when my grandfather died, i was only 5 yrs old. i was to learn later that he wasn't a very nice man, and that he made my poor mother's life a living hell.

but at the time, i was five, and i didn't really know anything about him. it was a saturday morning, i was laying in the bed next to the window, the blinds were green and the sheets blue. i remember the way the sun came down and criss-crossed the bed, and criss-crossed my eyes and across my arm as my mom woke me up and told me that she was going to be leaving for a week. i remember staring at the flower patterned wall, waiting to feel something because i knew that when people died you were supposed to feel something, and i remember being slightly embarassed that i didn't.

i also remember that my dad cooked us hot dogs and baked beans everynight while my mom was away.

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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