Last week was a typical senior week — rushing from the final classes I need to take in order to graduate, college applications and prompts to answer. However, everything changed in a moment when, unexpectedly, my grandmother, Del Martinez Carrillo, died, Sept. 29.

All time seemed to stop at this moment, as I could not accept it as truth. I instantly broke into violent sobs and ran away. I have always been the kind of person to run away from problems until they magically disappear, but this time I could not run from something that will never change.

I drove off, speeding away dangerously. I figured the faster I went, then the less true the news would become. I went to a friend’s house just to go to a place to cry because I could not cry at home; I needed to be strong there, but even those who need strength need to fall a part at some point.

Once I arrived at the house I stood still just yelling out and using up all my tears until they disappeared. I told her that my best friend had died because that is who she was to me. She was the only one who I told my entire life to: the good, the bad and everything in between that was worth talking about.

The next day I went to school and planned on telling no one because I wanted to keep it quiet, like other classmates have. Throughout first period I kept everything together, but by the time I got to second I could not distract myself enough to keep the sadness and anger away. My emotions were so distracting that I was told to go home.

Later I calmed down somewhat, but I just knew everything would never be the same. I spent the next days choosing funeral music and going through pictures for hours. My only motivation as I worked was to make it beautiful; to make it something that she would love. However, every night I stayed up until 2 a.m. working to create slide shows for the funeral and reception, I cried silently to myself finally realizing that no future memories could ever be made.

She had promised me that she would see me graduate. I even promised her that I would go to University California, Santa Cruz, just to spend time with her even though it was not applicable to my major and I did not desire to attend that school.

As a child she used to spend weeks and months at my house and raised me since both of my parents worked. She helped in the classroom when I was between the ages of six and eight, and attended every Grandparents Day.

As she got older, she developed dementia, but I was one of the few people she never got angry at. Instead, we created a magical world of our own. We would say that I would go to college in New York and I would take her with me. We would go out to fancy places and live the dream of the city. It was our final destination to run away. She always wanted me to go to school and finish because she never did.

Together we made up a dream world to run away to since neither of us liked reality very much. I thrived on working through the basic trials of everyday life and she would patiently wait until I could make our dreams come true.

The day of the funeral, a few people came up and spoke. My brother recited a poem, I spoke about how she loved, my uncle told how she treated him like a son even though he married into the family and my cousin told stories. He was the first grandchild, and spoke about all the ways that she changed him.

As a teenager he lived with her and she used to tell him that when he was depressed, this is what should be done: ?You get up, you take a shower and you get dressed.? Now that is all that is left, and that is what I plan to do for the rest of my life.

For more columns, read the Oct. 4 article, Higher taxes, cuts to useless programs will restore economy.

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