Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Freedom

One week ago, one day before this one, and at about the same time, I found out that my grandfather had died. A couple minutes after that, I left home to go to work and spent much of the day thinking about the death of grandpa and my reaction and what I had expected.
Grandpa has been on dialysis for the past seven years or so. This is a painful process that a patient must go through if his kidney no longer works. The patient is hooked up to a machine and all his blood is run through it. The blood is then returned to the patient. The process takes a few hours and is supposed to be extremely uncomfortable. This process took a toll and grandpa's already unhealthy state and rendered him bed ridden for many years. I actually can't remember a single time when I would visit grandpa and he did not look more than sickly. He had times where his memory would fail him and he would think he was back in New York. Grandpa also slowly got thinner and weaker until his legs were the size that his arms once were. He could no longer walk by himself.
It was an eerie experience to go visit grandpa. Charles, mom, and I would stand around awkwardly not doing anything while dad asked grandpa a few questions and talked to the nurses about different medical appointments and problems. These past seven years have been extremely stressful on my dad.
About two weeks ago, grandpa decided to stop dialysis. Grandpa died within the week.
His last few days however, may have been his most content days. On the day he stopped dialysis some of the family that lived nearby went out to eat. Grandpa was able to eat whatever he wanted for the first time in years. We ate out at a Chinese restaurant in Alameda. The atmosphere at our table was timid. Uncle Andy was extremely concerned and wanted Grandpa to go back on dialysis. The other Uncles and aunts didn't have too much to say. My younger cousin, Nathan, who is six years old asked grandpa if he was better yet. Grandpa said he was.
A few days later, more of the family gathered at the care center that grandpa had been at for the past few years. We used the event room and the various children shared stories about grandpa and asked him questions. They had brought some barbecued meats, some Chinese pastries, some soup, and some beer for grandpa. All of these he ate. It was during this visit that I saw the greatest displays of compassion and care that have ever been given to grandpa. Dad made all the preparations. Auntie Christine cut grandpa's nails and helped him shave. Another one of my uncles gave grandpa a hair cut. Other people attended to grandpa, holding his cup for him to drink. In the last few days of his life, grandpa was treated well, almost loved.
Then grandpa died. It happened early in the morning, probably at about 1:30 am last Tuesday. Everyone had retired for the night.
The funeral service was good, if you can say that about a funeral. All the children that were present spoke. Some seemed to feel guilty of never being there enough, others had little to say. However, the amazing part was that so many children came into the same place. Even children from different mothers were able to put aside their bitterness for a short while.
In his last days, I have considered what it is like to knowingly sign your life away, but know that the last few days will be heaven compared to the prison that had to be lived in for years on end. Grandpa's death has freed him from his bed ridden state and brought him into heaven. It has also started to bridge a gap between a broken family.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

The Windmill's Tale: Part 3

Well I've lost my motivation to write the rest of my story. But I'll tell you how it goes so you know how it goes.
The boy never returns to the field of windmills. The area around the windmills gets industrialized and the air becomes smoggy. After many years the windmills start falling apart. They are covered with a bunch of crap from people and birds.
There is one windmill that sits on the top of the hill. This one loses one of its arms and can never spin again.

Sunday, June 11, 2006

The Tale of the Windmill: Part 2

As a child the boy would come and sit among the windmills almost every day. He would always wear jeans, a blue windbreaker, and a blue denim cap that smelled of dust and beer. However, as time went by, the boy's visits to the windmills became less frequent, until he would only be seen on the hill of the windmills once or twice a year during time where he felt sentimental, or on rare dates.
There came a time in the boys life when he had to trade in his blue denim cap for a green helmet, and leave his home, and leave the windmills. He boarded a ship that went across the ocean. The windmills were left on the hill to spin when the wind came.

Friday, June 09, 2006

The Tale of the Windmill: Part 1

Far up on a hill that overlooks the highway and the cattle, there lives a family of Windmills. The windmills were taken care of by one boy. As an infant, his father would bring him out to the windmills and he would spend hours watching the arms spin in a unison, creating a thumping sound like a symphony of drums. At sunset, the boy would watch the windmills slowly disappear into the darkness. In the darkness, he could only hear the sound of the windmills. Sometimes if he stayed long enough, the windmills would reveal themselves again as the sun began to rise in the east.
One day, the boys father left and did not return and the boy's only connection to the past days was through the field of windmills. He would spend his days here just watching the arms spin and listening to the sound of wind, hopeful of a return.