By Jared Garcia
Lineage is what keeps us connected. It’s inherently human to want to know who we are and who we come from, to notice the pieces of ourselves that bind us: “I have her nose!” “Our eyes look the same!” “You guys smile the same way”. When we lose a piece of our family, we lose a piece of ourselves.
In Puebla, Mexico, there is a tiny playground where my father used to play.
“I remember my dad would take me there” my father fondly recalls, “he would study while I would play.”
There is a distant look in his eyes as he tries to remember his earliest memory.
My father grew up in Mexico with four siblings and his parents, Raquel and Jose Garcia. As a child, he viewed his father with immense respect but at that age it didn’t translate like that,
“[he molded my childhood] with discipline, I was scared of him, I viewed him with such fear.”
That feeling of fear lasted well into his coming of age.
“I loved him but he intimidated me so much” he explains, “I was scared to fail or mess up.”
It wasn’t always fear and intimidation though, my grandfather could be (and was always) filled with love and generosity.
“I was already giving music classes at this point of my life so I wasn’t a child but I mentioned how one of my students was selling a computer and it was nice, I told [my father] and I guess he saw something in my face and he got money from the bank and said, ‘here, go get that computer from that boy.’”
As he shares his story, I see tears gleam from my his eyes, glassy lakes filled with pain and sorrow. The memory of my grandfather’s death fresh in his mind.
My grandfather died on October 1, 2013. It was a rapid succession that no one saw coming. He was always known for being so strong and healthy. He was avid fan of exercises and walking everywhere and anywhere.
On lazy afternoons, you could see him preparing and cutting fruits and vegetables, flipping the pages of his bible as he lightly hummed. The idea of my grandfather and sickness just did not mesh. But he was human and he could still falter.
It started with headaches and fatigue. Slight warning signs that could be blamed on his age, it was worrying but we never expected his demise. His sickness kept advancing and now he couldn’t remember certain things: street names or bus routes, he was full of confusion. He no longer possessed the strength he once had, he couldn’t go on walks or complete the exercises he once loved.
According to BrainTumor.org, an estimated 16,616 people will die from malignant brain tumors (brain cancer)(2016). My grandfather was one of them.
The memory of hearing the news may be hazy for me but it will always stay in my father’s mind, “I couldn’t believe it, I was in shock” he states, “I remember thinking why him? He served God for so long, why him?”
He was livid, angry for his sickness and his death. Doubt consumed my father at every chance but he gained some perspective.
“I remember hearing others’ stories about how their loved one suffered, they would tell me ‘oh my father had this for 10 months or he dealt with this for years’ and I realized my father’s situation and thought God didn’t let him suffer.”
Death changes and it teaches, “[His death] made me value life more, it made me more mature. It helped me put everything into perspective, to try to let go of things like my temperament.”
Grieving is a universal feeling but it exists differently in everyone. It pick and it prods and it breaks us in unique ways.
At the time of his death, I felt very disconnected. As if I wasn’t even there. It was not insensitivity or apathy but I felt out of place. As a thirteen year old, I’m not sure what it meant to truly grieve. I knew what it meant to cry, to remember but I also knew it could never amount to the pain my father felt.
It was his time to remember his father and I respected that.
There is no right way to deal with loss but there are ways to cope with it.
My father advises, “The pain never leaves and you just have to keep going, things are horrible at first but with time you see the purpose of it.”
Time is short and human life is even shorter. Birth and death is natural but we must treasure everything in between.
The memories that we make and the people that we love don’t ever stop existing, they live on within us, like Luke Skywalker said, “No one’s ever really gone.”
Lineage is what keeps us connected. It’s inherently human to want to know who we are and who we come from, to notice the pieces of ourselves that bind us: “I have her nose!” “Our eyes look the same!” “You guys smile the same way”. When we lose a piece of our family, we lose a piece of ourselves.
In Puebla, Mexico, there is a tiny playground where my father used to play.
“I remember my dad would take me there” my father fondly recalls, “he would study while I would play.”
There is a distant look in his eyes as he tries to remember his earliest memory.
My father grew up in Mexico with four siblings and his parents, Raquel and Jose Garcia. As a child, he viewed his father with immense respect but at that age it didn’t translate like that,
“[he molded my childhood] with discipline, I was scared of him, I viewed him with such fear.”
That feeling of fear lasted well into his coming of age.
“I loved him but he intimidated me so much” he explains, “I was scared to fail or mess up.”
It wasn’t always fear and intimidation though, my grandfather could be (and was always) filled with love and generosity.
“I was already giving music classes at this point of my life so I wasn’t a child but I mentioned how one of my students was selling a computer and it was nice, I told [my father] and I guess he saw something in my face and he got money from the bank and said, ‘here, go get that computer from that boy.’”
As he shares his story, I see tears gleam from my his eyes, glassy lakes filled with pain and sorrow. The memory of my grandfather’s death fresh in his mind.
My grandfather died on October 1, 2013. It was a rapid succession that no one saw coming. He was always known for being so strong and healthy. He was avid fan of exercises and walking everywhere and anywhere.
On lazy afternoons, you could see him preparing and cutting fruits and vegetables, flipping the pages of his bible as he lightly hummed. The idea of my grandfather and sickness just did not mesh. But he was human and he could still falter.
It started with headaches and fatigue. Slight warning signs that could be blamed on his age, it was worrying but we never expected his demise. His sickness kept advancing and now he couldn’t remember certain things: street names or bus routes, he was full of confusion. He no longer possessed the strength he once had, he couldn’t go on walks or complete the exercises he once loved.
According to BrainTumor.org, an estimated 16,616 people will die from malignant brain tumors (brain cancer)(2016). My grandfather was one of them.
The memory of hearing the news may be hazy for me but it will always stay in my father’s mind, “I couldn’t believe it, I was in shock” he states, “I remember thinking why him? He served God for so long, why him?”
He was livid, angry for his sickness and his death. Doubt consumed my father at every chance but he gained some perspective.
“I remember hearing others’ stories about how their loved one suffered, they would tell me ‘oh my father had this for 10 months or he dealt with this for years’ and I realized my father’s situation and thought God didn’t let him suffer.”
Death changes and it teaches, “[His death] made me value life more, it made me more mature. It helped me put everything into perspective, to try to let go of things like my temperament.”
Grieving is a universal feeling but it exists differently in everyone. It pick and it prods and it breaks us in unique ways.
At the time of his death, I felt very disconnected. As if I wasn’t even there. It was not insensitivity or apathy but I felt out of place. As a thirteen year old, I’m not sure what it meant to truly grieve. I knew what it meant to cry, to remember but I also knew it could never amount to the pain my father felt.
It was his time to remember his father and I respected that.
There is no right way to deal with loss but there are ways to cope with it.
My father advises, “The pain never leaves and you just have to keep going, things are horrible at first but with time you see the purpose of it.”
Time is short and human life is even shorter. Birth and death is natural but we must treasure everything in between.
The memories that we make and the people that we love don’t ever stop existing, they live on within us, like Luke Skywalker said, “No one’s ever really gone.”