(Written October 27, 2023)

October is a month of wonder indeed. This October has been filled with joy and celebration. But one particular October stands out from all the rest. And not necessarily in a good way. Two Octobers ago my grandpa was back in Kansas from California living with my godmother and visiting and alternating from multiple of my relatives’ houses each weekend. One day my grandpa visited my house. While most of my brothers and I were at school, my second oldest brother, Jashua, was cutting my grandpa’s hair ( note: we all called my grandpa Papa Beto because his name was Gilberto). But something was off. My grandpa… Fainted?? My brother Jashua – 14 at the time – was cutting Papa Beto’s hair unsupervised, but he had experience so nothing to worry about, right? Unfortunately and unexpectedly, my grandpa had fainted right on the spot. My brother called for my mom. She immediately called an ambulance. This was something she couldn’t handle on her own. After the incident, he went back to my godmother’s house like normal. Little did we know everything was gonna become far from normal. One night, when everyone was sleeping, my grandpa was going to use the bathroom. I don’t remember if he was going up or down the stairs, but on his way to the bathroom he had a stroke and collapsed onto the floor. My godmother had heard the noise and went to go check what it was. To her horror, she had found my grandpa on the cold basement floor alone. Soon after the event had taken place, he was transported to the hospital. He was then transferred to a hospital in Topeka by helicopter. Everyone wanted to know what was going on. But who had the answers? No one. Not until this moment. This moment, specifically in a hospital in Topeka. And the misfortune before us was unbearably difficult to process. My mom was told that Papa Beto was diagnosed with two brain tumors. But I didn’t know that yet. 

McMisery

This next moment I remember quite well. Now, keep in mind that I knew everything that had happened up to him being transferred to a hospital in Topeka. After school, my dad picked up my brothers and I from school. I didn’t suspect anything because if my dad had something that he wasn’t telling us (which he did), he didn’t show it. My dad drove us to the McDonald’s on 6th street. Once we ordered in the drive-thru, my dad parked near the online order parking spots and we waited. Then (in Spanish) he said that he had something to tell us. His facial expressions swirled as he tried to find a way to tell us. My dad told us about how Papa Beto was finally diagnosed at the hospital. But what hurt most was when he told us the thing he couldn’t necessarily put in the right words. “The doctors said that Papa Beto only has around five to ten days left to live.” Those words escaping his lips seemed surreal. I couldn’t feel anything at that moment. How was I supposed to feel? I was 10 years old being told that my grandpa was gonna pass away soon. It was believable and unbelievable at the same time. I just didn’t want it to be true. And that’s why if something feels off and we get McDonald’s I know something is wrong. I think some bad news has been delivered along with some McDonald’s about 3 times. Anyways, the next two weeks were a blur. There were relatives arriving from all over. From California to Texas, there was family arriving left and right. Those next two weeks  my mom visited my grandpa a number of times, bringing mostly bad news home from the hospital. My grandpa’s situation was so bad that he needed a food tube connected to him so that he could even eat at all. He was basically paralyzed. And that was some of the saddest news of all. Maybe he was completely immobilized but the pain was more real than anything. The tornado of things happening all around seemed blurry and unclear to me and soon enough, I was sucked into all of it. 

Time Won’t Fly It’s Like I’m Paralyzed By It

The Thursday of that second week arrived and it seemed like the weeks that led up to that day had never happened in the first place. At that point my grandpa had been taken back to Emporia and was settled in my godmother’s living room. That Thursday, my mom (who had taken some time off work for everything happening) went to go visit my grandpa. But who even knew what was coming? No one knew the events waiting to unfold before them in just a matter of hours. Not long after my brothers and I had arrived home from school, my brother got a text. My mom told him to get to my godmother’s at that very moment. Any. Way. He. Could. And he did. He told us what my mom said to him and he was off. Then I told him to hold it. I was going with him. I got my shoes on immediately. We ran down the driveway and in my peripheral vision I saw my bike. There was no time for that now. I think our fight-or-flight had kicked in somehow because we ran all the way there. No stops. No walking. Just running to the destination that was about to destroy every speck of hope we ever had in the last two weeks. My brother and I arrived at the house about 5 or so minutes later. My godmother’s house, a caramel-colored two-story, towered over us casting a looming shadow that summed up the gravity of our situation. But we weren’t aware of our current situation. We were completely oblivious. We were panting but still raced toward the doorstep and knocked on the door urgently. I don’t really remember who opened the door but once we were in, my adult cousin Jasmin told us not to go anywhere near the living room because only the “adults” were allowed in there. Yeah right! Like we were gonna listen to that! I searched for my cousins but they were nowhere to be found. It’s not like finding them would change the fact that my grandpa was on his final hours. Suddenly everything felt like a blur. Time passed like each minute was a second and everything just blobbed together. All that could be heard was an entire bloodline sobbing and wailing, begging God not to take him just yet. Yet no matter what, they all knew the fate waiting to unfold before them – they just didn’t want to accept it. Despite the instructions given by Jasmin, my cousins, my brother, and I all crammed into the already crowded living room. There he was. The saddest sight I have ever known was right before me and all of a sudden nothing felt real. I made my way toward Papa Beto and his bed where I found my mom. Next to her was Orbelina, a family friend. She was telling him everything she would miss about him and thanking him for those moments. She talked about how they drank coffee and pan each morning between sobs. That’s when I finally broke. That’s when I finally realized. That’s when I finally, finally knew. 

Break Free, Break Through, Break Down

I flashed back to every moment I ever spent with my grandpa like flipping through the pages of an old photo album. Seeing him there completely immobilized, dying. I wanted to run all the way to El Salvador and jump into the ocean if that meant bringing him back. Because the only thing that was more soul-crushing than watching him die was watching my mom see him die. I’d seen her cry before but never like this. They applied water to his tongue with a little sponge on a stick-type thingy since he couldn’t drink or eat anything. Then we all began to pray for him. All we wanted was for him to look down to us smiling from Heaven. And, just as fast as those two weeks had gone by, he had gone. But for some reason everything dragged. Everything mushed together. Everything blurred. And that was it. I cried and so did everyone else, they checked to be absolutely sure he had passed. Once they knew, everything broke loose. It didn’t matter if there were kids in the living room, it didn’t matter if you were getting a call, it didn’t even matter if there was a tornado heading right toward us because either way, we were all dead inside somewhere. I ran towards the stairs and just sat there immobilized just like my grandpa had been and cried. I cried my heart out, I sobbed and wailed but no amount of crying would ever bring him back. So with that realization, I cried more. Because what did it matter? Everything had become total chaos. And no one cared one bit. I cried until I could no longer breathe. Then my mom came and we cried some more. Once the crying had stopped – more or less – the funeral home workers arrived and prepared things. Everyone sat there saying only good things about Papa Beto and remembering him. Once they had taken him we sat there and then headed home. I told my younger brothers the news and they appeared unfazed. I guess if you don’t witness something first hand you don’t find it as sad. 

Hay Que Morir Para Vivir

The following day was Papa Beto’s funeral. When my grandpa had died I wasn’t able to do my math homework so I had to tell my teacher that that’s the reason I didn’t do it. That Friday, my mom took my brothers and I out of school. At about 7 p.m. we arrived at the funeral home and signed our names on this book thingy. The funeral home was actually really cool. One of the funeral workers let us go into this super cool office room with a space for a whole bunch of plants. She called it the “Kids’ Room” and came in to check in on us every once in a while. During the service we sang songs like “De Colores” and “Entre Tus Manos.” We ate conchas and all kinds of pastries and drank coffee simply remembering and celebrating his life. After the funeral service, we went home and generations of Sandovals all filled my godmother’s house. And you know what I saw? I saw something they can’t take away. Maybe my grandpa died. Maybe a part of all of us died. But I thank God because, as Taylor Swift said, “everything you lose is a step you take”.  Everyone you lose is a step you take. And that just means you learn something out of every loss in your life. I hope that you learned that through my family’s, my grandpa’s, and my story. This whole experience taught me that no matter how gone someone is or feels, they’re still there. In my family’s faces. In our memories. In our hearts. Watching over us. And most important of all, my grandpa’s death brought together generations, all there to celebrate and remember him. And that is something that nobody can take away. The last thing I want to leave you with is this: hay que morir para vivir. Something or someone in your life has to die for you to live to your full potential. No matter the pain, you have to and will lose something or someone important to you in order to find yourself. The person you were meant to be. I hope that you keep that close to your heart just like I keep my story and my grandpa’s memory close. Because, once you get to where you’re going and you’ve kept that close through all the adversities you’ve faced, you’ll remember why you’re there and that you belong there.