Family Values

*This was one of my first essays that I truely felt proud of.

Family Values

            There are three things Mexican families are known for: having a lot of kids, big parties, and being very religious. My family fits this example like a glove because I am one of 50 grandchildren my paternal grandparents had and I am proud to be part of such a big family. Of course, being one of 50 can be hard at times because I never really knew my grandparents like some of my cousins did. My dad did his best to keep us in touch with them, but I still wasn’t close to them despite all our visits to their house. Not until my grandma died did I realize that out of all the memories I had of the visits, I never really saw my grandpa.

            As time passed my grandpa re-married and moved from his house but I still wasn’t close to him, even refusing to go to his wedding. One day while in my History class a sudden pang of guilt hit me and it nearly left me in tears: I missed my grandpa, I needed to talk to him and strongly felt the need to see him. That afternoon I went home and my mom brought up a very good point, “Just call him.” I picked up the receiver and when I heard his voice on the other line I felt the knot in my throat get bigger. It felt so good talking to him. During the conversation I realized how empty my life was without my grandpa, then I said three little words that I had never told him before, “I love you” and without hesitation he said, “I love you too.”

            By my sophomore year we had grown closer and my dad and I would go visit him every weekend. At the end of every visit I never forgot to tell him that I loved him because I feared that I would never get that chance to tell him again. In December my grandpa told us that he had to have triple-bypass surgery, his second one since he was 50. I went with my dad to visit him in the hospital and I will never forget the sight of him in his hospital gown. My grandpa’s the type of man that doesn’t like to show pain or sadness in front of anyone, so despite his having trouble breathing, he told me he would be okay. I went to school the next day and all I could think about was my grandpa. His surgery was only supposed to be three hours, so my eyes never left the clock. When I got home, my mom told me the surgery ended up being eight hours long and they had some complications, my grandpa was in a coma. That night I went to go see him and all I could think about was how mad I was at the doctors, how could they have gotten my grandpa into a coma, why him? The next couple of days I got sick, so I wasn’t allowed to see my grandpa, which ripped me apart, I wanted to see him but couldn’t. When I was some-what better, my dad came into my room and told me that everyone had decided to take my grandpa off of life support that night. He asked if I wanted to go, but he told me, “I don’t want you to remember him like this, but it’s up to you.” After 5 minutes I decided to go see him.

            I walked in and my family was everywhere, in the lobby, the waiting room downstairs, the elevator, we were like a sea of paparazzi waiting for some celebrity to come through the doors, they had to make a line outside the room he was in so everyone could see him. Finally my turn came and my parents walked in with me, my heart felt like a sledgehammer hitting cement. When we got to his station, my heart sunk, he was nothing like the strong man I had seen before he came to the hospital. He looked as if he was in pain and you could see his chest going up and down. I realized the respirator was the only thing keeping him going. I took my grandpa’s frail hand and was prepared to tell him that I loved him, that it was okay for him to go, but all that came out of my mouth was, “Grandpa…” My mom told me to give him a blessing, so I made the sign of the cross on him and walked away before my tears became hysterics and I held them until the waiting room doors, after that I felt like my inner dam burst.

            I remember waking up the next morning and my dad told me my grandpa passed away before they could take him off of life support, I had no more tears to cry. I didn’t realize that he wasn’t going to be around anymore until we reached the cemetery and I saw his white casket marked with the lipstick stains of my cousins, and then it hit me. I kissed his casket and walked away, determined not to look back, fearing that if I did it would drive me crazy.

            Looking back I thank God that I got the chance to spend time with him, that I got a chance to get to know him and make up for the lost times of my childhood. I still miss him greatly and at times it’s still hard to talk about him. His wife told me that before he died, he told her that I was one of his favorites and I realized that I touched my grandpa’s life, even if it was only for a while. I have no regrets except not telling him that I loved him that night at the hospital, and without him I would be lost. I still keep in touch with his wife, but sometimes it’s painful to walk into the house he lived in and not see him sitting in front of the T.V. asleep while waiting for me to show up. When I think about my grandpa I will always remember him that way, waiting for me patiently, because he always seemed to understand me more than anyone ever did.