Siempre tu Niña Chiquita

 A few weeks ago while we were sitting around the table drinking coffee at my parent’s house my dad mentioned that my grandfather was sick. His health had actually been on the decline for about a year now. His medication was being adjusted, and he was still recovering from a previous illness. So it was like a double whammy. In my mind, this was still my strong abuelito, and he had faced a lot worse before this so I just assumed that he’d fight through it. He’d get better and we’d be down for a visit at the end of this year like we had planned. I made a mental note to grab our passport paperwork that next week. 

Well, the weekend went by and we spent it running around from our house in town to the house out in the country. I was so focused on what all we needed to get finished before that Sunday that I didn’t really notice much else. I asked about my dad for updates on my grandpa and he would just give me the same answer: he’s sick; no improvement. I should have listened a little harder. What my dad really meant was that grandpa wasn’t going to get better. And by the time I realized it my mom was calling to let me know that grandpa was dying, “Your dad is going to drive down there this week. Your grandpa is deteriorating quickly. They don’t think he’ll make it much longer.” 

Now, not to toot my own horn or anything, but I think we all know that I was grandpa’s favorite. That's right, I'm lookin' at you, little brother. My grandpa loved us all but I was doted on the most. And I ate it up every time we saw each other. I was his “niña chiquita”. His “preciosa”. He would always scoop me up and twirl me around while listing off all of the terms of endearment he could think of. If I wanted to go to the corner store or “el centro” he’d be the first to say, “Vamos.” And off we’d go, hand in hand. There was this one particular story that he liked to tell everyone too. When I was about five or six he and my grandma came to visit us. My dad had some kind of tournament that we were at, and my mom had my brother and me in strollers. But I was getting really fussy and *ahem* bratty as the day went on so my grandpa came around to pick me up out of the stroller. Apparently, this caused me to let out some giggles and wrap my chubby arms around his neck. He walked with me clinging to him all throughout the park that day. I refused to let him put me down, he would say. He'd also mention that at one point someone turned on some music which caused me to start wiggling around. So he danced around with me to my delight. He always said it was one of his favorite memories. As I got older the twirls turned into long hugs, a kiss on the temple, and then he’d tell me how much he missed me. He’d ask me how I was doing and then he’d ask me to elaborate on the things that dad had already told him. He would listen intently and as I talked about my life. Regardless of what stage of it I was in. And trust me there were some ROUGH stages. 

Now, my grandpa wasn’t always the greatest man. He had his faults for sure. I had always had him up on this pedestal because he was just the greatest in my eyes. But I remember very vividly, the night that it went away. The night that I found out my grandpa wasn’t perfect. That he had made some pretty huge mistakes in his life. Here I was, listening to someone as they dished on all of our family dirt and it felt so horrible to have to hear it. I didn’t want to know these things. I didn’t want to see my grandpa in that light. But what I realized as I sat there listening to all of this history was that he was human. And he was trying to atone for his past mistakes. Even when it wasn’t the most popular thing to do. Even when it caused some of his own children anger. He was trying to do right. For that, I couldn’t fault him. And nothing was ever going to take away the love I felt for him. 

A little over two weeks ago, I saw my grandpa for the last time, over a video call. I tried so hard not to cry but as soon as he was told who I was his face lit up with recognition as he said “Ahh! Mi niña.” And the tears just came tumbling down. My grandpa, my abuelito querido, was really slipping away. His face was hollow and he looked so frail. Seeing him like that really squeezed my heart. He could be gone at any moment. I wiped the tears away and took a deep breath. “Todavía no estoy muerto. No llores mija,” he told me. I let out a little laugh and smiled at him. He smiled back and then asked me how I was doing. I tried to answer but my voice shook. I watched as his gaze drifted and then he started talking about something else. But then there was a pause as he looked at the screen. I cleared my throat, wiped away more tears, and then proceeded to let him know just how much I loved him. I told him that I wished that I were there and that I was sorry I couldn't be. I told him that dad would be on his way soon. He then pointed at one of my necklaces and said he wanted it. “Te lo doy,” I said. Emery made her way over to me and as she came into view one of my aunt’s told him who she was, and he smiled again. “Mi niña,” he said before closing his eyes. My aunt told me that he grew tired easily and would fall asleep. She cried right along with me as she explained that he was just getting worse by the day. After a few minutes, we ended the call. I immediately called my brother to let him know that he should try to call them too when he got the chance. After finishing up the conversation with him I took the medal - which had come as a pair with the one around my neck, and I slipped a black cord through it. I took it over to my parent’s house and told my dad to give it to my grandpa. We would now and forever have a matching set.

 

Last Friday, my grandpa took his final breath. I’m thankful that I was able to say goodbye on that last video call. Something we didn’t get with my grandmother. And I’m so happy that he got to see Emery one last time too. But I’m going to miss him more than I could ever express. I pray that he’s in peace. I pray that he was reunited with my abuelita. And I can’t wait to see him again someday.

 

Te quiero mucho y te voy a extrañar abuelito. Te llevas una parte de mi corazón contigo. Hasta que nos volvamos a ver siempre seré tu niña chiquita.