It feels weird to write that down. It feels weird to say it.
It feels even weirder to think that it has already been two whole weeks. I suppose I´ve been absorbed in work. There has been a lot of it. And a lot of errands to run before I leave.
I was the fourth person to hear about it in my family. First my uncle. Then my other uncle. Then my grandmother.
And me.
They couldn´t reach my father and they figured I could.
It was a weird moment. I was trying to solve some logistical issues at work concerning the locations we had to visit on the field the next day. The world whirled for a second. I was out the door to the patio the next.
It took 30 minutes to reach my father. His response was little more than an awful pained high-pitched cry followed by the dialtone on my cel.
That was followed by two hours of confusion. Of not knowing what to do. Later hiding in the stairwell at my Grandparent´s apartment complex, afraid to go into the apartment. The only time during the day I let some tears flow.
Because the whole day was followed by "You have to be strong for your father E. You can´t waver."
And I didn´t. Because in a sea of grief I could not be another wave, and so I wasn´t.
My voice, my resolve, my strength wavered once. During a phone call that was never answered. During a voicemail message that was never returned.
But I knew that I was at peace with my Grandfather´s death.
Alberto Gonzalo Mendieta Vivanco was a remarkable man, and he lived and died the way he wanted to. He died while out on a walk, which he loved to do (the walking, not the dying) and died with a clear conscience, without owing life anything. He was full of life and he lived life fully. I say to myself, if I am able to achieve that, I would go on a happy person. So few go that way....and yet all should.
Tomorrow, I run/jog/walk in his honor. He would have loved to see me finish the Nike 10K. And so finish it I will.
Good Luck Grandpa Gonzalo, on your next great journey.
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