I killed my grandmother. My secret and untold shame.

This story is very personal to me and not something I have ever shared - with anyone. This is my closure.

When I was a young boy my parents both worked very long hours. My grandmother, my mothers mother, would take care of me after school. 

Each day, when the last school bell had rung, I would grab my belongings and run for the gate. I would run so fast it felt as though my feet never touched the ground. I knew that when I got to my house, Gran would be there waiting for me. Not only waiting, but cooking and preparing my afternoon snack. Fresh muffins, baked cookies, fruit platters. You name it, Gran made it. She had done the same for my mother when she was a girl and really seemed to enjoy doing it. I would spend the better half of each school day thinking about what would be waiting for me when I got home. Her food was amazing!

I would greedily stuff my face with Grans treats, only pausing briefly to utter a muffled "good" when she would ask about my day. The once immaculate table setting would now look like a small army had descended upon it, crumbs and spilled fruit juice staining the tablecloth.

"Go and play, dear" she would say and off I'd go. While she would attempt to regain some semblance of a tidy home, I would be busy playing pirates or cowboys. Her best attempts to keep the house in order would be destroyed within an hour of me coming home. When my parents would return from work Gran was always there to defend my youthful clumsiness. "It's just a window" or "Boys will be boys" she'd say. 

And that is how it was. From the age of six, right up until almost nine, that's how things went. I'd finish school and hang with my Gran. It was our special time and it worked. Until...the day it didn't.

On that fateful day I was in a particular mischievous mood. My friends and I had been particularly silly all day at school and I carried that silliness home with me. Racing through my front door I went straight to the kitchen to feast on Grans treats. She wasn't there to greet me, but it became immediately apparent where she was.

The sound of a vacuum cleaner echoed through the house. I traced the cord up the hallway and into the master bedroom. Gran hadn't heard me come in! I smiled gleefully and came up with a plan, not knowing it would haunt me to this day. I was going to scare Gran. 

I slowly and silently crept into the adjoining room and crouched down behind a dresser. I waited for what felt like an eternity until the sound of the vacuum stopped. The sound of my grandmothers footsteps were coming towards me.

"Boo!" I shouted with all my might as Gran entered the room. The look on her face was of utter horror. Then panic. Her skin lost all color and she clasped at her chest. "Gran! Gran!" I tried to catch her, but it was too late. She dropped, almost in free-fall. "Gran!". I started shaking her. "Get up! Please get up!" I tried to get her off the ground, but it was like she had suddenly taken on the weight of three full grown men. This fragile, kind, sweet little lady now felt as though she was a giant and I had no hope of picking her back up.

The rest of that afternoon is blurry. Like freeze-frames from an old movie. Paramedics in my hallway. My mother sobbing uncontrollably at their feet. My dad not saying a word to anyone. It was never suspected I had anything to do with it. I mean, I was just a kid and she was elderly. Her heart just gave out is what they'd say.

That was twenty-one years ago. I still think about it to this very day. Miss you Gran.