(no subject)
Ok. everytime i try to sit down and put my thoughts down on the page, my mind tells me to fuck off and takes a siesta.
I dont blame my mind. it's had to see some terrible shit.
#1. Seeing my grandfather on an intubater.
#2. Seeing my grandfather conscious and not able to speak cuz of the intubator.
#3. Seeing my grandfather extubated and joking around in an "exorcist"-like raspy voice.
#4. Seeing my grandfather intubated again.
#5. Seeing my grandfather surrounded by a score of nurses and doctors as his heart is failing.
#6. Seeing the faces of all my family members as they wait for my dad to tell them to stop CPR.
#6. Seeing my father breakdown after telling the cardiac team to let his father go.
#7. Holding my grandfather's hand as the warmth slipped away from his fingers.
#8. Watching the blank "recently deceased" look of the first person I've watched die.
#9. ...
fuck this list. I let myself cry for a grand total of 15 seconds. Just truly and seriously bawl. Then I stopped. Because as hard as it was for me, it was harder for everyone else who know him longer and were closer to him. I had to be strong for my father and the others. He was a wreck....shit...who wouldnt be? That night it was hard to sleep with the sound of sobbing slipping softly through my door.
Everyone came. All the family showed up, even distant estranged cousins and friends. My gramps looked and smelled preserved. That formaldehyde or whatever preservative they stuffed him with was a bit pungent. He was a block of ice, a strange change for a man burning with so much intesity, both good and bad. i kissed his large forehead (he was bald as i will be too, someday) and it felt like smooching an icicle. The viewing was long and filled with Kleenex and crisp laughter as my family joked and grieved for this man. But the conversations were stifled, and peopled gathered in little family/friend cliques. Something had to be said. My tio Mauricio graciously thanked everyone in verbose Spanish for coming to pay their respects, but it left a gap for something to be said. So i went up there and said it:
"forget old enmities. The old man brought everyone together with every heart attack he had, and now that he's dead we need a new reason to visit each other. family comes first. Everything else is worthless without your loved ones. Family isnt just blood; it's who you're connected to, whether you like them or not. Forget the old history and focus on making a better history. you waste enough time obsessing over the least important things and you miss the point of living. So let's strengthen our bonds and take to heart what the old man taught us: You may not like the person you're related to do, but you're stuck with 'em, so make do. It may not be a pretty and storybook lesson, but live and remember it well."
Or something like that. the funeral was...well...a funeral. A tenor sang "Ave Maria" and that floored me. God knows i love that song, and to have it sung so well at this moment made me cry silently. i found out caskets are heavy....go figure. I had to help carry it from the hearse to the church and back. Abuelo was cremated. We did what Colombians do best after a funeral: eat and get drunk. I showed the family around town before they left and did another little private toast to the old man; it was just me, my cousin, and my aguardiente in my room.
By the way, this journal took my 3 hours to write. I had to stop for an hour after #8. Then another hour after the viewing part. this was hard to write.
M
I dont blame my mind. it's had to see some terrible shit.
#1. Seeing my grandfather on an intubater.
#2. Seeing my grandfather conscious and not able to speak cuz of the intubator.
#3. Seeing my grandfather extubated and joking around in an "exorcist"-like raspy voice.
#4. Seeing my grandfather intubated again.
#5. Seeing my grandfather surrounded by a score of nurses and doctors as his heart is failing.
#6. Seeing the faces of all my family members as they wait for my dad to tell them to stop CPR.
#6. Seeing my father breakdown after telling the cardiac team to let his father go.
#7. Holding my grandfather's hand as the warmth slipped away from his fingers.
#8. Watching the blank "recently deceased" look of the first person I've watched die.
#9. ...
fuck this list. I let myself cry for a grand total of 15 seconds. Just truly and seriously bawl. Then I stopped. Because as hard as it was for me, it was harder for everyone else who know him longer and were closer to him. I had to be strong for my father and the others. He was a wreck....shit...who wouldnt be? That night it was hard to sleep with the sound of sobbing slipping softly through my door.
Everyone came. All the family showed up, even distant estranged cousins and friends. My gramps looked and smelled preserved. That formaldehyde or whatever preservative they stuffed him with was a bit pungent. He was a block of ice, a strange change for a man burning with so much intesity, both good and bad. i kissed his large forehead (he was bald as i will be too, someday) and it felt like smooching an icicle. The viewing was long and filled with Kleenex and crisp laughter as my family joked and grieved for this man. But the conversations were stifled, and peopled gathered in little family/friend cliques. Something had to be said. My tio Mauricio graciously thanked everyone in verbose Spanish for coming to pay their respects, but it left a gap for something to be said. So i went up there and said it:
"forget old enmities. The old man brought everyone together with every heart attack he had, and now that he's dead we need a new reason to visit each other. family comes first. Everything else is worthless without your loved ones. Family isnt just blood; it's who you're connected to, whether you like them or not. Forget the old history and focus on making a better history. you waste enough time obsessing over the least important things and you miss the point of living. So let's strengthen our bonds and take to heart what the old man taught us: You may not like the person you're related to do, but you're stuck with 'em, so make do. It may not be a pretty and storybook lesson, but live and remember it well."
Or something like that. the funeral was...well...a funeral. A tenor sang "Ave Maria" and that floored me. God knows i love that song, and to have it sung so well at this moment made me cry silently. i found out caskets are heavy....go figure. I had to help carry it from the hearse to the church and back. Abuelo was cremated. We did what Colombians do best after a funeral: eat and get drunk. I showed the family around town before they left and did another little private toast to the old man; it was just me, my cousin, and my aguardiente in my room.
By the way, this journal took my 3 hours to write. I had to stop for an hour after #8. Then another hour after the viewing part. this was hard to write.
M