Tied with a Smile

Chapter 14

My grandfather was a wonderful person in my point of view. He had raised me since infancy. I loved him dearly.

Whenever I took a trip to Mexico he was the very first person I sat down with and talked to. We had a relationship that couldn't be messed with. Since I had grown up a bit more liberal, most of my aunt's and uncles didn't see eye to eye with me.

He was also one to tell me to stand up for myself and to fight if you know you're right. Most times after a disagreement he would call me to him and whisper things like, "don't listen to that old hag she doesn't know what she's talking about".

Sometimes he would cheer me on if he saw that I had a valid point. There were some sad times where he would talk to me about how his disability would hurt him. He was at times taken advantage of by my younger cousins.

But at the same time he wasn't a saint. I know this but I never had any reason to see that part of him. He brushed my hair, told me the same stories over and over, he gave me advice, he would make me laugh. He was not just a garandfather but an actual father to me. He's the only one I consider as a father.

So when he went to the hospital two days before my birthday I got worried. It wasn't a bid worry because he had gone through a lot more than just a slip and fall. Three heart attacks, strokes, and even brain damage. A minor fall wasn't something that would kill him, he always came out of it alive.

On my birthday he sang to me. That was the first time he did that. I will remember what he said that day forever.

The thirtieth of December things were looking a bit worse. His kidneys were failing along with other things. I tried to keep a happy face, convinced that he would pull through. His heart had failed and he went into cardiac arrest. We were all devastated. We thought he was gone only to find out he was brought back.

Most of us managed to talk to him. I remember that day really clearly. My mother was just done talking to him and passed the phone to me.

"Hello?"

"Hello.". That one hello proved he was still alive.

"Apa how are you doing? Are you feeling okay?"

"Im just tired. I want to go." I knew the meaning.

"You can't go. You have to stay so you can get better. That way when I go back you'll look as handsome as ever." I heard him chuckle.

"I love you my princess. Remember the crown is yours and no one can take it from you." I smiled.

"I know. But what's a princess without her king. I expect you to be looking handsome. I love you"

My mother took the phone from me. I knew they needed to talk to him. I let it be.

It was the very first hours of new years eve that it happened. I was laying in bed with my mom watching a show. My legs were hanging off the bed. Out of noowhere one of my favorite perfumes that I always wore hit me in the ankle scaring me and my mom once it hit the floor.

We both looked at it at I guess we had the same idea. Not one minute later the phone rang. She didn't want to answer it, I could see it in her face. She picked it up and after a few minutes she got a cold look in her face. I knew.

Your grandfather is dead.

Four words was all it took for me to completely break down. I cried like I never cried before. The pain was too much. All that went to my mind was, I never said goodbye. Hours and hours of pain and loss. I felt the most pain.

My cousins in America had never met him. My aunt's and uncles hadn't seen him I years. I was the only one who visited him on a constant basis. I had seen him not a her before, healthy, happy, alive.

Hypocrites. All of them cried for someone they didn't understand. They hadn't loved under his care. They didn't know what he felt. That didn't know what it felt to be with him for hours on end.

What did I go and do? I put up my mask. I bottled it up and made sure my mother and family was fine. I put them before myself. I didn't cry when they were planning the funeral. The one thing that I really wanted the band to play was one song.

El Rey (the king)

The one song that my grandpa loved to hear me sing. The one song that I sang for him exclusively. The one song that we called ours.

I didn't cry when they sent pictures of him from the funeral to my phone. I didn't cry when my mom brought out the laminated picture she had abandoned for years. The picture of him young and smiling, hair black, eyes lit up with life.

I didn't cry when I saw the video of the funeral.

I cried with the door closed. I cried at the early hours of the morning. I cried when our song came up on my playlist. I cried but I never told anyone. I cried at my sessions. One month of crying and then I closed up.

If I didn't think about it, it never happened.