Old Immortal

It was a Sunday, the day still seemed to be dragging on, it was dark, the phone rang, and it was the call I'd been expecting. After a long battle against cancer, Grandpa passed away. I wasn't sure how to react, so my first instinct was to ask how they were and how it had happened. It's strange how sometimes the easiest way to cope with grief is to turn to someone else.

On the other hand, when I told my children, Mateo, the middle one, smiled and seemed happy, I don't know if it was from the relief of not having to deal with that situation anymore or because he couldn't find any other way to deal with his feelings. He loved his grandfather.

The next question: What should we do? My sister, despite being a serial planner, had no idea; it was something she didn't want to think about. Amidst internal turmoil, she mentioned whatever came to mind, the funeral homes she knew. 'What did Dad want?' she asked. Nobody knew. He was a simple man and hid everything with optimism; I don't think even he believed that He would die someday.

The number of decisions that had to be made in such a short time is extraordinary. To this day I don't remember how we made all those decisions, but I do remember one thing: we made all the decisions to make him as immortal as he professed to be.