came home from school the next day to see my mom and grandmother talking . My mother began to talk with quivering words , “ Poppop is in the hospital , they ’ re saying they don ’ t know if he ’ s going to make it .” She told this news to me and my sister and all we did was cry .
I remember going to the hospital the first time to see him , but he was unresponsive . The mental preparation I tried to do failed because as soon as I laid my eyes on him I started to silently cry in the room . Unfortunately , he was transported to a nursing home after a while . I do not remember much between him being in the hospital and being transported to a nursing home , but I do remember the progress he made . Occasionally , I would see him doing little mobile exercises , like grabbing onto the staircase and raising his legs one at a time . I started to have hope again . I went to visit him every Sunday . During one of our visits he finally cursed again , for the first time in so long . I smiled . I thought he was getting back to who he was before , seeing his personality peeking through little by little the more we came .
On April 17 , 2016 , in the middle of the night , I woke up and saw my grandmother and aunt dressed up and walking out the door . “ Where are they going ?’ I thought , but I was too tired to ask any questions , so I fell back asleep . I woke up to my older sister shaking me awake . The first thing she says to me is , “ Poppop died .” I said nothing . I texted my mother to ask her if it was true . “ Yes ,” she responded .
The funeral happened within a week of his passing . It was difficult . My emotions got the best of me and I was unable to speak . I remember the speeches the pastor was giving and they stuck with me , his words made me stop crying and feel like everything was okay . However , once I saw his casket drop I could not help but cry . It felt as though our memories were buried with his body . This was the first time I had lost anyone in my life , and it hurt me to know that we can never make memories again .
The Beauty of an American Jay Evans
I don ’ t have culture . None of that is part of me . I ’ m just … American . That ’ s all I am , all I can be . I don ' t have a culture that I can call my own . I know that I am Puerto Rican and African American , but I don ’ t see that culture . I don ’ t know that me that could ’ ve been . I just exist . There isn ’ t a food I could say that is close to my heart . Not anything from anyone alive anyway …