A grandfather is someone with silver in his hair and gold in his heart

A little over a week ago, I lost my grandfather.  He was 80 years old ... not horribly old, but old enough to have lived a long productive life.  He was a father of six . . . five girls and one boy . . . and a grandfather to eighteen.

He wasn't a perfect man, but who is? He certainly made mistakes in his life, but the important thing is that he learned from those mistakes. I know that he loved his family and was a caring man, but more often than not the strong silent type. I don't remember him laughing very often, but when he did you know he meant it.  And his smile . . . it was contagious.

I think he often worried about all those around him. He even had the wrinkles to prove it.  I think he worried the most about my grandmother, who I am often worrying about myself.  She's had her bouts with health care system and has been hospitalized at least twice that I can think of.  He took care of her even amidst his own illness . . . being the sicker of the two.  Now that he's gone, she's a wreck.  She hasn't been taking her meds and, as one would imagine, is heartbroken. My mom doesn't think that she's going to be alive for very much longer.  As we often hear, I think she may die of a broken heart.

As a young child I remember sitting in his lap feeling the warmth of his love.  As kids, my cousin and I love him so much that we stole his cigarettes and threw them out when he wasn't looking.  I don't think he was very happy about that.  I guess that even as kids, we knew that would end up being his demise.  He ended up smoking until the day he died.

February 2008

 Vovô, sinto muita saldades. Não passa um dia que eu não penso em você. Você é otimo homem, e me perdoe por não pude vê-lo outra vez. Por favor vigie todos nós durante desta epoca de tristeza. Te amo muito. Com. Todo. O. Meu. Coração.