It was mid November. He was at school, 2nd grade. He was seven. The room was cold, for no amount of artificial heating could match the arctic like gale that pounded the windows constantly causing a horrifying, contant creaking.
It was a few minutes past 10 0'clock when his mother knocked on the open door to call the teacher's attention, asking to speak to her in private.
He watched in silence, anxiety taking hold for the first time in his young life.
Something was wrong, he just didn't know what. Had he done something bad? Something so severe to make his mother miss work and come to school? He doesn't think so, but still, he barely ever understands what his mother thinks is right.
Soon enough, both teacher and mother entered the chilling, huge classroom, approached him, all his colleagues with eyes fixed on them, his mother hiding tears in her eyes and finally the anxiety was put an end.
"Your great grand mother died."
He said nothing, did nothing. He didn't cry. He didn't ask when, for he knew an approximate when. He had kissed her good morning before leaving for school. She had said "Goodbye Sage.", pretty much like every other morning. But this morning she didn't say "See you later." after kissing him back.
When didn't mater, it was after that. Inside he felt a bit of emptyness open up in him.
She had said goodbye to him, her final goodbye. When he was older, much older, he eventually understood. She knew it was the end, and she took some of those precious, vital, final moments to say goodbye and kiss him.
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