The world tried to break me, I found a road too take me home. ♥

Two days before my twelfth birthday, my grandmother died of Ovarian Cancer. She'd been battling it for two years, it would have been three in July. My grandfather died almost three days later. He'd gone in to the hospital in September for heart surgery, and was supposed to leave the hospital three days later, but died seven months later, from what I think was depression, losing his wife of over fifty years, and not even being in their home for the last seven months of both of their lives. When people say something about their grandparents, it makes me realize how much I miss my own. I saw them both every day of the week, every day of the year. I loved them equally as much as I loved my own parents, they were like a second set.
My grandmother is my hero. I love her more than anything, even too this day. When I see the old, worn covers of the love stories I'd taken home with me, and put in my room, it makes me think of her, in Her Chair, cigarette is hand, smoke wafting towards the ceiling, the spine bent back, her working page by page to get to the end, crying if it were sad, and laughing out loud if it were funny. I've always admired the way she could throw herself into the story and becoming one of the characters in it. She'd always tell me about it in the end, telling me too read them when I was older. My mom says I'm just like her, in so many aspects of my personality. I imagine myself in a book, finishing one in a few days, my sarcastic, dry sense of humor, the way I search for perfection in everything, and the way I stand up for myself and what I believe in. I miss her so much.
My grandfather. He was the greatest man in my life. My rock. No matter what their money situation was, he'd always slip me a five after dinner, and twenty when I got my report card, and always took me into WalMart or Dollar Store too buy toys or books or candy, always letting me get whatever I wanted. He's always tell me that no man was good enough for me, that one day I was going too blow everyone away. I remember coming downstairs in the middle of the night and asking him to make me Oodles of Noodles, and he would. I'd sit on the counter while he made it, and talk about anything. He always made the best. One bowl for me, one bowl for him. We'd sit at the kitchen counter and watch tv on their old blue set, it even had antennas, but it had the best picture. We'd all go as a group to the Flea Market on Sunday mornings, after having the best breakfast at Leraine's Diner, and we'd go and just look.
I couldn't tell you what I miss most: the card games at the dining room table, eating Popsicles on the porch swing, or spaghetti dinners with the whole family. Maybe it was because I'd never met my mother's parents that made me really appreciate my dad's, or just the sheer fact that they made me feel good about myself, but I loved spending my time with them.
The night before my grandmother died, we had my birthday dinner. She was afraid she'd miss my real birthday, so we did it soon. She said that my shoes I was wearing weren't what a lady should wear, and I got mad, but did what she said, and took off my DC shoes. Before we left, she was already asleep in her chair, and I walked over too her, shook her awake and said goodbye, but that wasn't good enough. I think somewhere she knew that she wouldn't be there tomorrow, and she made me sit on her lap, hug her, and sing to her some old country song. I didn't know why, and I was a bit embarrassed, but I did it anyways. I kissed her goodbye, and we left. When I woke up in the morning and came down the steps, my mother and sisters were sitting at the kitchen table, just talking. My dad walked in and told us, and the only thing I wanted to do was run. Just run until I couldn't breathe and then keep going. Instead, I grabbed my DC shoes and put them in their box, in my room on the top shelf of my closet. I was cleaning my room earlier and saw them, but I didn't move them. I just sat in the bottom of my closet and cried. I didn't have the heart to even look at them. I've been a wreck pretty much all day. I don't know why. I just miss them both so so much. I've decided somewhere between all of the hysteria, that I'm going to get a tattoo soon. Two, actually, on the insteps of my feet. On the right, it will say Mary Ann, with an ovarian cancer ribbon, the left Robert Lee with a black cross. It's the one thing I can do that proves they'll always be with me, permanent.
Sorry about this, I just needed to write.
Hope you're all well. ♥
X's and O's, Hannah. ♥