Too Late…

A visit to my dead grandma

I was having a blast at sleepaway camp when I was interrupted by the news. Oma Edith, my great-grandmother, had passed away. I was flooded with emotions that were difficult to process at my young age.

Will I ever get to visit Oma (German for grandmother) at her quaint apartment in Manhattan again? We recently celebrated Oma’s 90th birthday; how could this happen? What will I be missing in camp when I’m gone for the next few days to attend the funeral and mourning services?

These questions raced through my mind on the long drive down from camp. Finally I arrived at home just minutes before my family was leaving for the funeral.

“What are you doing home?” Asked my little brother, confused and disoriented by the sudden break in routine.

“I came home for Oma Edith.” I replied with a heavy heart.

My brother giggled, “You’re too late. She’s dead already.”