Rule #10
Death always veers its ugly little head.
Living with an alcoholic husband is
never an easy thing. Feelings of abandonment and loneliness run rampant. On the
day that my grandfather died, for some reason, those feelings came up again
like a turtle neck sweater that’s too tight. My grandpa was supposed to be in
my wedding to walk my grandma down the aisle, but he had fallen ill right
before. I guess I should have taken this as an omen. He wasn’t the best husband
to my grandma anyway, Chasing skirts and drinking heavily, But as he grew older,
he became softer and liked to play his guitar, He adored his grandchildren.
Grandpa was always a hard working man, Even when he “officially” retired, he never
stopped working, even bagging groceries at the local Publix in Florida where he
lived. That is the one good thing I can say about my grandpa, he was a hard
working man always providing for his family. He was the first Latino Police
officer in the small town in New
Jersey
Because he lived in Florida, I
hardly got to see him, But he was happy talking to me on the phone, asking
about my husband. I was envious of my cousin who lived near him and can go
visit him, feeling like I got left out of getting to know him more.
I was his first grandchild, Even though I was spoiled when I was younger, as
the passage of time makes us age and moves us away, it gets harder to remain
close, knowing, that you can never truly retain those close family relationships
as you once did.
It’s almost as if, in a way, you kind of lose
a piece of you that although you realize that you need to move on, the place
where you lost it, never truly heals. The year after I got married he did drive
from Florida to California. He came to my house and met my husband, Needless
to say they got along famously. (I guess having a love of alcohol bonds you and
makes you think you found your kin.) The two of them sat down and drank rum
like two old college buddies, little did he know that underneath all the smiles
and looking like we had a good marriage, lurked resentment and unhappiness.
But like my grandmother, I got
married to the same kind of man, only difference was, my husband chased skirts
online whereas my grandpa actually did it. Death makes you come to grips with
your own mortality and wondering if all the bullshit you went through is even
worth it. Sometimes I feel like why bother building a life with someone if
eventually they’re going to die? What's the use of having an intimate, loving
relationship with someone who becomes a
part of you, When in twenty-thirty years time they are gone? Looking at all
those old pictures of family gatherings, I couldn’t help but wonder, if grandma
never even build a life with grandpa, I wouldn’t even exist. Even if she
married someone else, our whole family dynamic would change, my mother, would
she even be the same person? Even if she had another daughter, would I still be
me?
All these questions run around in
my head when someone dies, it makes you question your very own existence. It makes
you feel cheated out of getting to know someone better, or of having them see
your future children. And while losing a family member or partner is painful, I
realize now that without all those years of forming a bond, we would feel lonely,
living a life of solitude and emptiness. Do we really want to live the next
twenty or thirty years that way? So in essence it’s a wonderful blessing to
experience years of happiness and all those pictures to look back and reflect
on.
Because in the end, it’s what makes us who we
are, and what we are, is what we can give back to another generation, and build
on our own family legacy, thus beginning another circle of life.
