08 July 2008


My grandpa passed away Monday morning around 1 am. He always seemed ageless to me. Growing up we would visit once a year, which would explain why he always looked the same. Grandpa was originally from northern New Mexico and didn't speak English until he was seven. I don't know much about his childhood except patchy details here and there mixed with foggy memories he had. I was always sad that I didn't look more like him. I wanted his heritage more than I wanted my red hair, numberless freckles and transluscent skin. I always wished I had his fingers. The shape of them were interesting to me and over the years I would always find myself staring at them. His mustache was always perfectly shaped and his hair, combed back, never seemed to move. Grandpa affectionately called me "nae" or "nae nae" and gave perfect hugs. He was a civilian medic for the Air Force for many years. I guess that's where I get my interest in medicine. The old jeep that sat in Grandpa's driveway at least as long as I am old was fascinating to me. I pictured him riding in it. I think Grandpa had a "wild and free" streak that he didn't talk about. He loved tamales with his eggs and toast at breakfast, couldn't eat or drink dairy, and loved taking care of his horses. He lost a lot of his livlihood when he eventually had to sell the last one. I didn't find enough out about him while he was here. Why is it we all make that mistake with the ones we know we'll miss the most?

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