Two and a half weeks have passed my beloved grandfather passed away and it has taken just as long to collect my thoughts and feelings on this loss. I consider this to be a difficult topic to talk about, as my insufficient words can do no justice to the man who, for all intents and purposes, raised me and taught me true goodness. I would like to reflect a bit on his passing on what it has meant to me in the context of my faith.
My family spent almost the entire duration of my grandfather's two week stay in the hospital in prayer and in strong hope. I did my best to go as often as I could. He had been in the hospital a month before for swelling of the legs and water in his lungs. My grandfather had always been so strong before, so we were not overly worried even when we learned that there was a lymphoma in his stomach. Unfortunately, due to the medical bureaucracy, or perhaps pure negligence, his chemotherapy did not begin until the 2 weeks before he died.
My mother and I accompanied my grandparents to the oncologist’s office on Wednesday the 14th of May. My abuelo dressed his best in a fine guayabera so as to hide the signs of his illness on his body. I couldn't stand to see my grandfather so worn out. After a long wait he went in, only to come out half an hour later with his clothes half off, a look of intense pain on his face, and his appearance disheveled overall as my grandmother escorted him to the restroom. My mother emerged from the room next with tears in her eyes saying, “El no va durar…He has cancer all over his body.” I was crushed and said little in response. A while later I went in to rub my abuelo’s back. He said in a low voice, “After so many illnesses, so many troubles…” I felt he was losing hope, and I had to fight back my tears. My grandmother urged him to maintain optimistic thoughts. Following a bone marrow exam in his spine, we decided to admit him to the hospital to undergo chemotherapy there.
Even though his spirits were sunk, my abuelo maintained his sense of humor, poking fun at a nurse who had come to prick him yet again for blood. So it always was with abuelo- always the most light-hearted person in the room. Being in his presence was uplifting in itself. He was the epitome of joy with life. I always told myself, and we all believed that, he would live to be at least 100, such was his vigor and strength.
I could never see my grandfather as a cripple, bent low by infirmity. Before going to the doctor, my father procured a walker for my grandfather. I watched in sadness as my abuelo stood up and tried it out. In my mind I knew he would never use it; it wasn’t in his nature. As it turns out, I was right. He only used it that once.
We were incredibly hopeful and optimistic when it came time for my abuelo to finally begin chemotherapy a week after his admission. The doctor had been busily giving him intravenous proteins, lipids, and sugars to rebuild his emaciated body and it worked. He was ready for chemotherapy and accepted it well, not experiencing any of the usual reactions to the first time.
On Sunday the 25th of May, I was at the hospital again. We had to wear masks in the hospital room since my abuelo’s immune system was crippled by the chemo. He was weak but moving. The medicine was doing its work and all of our hopes were high. That day was considered the low point, after which his bodily would gradually recuperate from the medicine’s shock. Just before I left for Gainesville, the doctors gave my abuelo some painkillers- he was writhing in pain from his kidneys working on overload to flush out all of the dead cancers.
So I returned home in a mellow mood, but confident that, given my grandfather’s good acceptance of the therapy, he would be alright. That is, until I got a call on Tuesday morning of the 27th from my mother telling me to hurry to Ocala. My abuelo’s vitals began to plummet and the nurses knew that he would not be able to hang on much longer.
We were allowed in the hospital room without masks this time, which troubled me as I felt it a sign that there was no more chance of recovery for my abuelo. My grandmother was in her chair by my grandfather’s bedside as she had been non-stop since he went in. She too had been suffering silently from the agony of seeing him the way he was. We had to give her medicine to calm her nerves. I feared as much for her as for abuelo.
Upon arriving, I sat at my grandfather’s side and read him the 23rd Psalm and the Our Father in Spanish. I don’t think he heard me; he had been asleep for two days, gasping for air in short bouts. Again I felt like crying, but I held in my tears. All day long, asking myself why we were there, I told myself, “We are waiting for my grandfather to die”. I almost wish I didn’t have to go through that. The pain of having to repeat that all day is still with me. I never wanted to say good-bye to my abuelo, much less to have to wait patiently for his inevitable departure.
My father and I prayed fervently for abuelo in his last moments. I sat by his side and said a rosary while holding his cold but strong hand, which was clasping a string of sacrifice beads. I then pointed out the story of St. Lazarus’ resurrection in the Gospel of John, which my father read to my grandfather in Spanish. My grandmother had fallen asleep. It was quiet in the room. A bit later, once my father finished, he fell asleep with his head reposing on my abuelo’s bed. I stepped out into the waiting room to work on solving a jigsaw puzzle of a beautiful mountain and lake. How fitting that at the moment of my grandfather’s death, the consummation of a great mystery which we can barely understand, I should be piecing together a puzzle with my mind in a flurry of thought and anxiety.
A little while after working on the puzzle, my father appeared in the doorway and told me to come quick, as something had happened. “He’s not breathing!” he cried. My heart skipped a beat and I followed him. My grandfather had indeed stopped breathing. Panicking, I ran out of the room and yelled, “Nurse!” She came in and listened to his heart. The nurse took off her stethoscope, faced my father, and said, “I am sorry.” I looked to my right and my grandmother had a surprised look on her face as she had just woken up from the commotion. I did not know what to feel- I simply covered my face with my hands and beheld my grandfather in shock. Never before had I experienced death, and here I was with the man who I loved so much and who had always been there, who was no more.
I remember the moments following my abuelo’s death vividly, and they have haunted me. I ran to get my brother and mother in the next room and they came in. My brother burst into tears. I had been calling for a priest all morning and no one ever came, so I grabbed my phone and angrily berated the church for delaying so long in coming. Fortunately my grandfather had received Last Rites the week before, but I was so angry all the same. I embraced my grandmother and kissed her head as she wept, saying “El quería vivir…él quería vivir…” (He wanted to live). I lay across my grandfather and whispered into his ear that I loved him. That I had not told him before fills me with shame! At that moment two priests burst into the room and the first one cried out with great drama his prayers over the dead. I looked at him incredulously. My mind was in a storm of confusion. As he led my family in mournful prayer, I went over by the wall, turned away, and wept bitterly for my grandfather.
Just before my grandfather expired, my father had been by his side reading him the story of the resurrection of Lazarus again. He then lay his head down and dozed off. What awoke him was a voice in his head exclaiming “Cordero de Dios!” (Lamb of God!). At that moment he opened his eyes and saw my grandfather draw his last breath.
I think that all of us really knew, deep down in our hearts, that my grandfather was with God at that very moment. His life was spent in beautiful simplicity and deep faith. My abuelo was a man of little scholarly education, however I consider him to have been one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever known because he truly knew how to live. In his earthly life he had a deep love for all of us, especially his nietos, his grandchildren, and constantly asked about us. I know that he loves us still more in death. My grandmother said repeatedly that my grandfather wanted to live, and I think that, in a very real way, God answered his and our prayers. There is no fuller life than that spent in the presence of the Lord.
In the weeks following my grandfather’s death, in my thinking I have discerned two things of paramount importance that I have learned from this earth-shattering experience. The first thing that I learned stemmed not so much from a confused sense of nihilism in the void left by my abuelo’s passing, but rather such a radical re-prioritization of what I used to hold as important that it seems that I believe in far less now. That it to say, I realized most profoundly, witnessing the moment where my grandfather’s soul left his body and joined its Creator, how little so many things really matter, to the extent that almost nothing which we consider important really matters at all in the face of our Lord. As to what matters and what doesn’t is itself an important matter consisting of a lifelong pursuit of wisdom through prayer.
The second thing which came to light in my mind is not so much a teaching but a calling. I realized that the best way that I could honor my grandfather’s beautiful memory would be by emulating his wonderful example of living in my own life. My grandparents have been happily married for 57 years, and loyal to one another without fail. Rarely was there a time when anyone would see them apart. My grandfather was an incredibly hard worker. He would never be satisfied sitting still. As a carpenter he fashioned beautiful objects out of wood and as an entrepreneur he lived out the American dream in his pursuit of success in various small businesses. He was, and is, the unifying force for my family. All of us, near or far, have felt a great loss because that was my grandfather’s nature- he touched anyone who was blessed to see him in life. He loved to dance and to listen to music. His joy, smile, energy and love of life were infectious. He cared tenderly for his animals and his farm as did the great St. Francis. Most of all, he had a limitless compassion for our family and strangers alike and never hesitated to give a hand in help whenever anyone would need it, even in his moments of want.
Most importantly, my grandfather was a firm believer and a true Catholic. Often at table he would say, “Gracias a Dios todopoderoso!” (Thanks be to God Almighty). In the weeks before his death, he would not allow himself to be separated by a crucifix and a rosary that he wore constantly around his neck. In prayer he would hold out the crucifix and adore the image of Christ Crucified on it.
I do not feel that I can even remotely begin to live out the unparalleled example of my grandfather, but I think that in working to do so I honor his life. I am deeply grieved by his loss, and yet his peaceful death after a long and well-lived life is more than any of us could possibly ask for, as well as a sure sign of God’s deepest love for my grandfather, Ramón, his most humble servant.
Abuelo Ramonin, requiescant in pace… You are always in my heart.
