A year ago today, my grandfather passed away. He'd had a long struggle with cancer, and it eventually spread and took over. I hadn't realised just how drastically it had changed him, how thin he had become, how weak.
This post is not about what he deteriorated into.
This post is about what I wish he had been here for.
Before my grandfather died, the last time I saw him he said something very important to me. He was lying in his bed in the living room, looking up at a family portrait that had been taken during one of my more awkward years. He took my hand and said this to me:
"Look at these faces. I know you've struggled for a long time, not feeling like you fit in. You don't feel like you belong with the Lozanos or the Peirces. But why the hell would you want to be like them? You are unique, you have always been. Stop worrying about trying to be someone else, be the wonderful person you are."
A few days later, my grandfather was gone. I hadn't heard back from Delaware about my rejection to graduate school (again), I hadn't applied in a fit of pure impudence to this program in London, I hadn't quit my job, moved my life, and started down a path to making myself truly happy. He won't see my sister get married, he won't meet her kids, or mine if I have them. He won't ever meet the man I marry or see me succeed or watch my cousins graduate.
But I like to think that he'd be so proud of me today. A year ago, I was a different person. The person I was then would never have made this change. The person I was would not have embraced who I am and who I want to be. She was afraid, and I'm not any more. I'd like to thank him for that.
You've been greatly missed this year, Papa. I love you always.
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