For My Grandfather

My grandfather is dying and not sure what I’m feeling besides incredibly sad and slightly nauseated. It’s not like this is sudden or unimaginable, but just because I knew this time would come does not make it altogether easy. I remember when I was little he would pick me up from kindergarten and we would walk home together after school. Outside, near the entrance of my elementary school there was a snow cone stand and he would always get us snow cones to battle the sweltering temperatures of Miami while he asked me about school and I really felt he was genuinely interested in what I had to say. I would excitedly tell him that I could count to ten and he would be aghast. Then he would tell me, “Now count to ten in Spanish, like I taught you.” And I would. I would excitedly yell the numbers like it was our own private language. He would laugh and give me a hug and I believed at that moment I was invincible.

My grandfather died a few days ago and it still feels surreal.

I remember….

We walked hand in hand and he told me about his childhood in Trinidad. He would lecture me and my cousins on the importance of wearing shoes around the house, not sitting too close to the television, and always making sure there was ample light when we were reading so we didn’t strain our eyes. My cousins and I headed these warnings most of the time, but never really understood their importance. 

I remember before going to Costco with my grandmother my sister and I would anxiously asking her whether or not Poppy was coming. Poppy was what I we called my grandfather for as long as I can remember. To this day I am not sure where it came from, all I know is it just felt right. Anyway, after inquiring about his presence and receiving the correct answer (“yes”) we would drive up to Costco with smiles on our faces- knowingly. Though Costco trips were never a burdensome adventure, when Poppy was there it was pure magic. Ma, our grandmother, would go about shopping and my sister and I would follow Poppy to the candy aisle (his favorite aisle after the ice cream section), where he would pick out a hefty box of chocolate then ask us what we wanted, laughing jovially. Our eyes lit up and we would chose another box, our mouths watering our tummies rumbling (probably in anticipation of the gluttonous act that would take place immediately after this Costco trip).

I remember being “put on punishment” and being banned “downstairs” (there was a split level living room where there was a big TV, a few couches, a chair, and most importantly, “Poppy’s chair”). I was told to sit there for an indefinite amount of time which would make any six year old miserable. Poppy was always watching Animal Planet when this happened and I would eventually stop fighting my anger and annoyance for being pulled away from my cousins and video games to focus on how incredible it was that ant colonies were able to build so many lengthy, intricate little tunnels even though they were so tiny. I learned that the wild did not solely consist of Disney animals singing about longing to be human, but filled with a necessary reality of survival, death and triumph. Watching the baby gazelle escape the tigers was magnificent. Seeing the mother be torn to shreds was definitely a bit traumatic.

I remember when Poppy would go on his walks and I would always wonder where he was going and how far he was walking. With cane in hand he would set out and I would watch him go through the screen gate and disappear. Sometimes he would return with goodies and other times with a look of fulfillment and relaxation. 

I remember when he was starting to get sick and the twinkle in his eyes began to dim and his witty retorts were replaced with questions about where he was or who he was speaking with.

I remember having to speak louder and feeling I was yelling at him, but he still could not hear that I told him I loved him. 

I remember seeing him shrink from a mountain to an unimaginably slender hill.

I remember wishing there was something I could do.

I remember hoping that he would at least have his memories no matter how far away they may have seemed to him.

I remember hoping he knew that I loved him, even though I didn’t say it nearly enough.

He’s gone now and though I know he is in a better place, that will never stop me from missing him and remembering his smile and his hearty laugh. 

I love you, Poppy. May you rest in peace.