“Grampa!” I screamed, tossing the tackle box aside and dropping to my knees beside him. “Gramma! Gramma, help!” But no amount of screaming, no amount of dialing 911, no amount of pleading or incessant I love yous could stop him from dying in front of me before the ambulance arrived and took him away. Making his death the first real and horrible tragedy to strike my life. At least I wasn't foolish enough then, even at eleven, to believe it'd be the last.
