It was around 8pm on a normal night, the usual time for my siblings and I to watch “Full House” on the television in the living room. It was a school night, making it customary for us to be done with dinner by 7:30pm and done with our homework by 7pm. The volume of the television was so high that our eardrums would probably explode if it had been raised by even a bit. However, I kept watching because that was how it went every day, never-changing.

Then, something happened. The doorbell rang not once, but twice, meaning that there must be something urgent. I got up and opened the front door, seeing my mother with a baby carriage in hand. It was her best friend’s newborn, but her friend was nowhere in sight. I looked at my mother with a straight face as she explained that I would have to look after the child while she went off to my neighbor’s house for an important matter. I simply nodded my head, shut the door, and took the carriage back inside, where we all watched the program together.

Now, the program, it was a quite interesting one. The grandfather had come to visit, and no one knew that he had, well, an illness. It all continued until one day, they woke up and discovered that the grandfather had died in his sleep, still under his plaid blanket. I already watched this episode one too many times but sat quietly, at least until the phone rang.

I answered the phone after precisely two rings, and my mother sniffled, saying, “Our neighbor passed away.” I thought my brain was playing tricks on me. The grandfather on Full House just passed away, and now the next-door grandfather had passed away as well. The baby did not hear nor understand anything I said, but for some reason, she started crying. A tear streaked down my cheek, perhaps in response to the baby. Nevertheless, we all sat there, as a phone call and doorbell could not change anything. After all, it was a school night.