Robert Torres
English 2150
Like any other 12-year-old boy during the holiday season, the only things occupying my mind was the alluring mystery of what gifts I would be receiving for Christmas, and the eagerness of finally starting the much-anticipated Christmas break. Year after year, Christmas was celebrated with excitement and joy, undeniably making it my favorite holiday growing up. Yet, little did I know that December 24, 2014, would etch itself into the canvas of my memory as a day I would never forget. In the midst of summer’s luster, around mid to late July, my grandfather’s health began to decline. The diagnosis was lung cancer. The disease, once a mere vision in our family’s conversations, quickly became a disconcerting reality. Refusing to give in to the rigors of chemotherapy, my grandfather decided to face his fate head-on, choosing instead the path of natural remedies. Weekly hospital visits and endless medical jargon became the pattern of his life. As his physical strength waned, he eventually became bedridden, a mournful sight for those who loved him so dearly.
Despite the heavy shadow that illness cast, my grandfather retained an undying spirit of gratitude and love. This spirit shines most brightly during the holiday season when the family gathered around him, like moths drawn to the luminosity of his resilience. One memory, in particular, stands as a testament to his enduring grace. On one occasion, my mother and aunt helped him stand up from his bed, supporting his frail body so he could partake in the simple pleasure of drinking coffee in the kitchen. To their surprise, he thanked them warmly, saying, “Ay Mi hija, gracias, no se que yo hice para merecer esto” – “Thank you, my daughter, thank you. What did I do to deserve this?”. It was a bittersweet moment, witnessing a man who had spent decades as a loving and supportive father expressing his gratitude at his weakest state. His strength of character, even in his vulnerability, was profoundly touching. His humble words, carrying the weight of love and humility, still hold weight in my heart.
At the venerable age of 95, my grandfather bid his final farewell. I remember the day so vividly that the scene is practically ingrained into my brain. We stood there, encircling his bed, holding him as he exhaled his last breath. Our hands were linked in a chain of love and sorrow, forming a silent acknowledgment of the reality unfolding before our eyes. Even knowing his time was drawing to an end, nothing could have prepared us for the time of his departure. The room was mixed with warm and cold, an eerie picture painted with grief and love. The tension was distinct, and the wave of anxiety and sadness washed over us in unison. Humans don’t possess the ability to see what isn’t there and hear something that can’t make a sound, but on that day I could see and feel it all. I could feel and witness the rawness of our collective emotions, the undertone of loss, and the heavy blanket of silence that had descended.
In real time, the scene was heart-wrenching. A wife of 40 years was witnessing the painful reality of “till death do us part.” Two daughters were coming to terms with losing an amazing father who had been a constant presence for three decades. And there was me, a young grandson not yet old enough to watch a PG-13 movie without parental supervision, grappling with the irreplaceable loss of a man whose presence was a cherished constant in my life. The immediate aftermath of his departure was a gloomy period, punctuated with occasional tears and remembrances. The memories we had shared with him were safely tucked away, ready to be told to future generations. His legacy, the stories of his kindness, his strength, his love would live on, engraved in the chronicles of our family’s history. He would be remembered as a man of exceptional character, a man of love, and a man of resilience.
Despite the sorrow that filled that day, I came to acknowledge that it played a pivotal role in shaping me into the person I am today. However, if there were one thing I could alter about that day, it would be my reaction. I wished I had cast aside the self-imposed restrictions of behaving logically, and instead, let my emotions flow freely. I wished I had seized the moment, so to speak, possibly being a lot more spontaneous, and crying out how much I loved him. In retrospect, my grandfather’s death, though undeniably sad, wasn’t all that tragic when I really think about it. Though being a critical moment in my life, it served as a harsh reminder of how short life can be and the importance of expressing our emotions, especially love, openly and fearlessly. As I look back now, I realize that the valuable lesson he imparted continues to resonate within me, and will continue to do so for the rest of my life. His passing became a teachable moment about embracing vulnerability, cherishing our loved ones, and not withholding expressions of love, because life, as beautifully unpredictable as it is, doesn’t always grant us second chances.