everything was going that week.

I never expected this to end. It never occurred to me that they wouldn't be around forever. However, during my junior year of high school, I lost my grandma and my poppop.

My poppop always had heart problems. He had a pacemaker, was on blood thinners, and got nose bleeds that would actually last for hours. One night, we got a call from his helper that he was being taken to the hospital because his levels were way off at the doctor's. We rushed to the hospital where he was being stubborn per usual; he wanted something to eat, and he wanted to leave. Little did we know that this would become a cycle. For months, he lived in hospitals and various rehab facilities, which he hated because he was such an independent man. We would go visit him two or three times a day to sit with him, talk with him, and bring him food. My poppop had such a will to live; he absolutely loved life. He wanted to spend more time with our family, and he wanted to travel more. Primarily, at that point, he just wanted to go home and continue on with his life. However, his body was slowly failing him. The hospital told us there was nothing else they could do for him.

I sat in class every day scared that I would get a call over the intercom to come down to the office and that they would tell me that he passed away. For my mom, the hardest part was telling him that he had to sign the DNR, or else HOSPICE couldn't take him. I'll never forget the day that he came back to his house with HOSPICE. They wheeled him in on a hospital bed, and he looked so frail and weak. Seeing the hospital bed, the nurses, the medications, and all the tubes was a total shock. I started crying, and my mom told me to try and be strong, for him. He couldn't even handle drinking liquid water; we had to mix it with a thickener. We'd visit him many times a day to sit and talk with him. It actually seemed like he was getting better; he began to have a bit more pep. I stopped by with my mom to see him one afternoon before I went on a date, and my family went by that evening. I forever regret going on that date because that was his last good day. My sister has a beautiful picture of her and him. The next morning, between 5 a.m. and 6 a.m., my mom got a call that she had to go to his house ASAP because he was about to pass away. She rushed to drive over to his house. The nurse told her that, as soon as she parked in his driveway, my poppop took his last breath. That was March 8th, 2014; one of the worst days of my life.

While my poppop was having all of his health problems, my grandma also started to decline. She hadn't answered our phone calls for a few days, so my mom and I went over to her apartment to make sure that she was okay. What we saw was surprising — she was lying in her bed because she was unable to move at all. She tried to tell us that she was okay, but against her wishes, I made us call the ambulance. I was in tears. Sometimes I wonder, if I didn't call the ambulance, if she would still be alive today because, after she left that day, she was never home again. She was rushed to the hospital and stayed there for a few days. Her levels were all fine, but she had a terrible back and knees, so the hospital sent her to rehab because there wasn't anything more that they could do. She was in a few rehab places, but I'll never forget the rehab facility that she passed away in — they had three beds in a tiny room. While visiting my poppop in rehab, we also went to visit her a few times a day to keep her company and bring her food. She was very stubborn with the nurses — she basically disagreed to do her physical therapy. I think my last good day with her was when the nurses let us bring her outside in a wheelchair once to get some fresh air; I took a picture of her when she wasn't looking, and she looked beautiful. After that and especially after she heard my poppop passed away, she went downhill quickly. She became depressed — she stopped eating, stopped talking, and totally stopped interacting with everybody. She'd lay there all day with her eyes closed and her mouth open, collecting a ball of gunk. I'd pinch her toes just to get a tiny reaction out of her because that was the only time she said anything, and even that eventually stopped. We decided to not give her a feeding tube; it would only prolong this same state of being, of no longer wanting to live. We all cried every time we went in to see her — we loved her, and she was just killing herself. We begged her to please pull through, but I don't know if she could even hear us. Eventually, she got so undernourished that HOSPICE was called in. The room was so cramped with her, her two roommates, HOSPICE, and us in there. The last day that she was alive, my sister had a softball tournament. My dad took my sister to the tournament, and my mom and I stopped by the rehab center before going to the tournament. My mom wouldn't let me go in with her — my grandma's condition was so bad, and she didn't want me to remember her like that. My mom told my grandma that it was okay for her to let go and to move on to a better place. My mom wanted to be with her when she passed away, but I guess that's not what my grandma wanted. About an hour after we left the rehab facility, we were at the softball tournament, and my mom got the phone call that my grandma had passed away. That was May 24, 2014, and it was one of the worst days of my life.

Those few months were the absolute worst months for my family ever. It's so disheartening to have medical care and attention and love and to still just keep declining. When I was younger, I never imagined this happening. In retrospect, I took advantage of having my grandparents there. I wish I called them more. I wish I took more time to go and visit them. I wish I told them how much I loved and appreciated them. I have so many regrets, but there's nothing I can do now. I still carry their funeral cards with me (they're in my dorm room), and I talk to them many days through prayer. But I wish I had one more chance with them, to tell them how much of a positive impact that had on my life, how much I love them, how they'll always be in my heart, how their memories are with me forever, and how I'm sorry if it didn't seem like I appreciated them because I truly did.

Tell those you love that you love and appreciate them; you never know if that will be your last chance to do so.