Revisions and Revivals

In the last couple of months, I have been confronted with the wonderful magnanimity of people, coming through various difficult situations. I can say for my own part that I have learned so much about being a man–especially being a family man–that I think part of me has changed significantly; so significantly so that things that were previously tangible are no longer that way, and everything that was at once so familiar and logical seem exactly the opposite.

I should start off by saying that my wonderful grandfather has died. He died on January 3rd of this year, at about nine-thirty in the evening, and he left this world surrounded by the people he loved, in the house that he built. It was such a fortunate and peaceful death, albeit one mired in pain and sickness. All of this began when Grandpa had an attack while walking from his favorite restaurant. One of the kitchen attendants, a lady who speaks only Spanish, ran the five blocks all the way to the house to tell my aunt that he had fallen and hit his head on a parking barrier. I had known that Grandpa was sick–usually he gets crankier than usual when this happens–but like the other members of my family, I had no idea how severe things had gotten until he arrived at the hospital. The news was fairly grave: he had suffered a infarction as a result of poor diet and circulation. For the next week or so he wavered from wellness to being very close to death. The doctors then convened with my aunts, and it was decided that a defibrillator-pacemaker be placed so that he would be revived if such a thing were to happen again. Unfortunately, the surgery had its expected complications, including damaged kidneys from medication that was prescribed for the heart. Grandpa died three times on the operating table, before the procedure was declared, at long last, a success.

My Grandpa had already gone through things like this, and in the back of my mind, while I was cleaning up the messes from family members, or wiping up spilt liquids, or cleaning up toilets, or doing something to help, I knew he wanted to die in peace. Throughout the month of December–very dark, very cold as well–Grandpa suffered. Maybe about the middle to the last week of December things became very serious again. One day I noticed that Grandpa was sweating profusely–classic signs of a diabetic surge. This happens when either he is too low (his sugars burnt off by metabolic action within the body) or too high (he has consumed a large amount of sucrose). One night he sweated right through the sheets, all the way down through to the mattress. Everything had to be removed, and he was taken to the hospital. After another barrage of tests, he declared that he was ready to go home to the Father and proceeded to do so.

Hippocrates records the act of dying among the elderly as a sort of reversal of time. Several days before the patient dies he is heard to say things that he only would have said if he were younger, until the time is reversed so that the patient as he dies says things that he only would have said if he was a child. This happened in Grandpa’s case, so much so that all of us(my aunts, my mother and my other cousins and uncles who assisted him) were astonished by the depth of his memory, which he proclaimed many times, was always fuzzy. It was maybe two days before the New Year that my relatives noticed that he was being prolonged in a half-coma by the continual actions of the aforementioned device. It was then decided that the device be removed and turned off. This happened, and on the date and time, my Grandfather left for the perfect shade of Elysium’s grove.

Then came the novemdiales, the wakes, and then the funeral. I decided to bring out the full mourning regalia to honor my late grandfather, who I called my own father for many years. Our family crest, which depicts the dual name of Vega (that of the star in Aquila and the Spanish word for “meadow”) was redesigned, so that during the year all correspondences would be stamped with the new seal of the Interregnum: an open black umbrella over a star. Then, my cousin made large purple bouquets of ribbons, black being too inappropriate considering the deceased’s age; these were placed on doors and on nearby trees. The mirrors were covered in the house, chairs rearranged so that everyone had a seat, and then the visitors came. I was initially surprised at how kind and generous people were when they came over. Immediately neighbors heard, and lamented Grandpa’s passing, for he was well-known in the neighborhood. There were piles of obsequies and flowers, pan dulce and expensive gifts, I had never seen such a thing. My mother designated me the Camerlengo or chamberlain of the house. It was my duty to look over the proceedings of the house and made sure that the house was clean and in order.

In retrospect, I didn’t know if I actually mourned or not. I think in many ways I have since, but I didn’t cry all the time, nor did I lament. Instead, I remembered the words I had always prepared myself for; the words that the Lord said to Mary of Bethany when Lazarus died: “I am the way, the truth, and the Life…”. In alot of ways I think that my mourning was one of service, since I tried to be as helpful and as kind as possible, knowing that that kind of thing usually comes back to a person in some ways.

I only wish I had more to say about all of this. The only thing I can do now is be happy for Grandpa, for I know where he is. He is with the Lord, where there is no pain, or sadness at all. I rejoice in my faith that one day I can join him, and be happy with him there also.

All month long I’ve been talking to a Canadian friend of mine, Peter Holyk, who’s grown very close to me. He’s alot like me in the sense that we’re both mentally ill, crazy alot of the times, and we both have an abiding love of the arts. He’s partnered with a schoolteacher named David, and Peter calls every now and then just to see how I’m doing. He says he’s fallen for me, and whenever I hear that my heart breaks, since I know we’re both too distant for anything to work out.

Ryan’s also figured into a lot of my life lately, as he is the light of it. I’ve gotten my tax refund return in, I’m thinking I’m about to visit him soon. I am so excited. I think our relationship has deepened to a level that we both really feel and understand.

Kevin Waggoner and Freddy Soto have been around, too. We went on a retreat given by the Church at the Island, and it brought up a lot of romantic memories of me and Ryan back in June of last year. But the best part about all of this is that I got to spend time with Kevin, whose skateshop business has grown exponentially since its opening last year. We inspected a downtown building here in town that promises, God willing, to be the site of his second planting in the Valley, but presumably under a different name, franchise taxes being outrageous as they are.

Anyway, I have a feeling that things are getting better. I only pray that after so much pain and heartache, things will rise to where they should be.