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My grandfather
passed away the week before Thanksgiving. He had a stroke, slipped
into a coma and lost all of his brain functions. I remember coming
home and my dad telling me grandpa was seriously ill and in the
hospital. I remember the hours I spent by his bedside, praying for
him, singing to him, sleeping in the horribly uncomfortable chairs.
I remember when
I used to spend the summers and weekends at my grandpa’s. How my
cousins, younger uncles and I would play hide-and-go-seek in the
yard. We’d take the short cut through grandpa’s garden, and
inevitably get yelled at in the process. I remember sleeping on the
floor of my grandpa’s house in the hot summers, windows open;
sometimes when it is quiet, I can almost feel the blow of the fan
that grandpa used to place in the window. I remember the big tree
in the back yard that we built a makeshift tree house in. We’d have
rope and pulleys so we could bring stuff up to the highest parts of
the tree.
I seem to
remember a lot about my grandpa, but the thing is, it’s only when he
is gone that I can put all the pieces together and see the man that
he truly was and is: a child of Faith. As a friend once told me,
life must be lived looking forward, but can only be understood
looking back.
We had prayer
services every night the entire week after my grandpa passed away.
On Thanksgiving the family asked that the grandchildren be in charge
of the prayers. So we tore off parts of little paper hearts and
taped them to a big heart symbolizing our love for our grandpa. All
of the older grandkids got up in front of the entire family and we
each told a story or memory we had of grandpa. When I first came up
with this idea, I was nervous and anxious. I wasn’t sure if my
cousins would have nice things to say, if they would share my fond
memories. You see, grandpa wasn’t the warmest of individuals. He
was the your typical Vietnamese grandfather, stern, gruff. Rarely
did he smile. But when his grandchildren came up to honor him, I
realized how much we, I, truly loved him. We all got up and told
wonderful stories, shared beautiful memories.
We told stories
of when we were little and grandpa seemed like a giant tower,
someone to be both feared and loved. Of how we’d run and hide
whenever we did something wrong and knew it. I reminisced about
when I ate all of grandpa’s tomatoes right off his plants, then
running and hiding before eventually getting caught.
We all
remembered how deeply religious Grandpa was, every wall in his house
having some type of religious decoration on it. He was always going
to this meeting, or heading of to a Church service. We retold of
how when my aunt, becoming financially successfully, wanted to give
her father some money, but knowing he would only donate the money to
the Church and not spend a dime on himself, bought her father a car
instead.
We told stories
of when we grew older and grandpa started to seem a little odd, how
his hat was never quite straight, or how he was always at garage
sales and wore old clothes. Of when he started to rely on us for
help, and how backwards that seemed.
And then my
uncle got up to speak, my grandpa’s oldest son. He told us how
grandpa’s life was simple one. How he dedicated his life to the
Church, and never had more than what he needed. People, including
myself, often wondered why grandpa would only go to garage sales,
buying second hand things even when he had the money to buy brand
new. It was because of his faith, my uncle said, his simple, yet
elegant faith. Sometimes people would scoff at grandpa for his odd
ways; God knows I did. But grandpa didn’t care how other people saw
him; he only cared about how God saw him.
And when my
uncle finished, my vision of my grandpa grew clearer. Sure grandpa
had lots of faults and did many things wrong, but in the end, his
life spoke of a character that is seldom found anymore.
Simplicity. Jesus said we must have the faith of a child to enter
heaven. Not a blind faith, but a trusting faith, a simple faith. A
faith that is free of the bonds of materialism, prestige, and
greed. I sit and I look at my life and know there is so much that I
need to be freed from to be like grandpa. I wonder how he did it.
Then I am reminded of the angel Gabriel’s words to mother Mary, that
with God, all things are possible.
The way my
grandpa lived brings to mind a saying of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton,
one of the first American saints. “We must live simply, so that
others may simply live.” I pray that one day I might have the
strength and grace of character to live the way my grandpa did:
simply, as a child of Faith.
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