A Difficult Year…

Hi friends. I try to keep things light and fun around here, but today was heavy and no fun at all. 

My grandfather passed away this morning after a prolonged illness. Although we are grateful that his suffering is over, and that he’s with loved ones who have gone before him, this is painful nonetheless. Our sadness is intensifed by the loss of my cousin earlier this year, and the fact that this particular side of my family lives abroad. My heart breaks for my mom each time she is left out of the little and big rituals that help a person grieve. Fortunately, she will be able to travel home in time for her father’s funeral.

One reason I write about this is to ask for your thoughts if my family happens to come to mind. It’s been a difficult year in a few ways. You understand.

Another reason I write is to share my favorite story about my grandfather. When I was younger, my mom and I spent summers abroad with her family every four years or so. My grandfather and I never spoke the same language, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t communicate.  

One summer, I woke up most mornings to find some kind of contraband waiting for me: a soda, some candy or — my favorite, but very expensive in the old country — strawberry jam. Knowing my mother would never approve of the first two for breakfast, and knowing that she hadn’t been to the store yet for the third, I had my suspicions. I would carry the item of the day to my grandfather and show it to him — discretely, of course. He’d always wink, or smile sheepishly, and then walk off in his old man way.

Love you, Grandpa Leon. I’ll see you later, and we’ll talk.