My grandpa

Yesterday, my parents, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, and my poor old grandmother were all present when the doctors took the respirator off of my grandfather. He died around 12:45, and almost all of us saw his heart rate fluctuate from 105, to 50, to 80, to 45, to 60, to 20...eventually down to zero. It was terrible and necessary for me to see that. To see the grief that shook everyone, and the physical pain it caused nearly everyone. Death in itself is a sad, necessary part of life, but the fact that it has now happened to the patriarch of my family is terribly sad. There's a childish part of me that needed to see that montior show zero, as if it wasn't true if I wasn't a witness to that.

I think the worst part of this is not so much the fact that a part of our family has died, but the person he was. He was a big man, 74 yrs old., and was always smiling. He had become sweetly emotional, even though most of his time was spent teasing or picking on my grandma. He always looked his best and kept a comb in his back pocket to make sure his silvery white hair was in place. It was a tiny comb with a fingerhold, like a pad with tiny bristles on it.

He loved his family, and his favorite times of the year were when he had a family reunion to be at or a holiday to celebrate. He and my grandmother went everywhere together, despite their constant bickering, and their usual haunts included hole-in-the-wall bars, like the Tall Texan on North Main or tiny game rooms all over the Northside. They also hung out at the same taqueria every morning, Kukos. Not to be mistaken for Los Cucos, the big chain restaurant. Kukos served my Grandma breakfast everyday and will continue to do so, but my Grandpa's visits at least twice weakly will be missed.

I really hate the thought that he will never smile at me again. He would tell a joke, and then look over at one of us and wink or have an expectant look on his face. He'd say something to tease my grandma and then look at one of us and smile. If someone was falling asleep, he'd roll up a napkin and stick it in their ear- or just use a finger to scare them back awake.

There are tons of memories that I'll remember over time, or that will come back with time. But the times that I'll remember most are the times his voice would falter in the middle of a Christmas speech, telling us all how much he loved us, or his huge smile and twinkling eyes right after he'd cracked a joke. I will never forget that face, and I just wish I'd seen him more in my short life.

I realized after the fact that my dad has the same inflections and pronunciation as he did. This makes sense, as he was his child. But it doesn't seem to be shared with the other kids. My dad says ambulance funny. he stresses the 'lance' instead of the 'am', like my grandpa did. I also remember that my dad says 'mayonnaise' funny, like 'may-nase'. Just the things he says are wonderful. like, "What's going on?" in a silly way, or the way they say they love us.

I don't know how long I'll miss him. I don't think I'll ever stop. One thing he reminded me of is how lucky I am to have all the people I do, as well as how much I have to lose.