Changes

Remembering Grandpa

By Julie Fernandez

I remember going to see him every Sunday after church
anxiously, waiting in the car as my mother went inside the small Mexican bakery
to get the brightly colored pink and yellow sweetbread
and driving to the West side
where the houses got smaller
the farther we would drive into the city
and where the paint was chipping on the buildings
and the billboards began to read in Spanish
the side of town where hubcaps were displayed for sale outside auto shops
and the smell of tamales and barbacoa cooking in the factories welcomed us
and when we finally got to his old white house with the pecan trees and grape vines
I would jump out of the car
and run to his aged and weary arms
and how his face glowed when we were there

I remember how I loved the way he spoke
and that it didn't matter that I couldn't understand much of what he was saying,
because I understood everything when I looked into his eyes

I remember how we would sit in his small white kitchen with the glass cabinets
and old fashioned faucets
and eat sweetbread and laugh and jump around
and I was so full of his love

I remember the way his hands were rough and callused
and how they reminded my of my father's
and I would love to just look at them
and feel the difference in the texture of his and mine

I remember he had such happy eyes
and though his face was wrinkled with age and his hair lost with time
and his teeth stained from drinking coffee
he was the most peaceful and handsome man to me

I remember the pecans that he loved
and the long wooden contraption he was so proud of
that he used to break their shells before he ate them

I remember his old gray hat
that he wore whenever he went out,
the hat he wore when he would listen to his soft Spanish music
and dance in the kitchen with my mother

I remember sitting on his lap in his old reclining chair in the den with the wooden floor
and feeling so safe and warm that I would drift off to sleep
and that was what peaceful dreams were to me
lying asleep in grandpa's arms

I remember the way he would smile down at me
no words
and just knowing that he loved me from the gentleness in his eyes
how could he ever understand how much I loved him

I remember when he became ill
and that we weren't allowed to go visit him in the hospital because we were children
and the risk of disease
I remember hating that rule,
and wanting only to see my grandpa
I remember the cancer
and how much I hated the sound of the word

I remember the mug I bought my grandpa with my own money
nothing fancy
just said, "grandpa" on it in different colors
I remember when my father took the mug to my grandpa in the hospital

I remember when they finally let me see grandpa
and the way he looked so different lying in that cold hospital bed
I remember looking into his eyes and hugging him, sad and crying
I remember now I didn't understand the reason for all of this

I remember when he died
and how I didn't know how to feel
I remember my father telling me that I shouldn't be sad,
because grandpa was in a better place
but that never made the hurt go away or the emptiness in my heart

I remember hating the Christmas tree and the presents
and hating the holiday and wanting to give it all back
if I could have just had my grandpa back again

I remember the funeral
and all the relatives that came to give my grandpa their respect
and all the flowers they brought
and how there was nothing anybody could say to fill the void in my heart
I remember seeing him lying in the chapel
peaceful, silent
and kneeling with my father, touching grandpa's hand one last time

I remember the silence at the house after it was all over
I remember feeling alone
1 remember the hurt

I remember the day the sun looked bright again,
the day I let grandpa rest in my heart

and as I sit here now, remembering grandpa
I am sad
but I hold onto the hope, still strong in my heart
of the day my grandpa will smile down at me again
no words
just love