Thursday, August 5, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Foreshadowing is one of the most common yet important elements of literature. Authors cleverly, and at times more obviously, weave hints throughout the text that foretell of what is to come. Some say God has a plan for all of us; he is the author of our everyday lives and I assure you, He is a clever one.
Days earlier, my aunt dropped off my cousins at our Memphis home so that we could keep them safe and in good company while she took care of Abuelo in Ohio. She was supposed to come back and fly home with them, but as Abuelo's condition worsened, she decided to stay until his passing instead. That was hint number one: my cousins flew home July 2nd. Hint number two came at the airport after my cousins had walked to their gate to fly home. On the way out of the airport, Dad asked what the "grieving rates" were for Delta's boarding passes because we would be needing to fly soon because his dad "didn't have much time."
After dropping them off, my family returned home to witness the Dutch stun the World Cup favorite, Brazil. Later, I went off with my friend to just hang out and enjoy the beautiful summer weather. Debating on what to do, we ended up just moseying around in a fireworks shop and admiring the descriptions that adorned the flamboyant wrapping papers. We awed at the prospect of blasting twenty minute spectacles of bright lights into the sky. Naturally, as any good boyfriend would do, I was texting my girlfriend throughout all of this. The conversation proceeded normally, and suddenly (and very sweetly I must add) she asked for an update on my grandfather. There was my third hint. I referenced a text from my aunt that had been sent to me a few days before, but little did I know of the heart-wrenching update to come hours later.
The rest of the day was as any other. I left the house to rent Fifa '10 in order to fuel my World Cup fever, and I arrived at home in an inexplicably good mood. I waltzed into the house and filled the room with a bright smile as I played with the dog. I then looked up at the couch and my brain registered my parents' faces. They were not adorned with the same expression, and before I could fully process them my father said "Guys, come here." I knew. No one had to say any more, I had seen the movies. The news was written in my father's eyes. I smiled when he told us because it was too unreal. Reality was soon to hit me square in the jaw. As we came together to hold hands, and tears started to flow around me, it became a tangible reality. My Abuelo was gone. I held myself together through the prayer, but I walked as quickly as I could to my room and locked the door. It was then that I was unglued. I knelt at my bed, and looked out into the blue sky before me. I tried and tried to fathom what had happened at 7:30 that evening. Because it was the last place he wanted to go, my family ate at Red Lobster and saved Abuelo a seat.
My father and I embraced and he said to me "I know you loved him very much." Truer words could not have been spoken at that moment. Abuelo Juanma had been there for my entire eighteen years of life, and a life without him was a daunting thought. I learned from him, I fought waves with him, I nearly set fire to the kitchen with him, I played chess with him, I laughed with him, I shared stories with him. To think that I no longer could create memories with him was heart breaking. I will always hold dear the ones that we did manage to create. Making up translations for opera, his hilarious twists on history, chess, our crazy drawings, the even crazier science experiments, giant puzzles, and especially poker. I learned a lot from Abuelo, as did everyone that ever knew him. I will always love the things that we did together along with the bow ties and the way he answered the phone, which he made so famous through television. He was a great man for our family and our island. I'm looking forward to honoring him on Monday with a memorial service and then spending a great few weeks here in Puerto Rico with the rest of the family.