My Story in Lists|People I Love

There was not a moment when I was with him that I did not feel loved. He had a way of making each one of his grandchildren feel special. I loved his deep voice, his rumbly laughter and his warmth.

He had nicknames for all of us. I was his little Debby-doo. I never realized how much that alone meant to me until after he passed away and it hit me. No one would ever call me that again. Even now, 26 years later, the realization makes me cry. Even now, 26 years later, I miss him.



When we were younger, he would often come to our house on Sunday, bringing yogurt, animal cookies and, of course, pan dulce. It was a wonderful treat, but it wouldn't have mattered if he came empty handed. We were always so happy to see him.

The older I grew, the more I loved him. I loved his wrinkly skin, the age spots on his hands...it sounds silly I know, but the things that society now looks down upon, such as aging, were the things that made him all that much more special to me.

To me he was perfect, even when I knew that he wasn't. I wish he had been more loving and generous with my grandmother than he was. I wish he had been the spiritual leader of our family. How different things may have been if he had been both those things. But still I loved him, flaws and all, just as he loved us.

Once when Eliz was in seventh grade and I was in fifth grade, grandpa came over to the house. Mom, dad and the boys were not home and Eliz and I offered to make grandpa some scramble eggs. He took us up on our offer. We whipped them up, over-salting them to the point where they were inedible. We were horrified, but grandpa insisted they tasted wonderful and ate every bite on his plate.

When I began pregnant with Matthew, my dad took me to my grandparents to break the news. My grandfather turned to me and told me there was nothing I could do that would change his love for me.

The day I brought Matthew home from the hospital, dad went to my grandparent's to bring them to meet their great-grandson. Grandpa was already growing frail from cancer. I believe it was the last time my grandfather may have left his house. I remember how grandpa took Matthew into his arms, touched Matthew's little foot and chuckled in his rumbling voice, saying, "Hey, Chalako".

And from that moment, Chalako became Grandpa's nickname for my son. Every time Grandpa would see Matthew, he would exclaim, "Hey, Chalako". Nothing would make me happier than to hear him call Matthew that and to know that my son, too, had been nicknamed by my grandfather.

After a long bout with cancer, my grandpa passed away at his home surrounded by his family. Matthew was 8-months old. The one regret I have is that I did not go to the house until after he passed away. I am thankful that I was able to say goodbye before he was taken away. I was able to kiss his cheeks one last time and stroke his wrinkly fragile hands. I am thankful that even though Matthew doesn't remember, that he met my grandpa.

And most of all, I am thankful that in those last days of his life, my grandpa accepted Jesus Christ as his savior. One of the things I look forward to seeing him in heaven some day and hearing his deep rumbling voice laughingly call me his little Debby-doo.