Letting go of loved ones

NINASCIMENES STAFFWRITER NMS722@CABRINI EDU

My cell phone rang with my dad on the other line. “Hey, where are you? And who are you with?” That was the first thing that my father said to me. My first reaction was that I was in some kind of trouble. The tone of his voice was very stern, yet also shaky at the same time. I knew something was wrong, but my guilty conscience convinced me it had something to do with the night before, my 21st birthday. Boy, I was way off! April 10 was a day that I knew would come, but I had no idea when. I will never forget this day. It is the day that Pop-pop died.

Even when you know it is coming, you can never be prepared for death. After suffering for 15 months from terminal brain cancer, my grandfather was finally at peace. He passed away in a hospital bed in the living room of his home; this is where he spent the last year of his life. On March 26th, he turned the “young” age of 75. He was extremely healthy until the age of 73. Pop-pop was the happiest man I have ever known, but now he is no longer with us.

My grandfather was a strong, healthy man before last January. He had to undergo a routine biopsy to detect cancer on a brain tumor. No matter how routine, brain surgery is very risky.

During the surgery he had a stroke, which paralyzed his left side and impaired his speech and motor skills. Brain surgery is like gambling with God, only he knows your hand.

Ironically, the night before my grandpa passed away, I was gambling with something else, money. Even though money is tangible, you cannot hold on to it long enough. Money can’t buy love. There is no comparison to family. My family is so richly blessed to have each other at a time so hard to bear. The love that we share with each other is the glue that keeps us together and the energy that keeps us going.

My grandfather left behind five children, seven grandchildren and a beloved wife. During the time that my grandfather suffered from cancer on his death bed, we were all by his side. He lived the last days of his life through us. He would listen to stories about how us, the grandkids, were doing, what we saw and where we have