Friday the 13th. People say it’s an unlucky day, but I didn’t believe it. I felt, Friday the 13th was just a folktale about how one time one horrible thing happened on the 13th, and everyone thought that 13 was an unlucky number since. Also, a movie came out describing awful events occurring on Friday the 13th, called Nightmare on Elm Street. Ever since, people have been terrified and even avoiding this day by staying inside. But I was not convinced that these speculations were true … or at least not yet.

My family (except my dad) was at Berry Hills (a restaurant) and we were celebrating a soccer victory.

Entering the restaurant, I could smell the aroma of the cream sauce being slowly drizzled on top of pasta. Knives and forks cutting up the food piece by piece flooded my ears. My food had arrived and I began to eat. Suddenly, my mom’s cell phone rang. Unceasing beeps entered my ears until my mom stopped the aggravating noise.

My mom answered and her eyes stared wide open in despair. I didn’t know what was going on, but I would soon enough.
We had called our dad earlier to notify him on my triumphant win, but he had not answered. So when we heard the phone ringing we assumed it was my dad calling us back, but it was much more than that.

It was a death call on Friday the 13th.

My mom gave me the phone and I heard sniffles in the background. I was waiting for a response when my dad finally choked out the words, “She’s dead.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Grandma Maxine has passed away,” my dad said in a miserable sickened voice.

Stunned, I couldn’t reply. I couldn’t talk. My tongue felt like it was tied together. I felt guilty when I looked over to see my mom and heard my dad shedding wet tears, and my face was still dry. My mom was crying, my dad was crying, but I wasn’t. I was in denial.

All of those times when I blew Grandma Maxine off, and all of those times when I went on with my life without thinking about her. I regret not spending more time with her, and if she were still alive today I would.

My grandma, who I loved and shared many memories with, was dead, gone forever. I remember all the enjoyable times I had with her. When my mom and dad used to go to Texas football games they would leave me with Grandma Maxine. We would build block towers together and enjoy watching them crumble. She would make me cheese toast in the morning and cheese toast in the evening. She was a wonderful grandma and I loved every second I spent with her.

She died sitting peacefully in her chair. We did not expect her to die because she was in a good condition. I guess it was just her time, I mean she was 80 years old. She was gone, yet I could still feel her in my heart. I remember my thoughts that day: “Why did she die now?” I repeatedly questioned my-self over and over, “Why now?” and even to this day I do not know the answer.

Until that horrific day, I did not believe in unlucky 13, but after the dreadful events that occurred on the 13th I now think differently.