Death is a Scary Thing
It was 1:30 in the morning. I was four years old. I heard my grandma, Cathie, talking on the phone. I ignored it and I went back to sleep, but a half an hour later, I heard sirens. They were coming our way.
I got up and went to my grandma. She was tall with short hair, green eyes and a nice smile that warmed my heart. I asked her what was going on, but before she could answer me, the police, ambulance, and firemen came to our house. They went all the way back where my mom sleeps.
That's when my brother Paul woke up. He had heard the racket and started to cry. My grandma went to get him. He was still a baby so he didn't know any better. That's when I went into my mom's room.
I looked at her in shock. She was lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling. They put her on the stretcher and brought her to the hospital. Paul and I started to cry.
A day later, we got the news. She had died. We all had a crying day. From that day on, I wondered what it was like to die. That is why my grandma is important to me, because when my mom died, my grandma took care of me.
My name is Hailee. I am 9 years old, going on ten. My favorite color is green and I also have two kittens named Mouse and Lucky. I have a grandma named Cathie, a brother whose name is Paul and four best friends, Jess, Elle, Fiona, and Lilyana.