Hello All!
So, it's been awhile, and there have been many things that have happened in my life, that have kept me from writing. The main thing being the death of my Grandfather, Rudy Torres, who was not only my parent(in many ways), but my spiritual mentor who could solve the worlds problems in ten minutes. He died on December 27, 2010, and yes, I was there. I have never told the full story to anyone, so here it goes.
I woke up on Christmas morning at my dads house, in the peaceful rural city of Haslet, Texas, and after opening all the presents under the Christmas tree, I get THE call from my mom. Now, I don't know if any of you have ever received THE call, the one that says that someone you love very much only has a few hours left, but I got one... on Christmas morning. Just a little background: my grandfather had had this massive tomer growing on his liver for three years, and his doctor, even after my grandpapa complained about feeling strange, never caught it. A different doctor diagnosed the tomer as a very rare form of stage four liver cancer. Several months later that same doctor informed my family that that tomber, which was now growing into my grandpapa's heart, would kill him.
You can imagine how upset my family was, especially since, had it been caught maybe even 6 months earlier, my grandpapa might have beat the cancer.
You have to understand, my grandpa was the most independent man in the world, he was 80, but he still walked a mile a day, and ate the healthiest foods ever. So when he became completely dependent within three months, you can imagine that it almost drove him insane. In those last months, he taught me more about life, love, and God than I could have ever learned on my own. So when I got on the air plane(by myself), I began to cry. Not uncontrollably and melodramatically, but soft tears that wet my cheeks, and wouldn't go away. When I got to El Paso, I was immediately taken to the hospital by my mother, and when I walked into my grandpapa's room, I began to cry again.
It was about 5:00pm and he was sitting up watching the football game like he usually did, but in the last three weeks, his face had changed; it was no longer full, and slightly plump, it was gaunt. He cried and smiled when he saw me, and I did the same. I told him "esse Rudy!" and he said "esse Jenna!" which was an inside joke we had made when I was nine. I gave him a hug and he gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I sat down in the chair next to the bed. I was the last of my family to come and visit him that day, (my grandbea, aunt, uncle, and my mom were there all day though) and I was the last one to have a coherent conversation with him.
We talked for about thirty minutes about many things, but in those thirty minutes, without knowing it, he taught me about perseverence. He taught me that no matter what the will of God is, that his name should be praised, even when we don't know why it feels like the world is crashing down on us. He taught me that even in the darkest night, that Christ will light up the sky for me, just to remind me that He is always there. He taught me that Christ will hold my hand and carry me through everything if I let him.
I know without a doubt that Christ was speaking through him, to me that night.
"You know why you are so beautiful, hija?" He asked me
"Why grandpapa?" I replied back.
"You are so beautiful because...."
When he trailed off, and got a blank look in his eyes, I knew that our thirty minutes were up, and my heart dropped. After that an intense pain hit him and caused him to start saying really strange things. After an hour of his intense pain, and very unhelpful nurses, with the help of morphine my grandpapa became comatose. Really late that night, I went to my grandpapa's house with my aunt and went to sleep, and the next day I spent many hours with him in the hospital. I left with my aunt to get something to eat, and when I returned later in the evening my entire family was crowded in to the room.
It was silent.
The only sound were my family members crying. I took a seat in the chair next to the bed, held my grandpapa's hand and sang Amazing Grace, and Heaven Song to him. And after several hours of rotating from the room to the lobby, several of my family members went home except for my Uncle Rudy, my Aunt Martha, my Mom, and myself. My mom spent her night on the bench, my aunt slept in the chair, and my uncle and I shared a horribly uncomfortable fold-able bed. And at about 5:45am I am almost positive that we all woke up, but remained completely silent. The air became eerily cold and still, and everything peacefully silent. And then my grandpa took two last breaths, and we all knew that they were his final two. I started to cry after the lights were turned on, and my mom paged a nurse saying "my father has expired."
A long time before, I had promised myself that if anyone I loved was ever taken away from me, the first thing out of my mouth would be "The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away, may the name of the Lord be praised." I am pleased to say now, that God gave me the strength to fulfill that promise. After my family came and they were about to wheel my grandpapa away, I took one last look, hugged and kissed him, but my heart and soul somehow knew that it was just a shell, and that my grandpa was now hearing the words "well done my good and faithful servant." When my mom and I got into the white acura, his white acura, I began to cry in a way that I had never cried before. Anyone who has ever grieved knows it. It's a horrible cry, you open your mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. And when you finally have the strength to cry out, it actually sounds like grieving, almost like a soft wail. I thought that I had done all my crying, but when I walked into the house, and saw his chair empty, I began to cry again. I went and slept in my grandpa's bed, and when I couldn't sleep, I went to my own and slept with a shirt of his. When I woke up I prayed, asking God questions that I had never asked before.
I can now say that God has almost fully healed me, I know this because now when I look at his picture, and I start crying, I don't cry because he died, I cry because he lived.
Romans says that "all things go for the good of those who love HIM." And I realize that even in the worst situations, that that verse holds true. God has made me so much stronger in these past five months, and even though I don't feel 'on fire' I have felt closer to God than ever. I have dug down into my faith and theology, and have discovered that what we believe is not just a blind leap of faith, but that it is faith plus logic and science. In everything God gives you he knows that it will make you stronger. And this is one of those things that has made me stronger, of heart, mind, body, and soul. So even when the world is crashing down, know that he will lift you up, and make you stronger.
So the song of this blog is Stronger, by Mandisa. I hope that even though I used the "I" word, more times than I would dare count, that this will reach someone who needs to hear it. Who needs to know that Christ cares, and that His love is unfailing.
Because even on the darkest night, you can count on Him to light up the sky.
