The day I was old enough to know about my grandmother’s death, I believe I was about ten years old. I had just turned ten in September, and it was now October. I remember waking up to hear my mama crying in the bathroom. Naturally being curious, I asked what was wrong, and she told me that Mammaw, my grandmother, had been dead for six years that day. I hugged her and told her everything would be okay. Before that day, I had known that my Mammaw died with cancer when I was little, but this time it hit me differently. Maybe it was just the fact of being older and more understanding, I don’t know. That day I cried so much. I cried by myself, and I cried with my mama. I remember my mama telling me I should always love everybody as Jesus would no matter what they do. I was also told that you don’t know peoples’ stories, so don’t judge them before knowing that story. For some reason this day was very special to me, and it’s still very memorable. This is the day I learned so much about life, even though I was so young.