Deliver To...

Rest In Peace Grandpa

Today, June 13, 2010, marks the 6th year since my grandfathers death. It's funny; I guess the pain of the whole thing was so overwhelming that I forced myself to forget the date; I knew that it happened, that he was here, and now he's not, but I forced myself to forget June 13th, 2004. He died four days before my 10th Birthday. I remember that day vividly; it was just a cake, the presents didn't seem so exciting, I couldn't eat, and I felt selfish for expecting my family to sing to me; all I wanted was to forget it was a day of celebration, to not have to smile, to not have to enjoy the rest of the day. I put all those presents in their bags on that trip home, and the guilt kept me from touching them. There was an empty seat that night at the dinner table, an absent voice in my birthday song. How could anyone have ever wanted to celebrate that day? I had wished it could have been just another day, just a year in my life.

Today, when I woke up, I felt odd. I didn't know why. I just didn't want to wake up; I didn't know why. My dad made me breakfast, and I poked at it, and ate a bit, and felt sick to my stomach. I didn't know why. Then, when my dad told me what the plan was for the day, it all came back to me; June 13th, 2004. I may even have the year wrong; I forced the numbers out of my head. But I knew something was wrong about today the moment I woke up. It's only now that everything is sinking in, though. It's funny how those things work; our mental defenses from pain.

I took the time today to remember all the things my grandpa told and did for me; every visit to his house came with a complimentary Martinelli's Apple Juice Bottle. It looked like a little apple with a tin lid; I haven't seen those around for a while. I always made an effort to take it, even if I didn't want to drink it; it was something that made me smile. I remember sitting in the living room, and he would always ask me in that scratchy voice of his, comforting, if we brought him his Alaskan Lobster Dinner that he had been craving since he was a teenager, even though he knew I hated seafood. If I could go back, I would have choked down any part of that damn thing if it would have made him happy; I think he really wanted it. Some days, I would sit in his room and listen to him tell stories of when the first cars came out on the market, and the changes around the houses back then, and the change in televisions, and all of those things I take for granted now. He knew so much, and I keep on building off of what he taught me. Damn me though, I remember there were some days that he would ask if I wanted a story, and I would rather play XBOX with my cousin; what did I miss out on? I never could look him in the eye if I passed on the offer; I didn't want to see hurt in those bright happy eyes of his. That's one of the things I hated about myself after he left, that sometime's I'd pass on learning decades of knowledge for a cold piece of equipment. I know he didn't regret me doing it, he just wanted to be happy, but I'd give anything to hear one more story about the Model-T Ford. Just one more story. Some days, I wouldn't want the juice either, and I'd call out from the room "No thank you TaTa, no today." And he'd leave it on the counter for me, because it always happened that by the end of the night I wanted it. I still look around that house for just one bottle, even if it's covered with dust and spoiled. I want to save one more, just to trace the little plastic leaf near the opening. I can't even remember how they tasted; I just want the bottle, to play with it and toss it around. I regret all the times I passed on that little plastic bottle...

He was an amazing man, really. I know we're supposed to say that, but he really was. I remember one time, I was nagging at my mom; I was little, and I think I mouthed off, and she yelled at me and made me cry. Sure enough, grandpa blamed my mom, saying I didn't know any better. I knew I did, but it was nice at the time to hear him say so. He was always there to make me smile. I miss that smile the most, out of almost everything. It warmed up the room, and I can't believe, today, that I used to pass that up. Who was I to think it would always be that way?

My mom told me a story about him today that I had never heard. Around the time he had first gotten sick, my sister came down with a dangerous case of pneumonia. She was weak and not eating, it was bad. She went to the hospital with severe symptoms, and of course they kept her overnight after seeing the x-ray. She had the works; IV's, Meds, you name it. The second day there, no improvements, so they kept her again. The third day, the sickness had shifted to her other lung, so they told my mom my sister couldn't go home yet. My grandpa went to see her that night, although he should have been at home resting; the doctors didn't want him out of the house just yet. But he was stubborn, and he went, and asked Mom how Sister was. Mom told him about the x-rays, and how they would have to keep her longer. Without a word, he went to my sister's bedside and knelt down, although I'm sure it hurt to do so. He looked down at my sister and put his hand on her chest, closed his eyes, and as was his custom, began to pray. My mom said he cried when he prayed. But, afterwards. he opened his eyes, and wiped away his tears with the little handkerchief he carried, and said,

"Mija, you won't have to stay another night, I promise. You'll go home tomorrow; do you know why? Because I just prayed that I could take all of your sickness into myself, all the pain and aches, all of it, so you can be better and go home. You'll see mija, you'll go home tomorrow." And with that, he left.

The next day, the doctor took another x-ray, and came back after the results.
"Well, it seems as if your daughter is going home today."

I don't know what the look on my mom's face was, I wish I did.

"There are no traces of the sickness anywhere in her system; it just disappeared overnight. Your daughter is going home today."

God, do I cry just reading that. He SAVED her life; it could have killed her at that age, and whatever he did, he saved her life. He took that sickness, or killed it, something, but it was gone from severe to nothing at all in just a few hours. Something happened there that night, and I can't believe it was just antibodies.

I don't think I can write anymore; the rest...is just too painful. All I know is that he's gone now, hopefully to a better place, anywhere, and he knows I'm still here, missing him and loving him as if he never left. Thank you all for letting me say this, to anyone who's listening. I know that tonight, my Grandpa is somewhere away from here, sipping Martinelli's Apple Juice and chowing down on that Alaskan Lobster, just like he always wanted. I hope he get's it whenever he wants, and maybe I'll get to share a meal with him someday, like he wanted.