Tag Archives: grandpa

July and February 

Dammit Nashville. You done gone got me all in my feelings tonight. It’s funny.  I realize that when I reach the point of the “ugly cry” that I’m more aware of the different emotions I’ll feel throughout each of my days. The popular ones lately are anxiousness, anger, irritation, and unconditional love, which mostly emerges on the weekends.

Nashville has that ability to stir up thoughts about meeting a character or a person for the very first time, watching how they live their lives with you in it and then BOOM! It shatters your heart into a million goddamn pieces by tossing grief into the mix. 

Grief. Hello darkness, my old friend. I think what astonishes me the most about this emotion is the capability it has to reach different levels. Hell, it’s deadly in itself. 

I have to say that my strongest relationship with grief comes from the bond that was broken between my Grandpa and I on February 28, 2013. That firecracker of a man was born on July 4th and I’m the female version of him, down to the abrasive words that come out of my mouth.

I have this liberating ability to not give one single damn about someone or anything. But if I love you, I have the powerful ability to do my best to protect you, respect you, and make you laugh while doing so.

I loved and respected that man on a level as high as my father. I took his words to heart and I’d be damned if I disappointed him. I would even brag as a child about wanting to marry him when I got older. Now I’m older, and I dwell on him not being around to watch me get married.

Ending on a spiritual note, I believe that there is an afterlife. I believe that he is in my car every time I get in it, with damn good reason.

I just wish that heaven was a phone call away, because he’d want to FaceTime and I’d give anything to see his face. 


A Speed Bump.

I hate when unhappy feelings come to surface. I’ve been holding them in for too damn long now. So here’s chapter number one.

I’ve always been a ball of emotions, I’m a Scorpio for God-sake and certain things that have happened in my past have taught me to shove them down my throat into a deep crevice to a place I’m unaware of. However, every now and then they want to arise…usually when I’m in bed early and have to be up at 7 A.M.

In March of 2012, I learned that my grandpa’s cancer came back for the seventh time. In December of 2012, he would end up in the hospital…for the very last time.

He was a second father to me. Saying he was always there would be an understatement. My mom would be on the phone with him in the kitchen telling him I was sick, I’d be in the next room and after they hung up my cellphone would ring and it would be him saying, “What’s the matter with you?” He was always concerned. Always trying to help and make things better for me. I lost him on February 28, 2013, giving myself no time to mourn, because I had to graduate in 3 months. I did, and my meltdown took place the day after I walked across that stage. One day I’m in the hospital telling him that he needs to be there to see me walk…then that day comes and he’s gone, his house is gone, and his car is gone, as if he vanished into thin air. I spent his last evening on Earth holding his hand…with no idea that it would be his last. There is forever a hole in my heart. I try not to think about him sometimes, because when I do, I sob so hard, I can’t breathe.

The same month I learned of his cancer coming back, my grandmother was told she had pancreatic cancer. She wanted to refrain from telling me because she didn’t want it affecting my work. Once she told me the news, I hugged her and cried and said, “I’m sick of hearing the word cancer.” She was optimistic from the beginning, when she told me that everything would be alright, until the end, when I cried that she wouldn’t see me get married and she assured me that she would.

For the next two years I would watch this headstrong, compassionate, wonderful woman who gave me my mother, suffer and wither away to skin and bones. A woman who once baked 5 different kinds of Christmas cookies have no appetite and needed painkillers to get through the day. A woman who took me shopping for my birthday and Christmas every year until I turned 21 turned into a shell of the physically strong woman she once was. The week of March 1, 2014, my family literally waited for her to die. In a hospice center where people were being carried out to a hearse one after another. On March 7, 2014, I lost another piece of my heart. Exactly one year, one week, and one day since I buried the last piece. I’ve been lost ever since.

I know this is a little off key, but I have a point. Robin Williams recently committed suicide. The actor/comedian who each fan saw as The upbeat Genie in Aladdin or the witty Mrs. Doubtfire, one of the biggest adult kids around, hung himself because he was so depressed. I can’t even begin to explain how sad I am for the loss of him. Here’s why.

My childhood was The Genie in Aladdin and it was Mrs. Doubtfire. I remember being a kid and quoting both movies with the same enthusiasm as Robin Williams did. I remember going to Blockbuster (when it existed) and renting “Jack,” a movie he made about a boy who had a disease that made him look like an adult when he was a child. I was a child myself, but that movie made me cry, because it reminded me how special people can be.

Lately I just feel like my childhood has died, and no one should ever feel that way. I know it’s silly to mourn a person you’ve never met. But you don’t realize how a person had so much impact on a part of your life until they pass away. Until some of the joyous parts of your childhood pass away.

I have struggled with more issues than growing up with two disabled brothers. Things I don’t care to speak of. But I want people to know that I sympathize with Robin Williams because I have been in a hole that deep. I just someone managed to crawl and burn my way out of it. How, sometimes I still have no idea, and I hate that his death has made me rehash on that time in my life.

I am thankful to still be here, I am thankful for everything I have and everything I don’t, but when it comes to dwelling on the people I’ve lost…it scares the living shit out of me for my future.

I just don’t want to lose another piece of my childhood. I don’t want to be a shell of a happy character I once was.

And the scariest part about life is that no one gets out alive.