My mother, who dearly loved her father, wasn't able to attend the funeral because of the violence in Mexico. For fear of being kidnapped or worse she endured the loss from the confines of her mind. The reality that the death of a parent in Mexico brings children back to their family of origin and the possibility of a payday for some unscrupulous criminal hit home two weeks ago. Helpless does not begin to describe it. Oddly enough I have never been to the funeral of an extended biological family member. The reasons are many and the time to explain is not now.
I learned today that my grandfather died on his own terms. He had been hiking and exploring days and hours before he died. In the hills and valleys around Labor Vieja he could be found wandering alongside nature with the same wide eyed wonder of a curious toddler. One night two weeks ago he made plans to go pick wild cactus fruit with my Uncle Joel. (the equivalent of going fishing with your dad) Shortly after getting his tools ready he complained of breathing difficulties. They rushed to the hospital in Rio Verde. That night he looked at my Uncle Joel and with a smile said "Son, lets get outta here, lets go home, I'm not going to make it, I know this...lets just go home." Seconds later he pulled the oxygen mask from his face and stubbornly refused to be reconnected to it and all other medical devices. He didn't suffer helplessly in a bed for years, he knew it was time and simply closed his eyes..... minutes later he died.
|David Rangel: My grandfather|