Gracias Por Venir

There are fewer things more humbling than seeing a 99 year old man cry at the realization that the person he loved most for the last 70 years is gone forever.  No tears fell from his weak eyes during the Wake, Mass, Prayer, or Funeral.  It wasn't until me and my brother said goodbye to him Tuesday afternoon as we were getting ready to head to the airport to return to our respective cities that the pain came through. 

After sitting w/ him and hearing about his first jobs when he moved to the United States from Cuba, sometime in the 1960's when he was in his late 40's, he got up off the couch and returned to us holding a plastic bag w/ a Mango and Papaya inside.  He was thorough in his instructions to me and and my brother on how and when to eat the fruits, insisting that we do not let the Mango go to waste by not eating it that same day.  He was not privy to the fact that we could not take the fruits through airport security.  With our gifts in hand, and hugs and well wishes already taken place, his view of his role as grandfather faded away as he couldn't fight away the rush of pain that submerged his next words, "Gracias por venir".  At once my heart felt like it wouldn't hold up against the weight of a sheet of paper.  The love of his life, my grandmother, was forever gone. 

I suspect that in here lies a depth of love that few have reached on Earth.  It isn't necessarily a single great act of courage or selfless sacrifice, but the culmination of a two lives joined together for a length in years that most would never even see on their own.

Many special memories from that funeral will take precedence in my thoughts even as I reminisce about her during her living years.  One of her brothers, already old and tired, first in line to help carry the casket out from the hearse.  He conceded the position when he was told that the six grand sons would honor her.  Then later, that same brother giving the casket a quick kiss just before it was raised to its spot on the wall.  I'll remember the fist-sized rose that was given to my grandfather from the many that lined the front of the casket.  A beautifully touching symbol as her name was Rosa. 

I am now back in my hometown, w/ a sober truth fresh on my mind:  I now have only one living grandparent, who is scratching at the surface of eternity.