It’s a Weird Day For Me (Death Anniversary)
Grandpa & mini NWSO
Today is a weird day for me. Being that my best friend’s daughter turns two today, I should be happy, but for the past 22 years, I have always associated January 11th with the death of my grandfather. Although he was only around for the first 10 years of my life, he was, and will always be, my father figure. It’s because of this man and the values he instilled in me as a child that I am who I am today. Sure, I may have strayed from some of his stricter beliefs here and there, but for the most part, the core of the spirit that he cultivated remains intact. For that I will always love him and that’s why today is a weird day for me.
As it stands, January 11, 1987 is the worst day of my life. I was supposed to awake that Sunday morning to the excitement of celebrating my little brother’s one-month birthday, but instead I was greeted by the incessant ringing of the phone. It was my grandmother calling and asking to speak to my mother. Once I passed her the receiver, she listened for a moment before breaking into tears. I knew right away what had happened and my entire life changed in a matter of seconds.
My grandfather had been in the hospital for the past month dealing with problems with his liver. I believe he was suffering from pneumonia or some serious sickness as well—I was just too young to remember. Either way doctors didn’t give him long to live, so I knew this day would be coming eventually. Since I wasn’t allowed to visit him in the hospital, the last time I saw my grandfather alive was three or four weeks earlier when he was bedridden at home and he saw my newborn baby brother for the first and only time. So today is a weird day for me.
In the 22 years that have passed since my grandfather’s death I have experienced many things I wish he was here to see. Like, all of my graduations from elementary, high school and most importantly college. I wish he was here to witness my growth from a boy to a man…still in progress. I wish he was able to have known my brothers and sister. I know he would have loved them just as much as he loved me. I wish they had the opportunity to sit on his lap and share in his wisdom. I wish I could hit reset on the final year of his life because of the huge argument he and my mother had that caused them to not to speak for almost 12 months. Thankfully, they were able to reconcile before his passing, but I wish we could have gotten that precious time back. I wish he could still pick me up after school in his smoke grey GM. I loved riding in that car, I called it his hovercraft because the suspension was so good you would never feel any bumps in the road. Even though I don’t even eat beef anymore, I wish we could still sit down together and eat Campbell’s Chunky soup with the mini sirloin burgers on Wednesdays. I wish he could’ve been here to read my stories/articles and tell his friends what his grandchild had written and where he had traveled. I wish he could have seen me own my first property. I wish he could watch me fall in love, get married and make him a great(er) grandfather. I wish I could write this without feeling that tiny prickle of a tear forming behind my pupils. I wish I wasn’t ashamed to just let the tears fall right here, right now. There’s so much more I wish for, too much to capsulate in a blog, a letter, or one single conversation. There’s a whole two-thirds of my life that I wish he was here for. But he’s not, he can’t be, so today is a weird day for me.
Although there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of my grandfather, it’s been far too long since I’ve been to his gravesite. I remember the funeral and being somewhat oblivious to what was going on. I remember being in the limo and wishing grandpa could have been there for my first ride in one. I also remember feeling guilty later about thinking about that of all things on the day of his burial. I remember seeing my father during the service and thinking to myself, “What’s he doing there? He didn’t know my grandpa.” I remember my grandmother taking my hand during the wake and making me touch my grandpa’s cold hand as he lay in the casket. I remember hearing a woman crying her eyes out during the funeral service and thinking to myself, “Someone must have really loved my grandpa,” only to peer past my grandmother’s bony hip to see it was my sobbing mother. I remember not knowing what to do. I remember walking up to my 5th grade teacher Ms. Garcia and handing her a note saying that I wouldn’t be in class on Wednesday because I was going to my grandfather’s funeral. I remember telling her that I would be back in school by Thursday because grandpa always told me that school was important and missing another day is not what he would have wanted. I remember a lot of things about that moment in my life. That’s what makes this such a weird day for me.
Bartholomew Jules Rocque is my grandfather. For 10 years he loved me, molded me, taught me and guided me. I hope that he is proud of the man that I have become and the man that I aspire to be. I hope that he knows the impact and influence that he had, and continues to have, on my life. They say that the best way to honor the memory of someone you love is by celebrating their life once they’re gone. That’s the point of this blog, this obituary, this long overdue eulogy. Many of the people in my life, including my three siblings, never got to experience the joy of knowing my grandpa. But I hope now you/they know enough to remember the name Bartholomew Jules Rocque. My youngest brother carries his middle name, but my son will carry his last name. I love you grandpa. Happy anniversary.
“It’s a Weird Day For Me (Death Anniversary)”