When I was a young child I could remember those windy spring days working in my grandfather’s garden. One of the first things he taught me how to work up the soil with a rototiller at the age of nine. Starting the machine took muscles and patience to pull on the starter cord, to even start the tiller. Once it was running it was really since it was built sometime in the 1990’s. When it backfired it would make a loud pop noise, and simultaneously a large cloud of black smoke would blow right into your face. It smells like old burnt oil, if it was bad that day you might walk inside with your face covered in black smoke. Operating the rototiller was difficult in the beginning, especially since I didn’t weigh but 85 pounds. My grandfather’s house …show more content…
If felt as if the fog was creeping by, as it cleared up throughout the morning. We loaded the truck with no problem and started setting up the stand, so we could begin selling produce. Everything was running smoothly other than the weather being hot and humid that day. The black top was as hot as hell in the heat of the day. No wind was moving that I can recall, and the skies cleared up in the afternoon. Around lunch time my grandfather was sitting on the tailgate of his truck, and he began complaining about his arm being tired. Nobody thought anything of it and continued working as we normally did. About an hour goes by and we are almost sold out of all the produce that day. The next thing I remember was everyone rushing towards our stand, and by the time I turn around, I see my grandfather laid out on the ground next to his white ford truck. The tears almost began to pour from my eyes, and my face suddenly started to heat up. At this moment in time everything stopped, my mind began racing with ridiculous thought of what happen to my grandfather. I kept asking myself questions like, “was there anything that I could have done differently to have helped my grandfather”. I really contemplated on, whether this was the last day I get to spend with him, while he was still alive. This thought taunted me throughout the rest of the day until we figured out what happened to him. When the ambulance came they drove him across the river to Barns Hospital. After the ambulance left, my father and I started packing up the stand, so we could go visit grandpa in the hospital for the rest of the day. It turns out that he stayed in the hospital for three weeks, because his blood pressure didn’t go back to normal after the Heat attack and they couldn’t figure out why. For the full three weeks my family went to the hospital and we visited him. Currently in my life I have not