In memory of my grandpa

I’m not good at this.  But when I think about it, how could anyone be good at saying a forever goodbye to someone they love?  How can you be “good” at watching your grandpa in what was his final days?  How can you be okay with death in general?

We have known for a number of weeks that my Grandpa C was not doing well.  His health has been deteriorating and my family was told his heart was essentially dying.  So basically, we knew it was a number of months-weeks-days.  Yesterday, my cousin Monica called & told me that if I wanted to see him – alive – that it was the day to do so.  If she hadn’t called, honestly I would not have gone.  I wasn’t sure that I wanted to see him in his last days.

There was a surreal calm when I went in to see him.  He hadn’t eaten in a week, hadn’t spoken in two days, hadn’t opened his eyes in two days.  His hands were soft, his hair was beautiful, his skin the same brown I had known my whole life.  But his breathing looked labored, his body frail and thin.  It was not the grandpa I had known for 28 years of my life.  Not the grandpa who I swore only knew how to say “hi mi’ja, how are you?” in Spanish until I was about 25 and heard him have a whole conversation (with a little liquid courage!) in English.  It just wasn’t him.

This morning I sent a text to Monica to ask if anything had changed.  She told me that honestly, they didn’t think he was going to make it out through the night…but he did.  She promised me if anything happened, she would call me.

The day proceeded as planned – I worked on orientation stuff, sent emails, had my telephone interview with A2 at 1:30.  I was out in the front office joking around with my coworkers when I came back into my office and saw 2 missed calls:  one from Monica, one from my dad.

And I just knew the day, the moment we had been waiting for, had come.  Although it was still sad – despite knowing it was coming, despite the fact that he lived 92  years – it still absolutely broke my heart to call my dad back and to hear him thousands of miles away, crying over the loss of his daddy. 

I left work as soon as I could and went to my grandma and grandpa’s house.  There were cars lined up & down the street – that’s what happens when you have 9 aunts and uncles and 36 cousins – and people in the house, in the yard, in the garage.  We consoled each other, we cried, we laughed.  I had a few moments with my grandpa – I stared at him, I told him I loved him.  I prayed to God that he was at peace and with my Aunt Irene.

The hardest part – and an image I am likely to never get out of my head – was the funeral home coming and wheeling him out of the house and into their van.  He was on a stretcher, covered in a velvet blanket, being taken out of the house that had been his home for years.  Being taken away from his beloved Clara, his yard, his dog who hadn’t left his side in weeks.  My Uncle Jr plucked a flower from grandpa’s garden and gave it to the men to put on my grandpa’s body.  That did it.

One knows that death is inevitable.  I had 2 totally different experiences in the death of my grandpas:  my grandpa S dropped dead at 61.  No warning, he was just gone.  My grandpa C was facing his share of problems for months, and facing a certain death within weeks.  I wouldn’t wish either death on anyone...neither the waiting, nor the not saying goodbye.

But what remains is the love I had for both of them – and how blessed my families on both sides were to have these loving, courageous men in our lives.

I love you grandpa C.