Five years ago, I lost two of the most important men in my life... My PoPo (ex-stepgrandfather, but don't you dare say otherwise!) and the Old Man. One I grew up having around since I was 6 (PoPo), the other I didn't have the pleasure of knowing until I was 16.
PoPo
When my mom and ex-stepdad got together, PoPo was only 48 and didn't want to be called "grandpa." Understandable. It's weird when I say my "grandfather" as I've only known the man as PoPo. After my ex-stepdad walked out, PoPo stepped up to the plate and tried to be that positive male influence in my baby brother's life and mine. He'd be the first one to admit that he was a terrible father. But when he realized he had a second chance to right that wrong, he never once shirked his responsibility. It was shocking at 14 to lose a man that I thought was my dad, but PoPo didn't leave. PoPo made it his mission to be available to my brothers and me. Any time we'd call, he picked up. If it wasn't for this man, I wouldn't have gotten my license when I did. (My mom and the Boots Lady were terrified I was of age to drive and weren't quite sure how to handle their little girl growing up before their eyes...) You couldn't tell that Sam Perez was not my grandfather, and we laughed because sometimes he was mistaken for my father. (He had that natural Mexican trait of looking much younger than his true age...)
His pride burst at the seams at having 3 grandchildren, even if my little brother wasn't around much. (Clifton lived with our bio-thing for a few years, but PoPo never forgot.) The day I told him that I was going to take Spanish during my Sophomore year of high school, there are no words to describe how he enjoyed that. He had never forced anything on us kids, least of all being part of a Mexican family. (Which was interesting when it came to talking to his mom, Grandma Perez. All she spoke was Spanish! Thank God for all of my aunts!) PoPo thought it was the neatest thing that I was taking an interest in his culture, his life. He told me that he'd help me if I needed it, and that he was proud that I was going to learn to speak Spanish properly. (As he put it, "I'm glad you'll learn the proper way to speak Spanish; all I know is street Spanish!") After I learned some basics, he always made a point to talk for at least a few minutes so that I wouldn't lose anything I learned. And teased me because I can't roll my double Rs... Sometimes he would slip in a word or question to make me try; it was a hilarious experiment! The last conversation I had with him, just a few months before he passed away, his voice was so scratchy sounding that I had a hard time understanding him. (He had a soft voice anyways and it was difficult to hear him sometimes even in person.) I can't remember if we said anything in Spanish that day. I promised to call him later, in a couple of weeks or so...
March 1, 2007, was one of the hardest days I've ever had to face. My mom called me at a really odd time; too early for me and still rather early for Mom. At the time, I was living in England. There's about a 6 hour difference between the States and there. So, being called shortly after getting up (about 8:30-9am), my spidey senses started tingling. I almost didn't pick up. (I'll explain a little bit later...) We buried PoPo a few days later. One of my aunts (his sisters) came up to me after the graveside services and made sure I knew that I was Sam Perez's granddaughter and Clifton his grandson, despite being unclaimed in his eulogy...
The Old Man
I met the man that would become my father when I was 16. My mom and dad had been high school sweeties. After graduation, they went their separate ways. Then, right around the time my mom and bio-thing got a divorce, they tried to get back together. Things happened and then didn't happen. On the eve of one of my best friend's Prom, they met up. I had all kinds of fun that day; the guy I thought was one of my best friends since first grade betrayed me for the last time. My other bestie and I severed ties completely that night. I was mourning my loss, my hurt, and this guy I just met that day started his duties as 'Dad,' even though I wasn't aware of it at the time. He tried a few words of encouragement, a hug to try to help the hurt. I cried myself to sleep shortly after. I'd wake up every so often and hear Mom and Dad talking and I remember thinking, "This is how it should be, right? Mom and Dad together, staying up talking..." It somehow soothed me to know that. Not long after, they made the decision to get together for real.
A few visits here and there, and a couple months later, Dad asked me for Mom's hand. I mean, who does that??? My admiration and adoration grew exponentially. I knew right then and there that I finally had a father, one who asks for nothing in competition for my love. I think that's when the Old Man and I solidified the beginning of our friendship. Mom and Dad decided to wait until after I graduated high school before getting married and moving us to Kansas. A few months down the road, that changed. We moved to be with Dad during the middle of my Junior year of high school. It is probably one of the best things to ever happen to me, to my mom, to my baby brother. We finally had a home, and we finally had someone who loved us unconditionally. I was my mom's maid of honor at the wedding. 
So, fast forward a few years... At some time during my time in the Air Force, I began calling Dad the Old Man. It started as a jest, but then when I wouldn't call him the Old Man, mom said he thought I was upset with him. (Weird family dynamics, right?) So, I had the Air Force, then I was out. I moved to England to be with my then-husband. 2006 started and my ex had volunteered for a deployment and got his orders to go in April. Only a 9 month deployment, but not the most fun trying to deal with my back, his absence, and a new country (literally!) by myself. I tried to call home at least once a week. Well, that summer Dad kept telling me he was losing weight, wasn't feeling the greatest, and couldn't really keep much down when he ate. I told him he needed to see a doc 'cuz that didn't sound good. It went that way for about a month and half until he finally did. The VA said there was nothing wrong, but thankfully the Old Man was on disability and had insurance to seek a second opinion. That second opinion would turn not just my world upside down, but my family's.
August of 2006, after a summer of losing 60 pounds rapidly, turning so yellow he was a good shade of a pumpkin, and a surgery later, we found out the Old Man had Pancreatic cancer. I was really good at doing research and I hated everything I was seeing about this intrusion upon our lives. Since my ex was deployed and not due to return until December, I took a couple months and went back home to spend some time with the Old Man. I feel really grateful that I could.
When I came back Stateside for PoPo's funeral, I spent a few days with the Old Man. A couple of days before I was to fly back to England, Dad went into hospice house to give my mom and the Boots Lady a bit of a respite. I went to see him the night before I was to fly back to England. We took a picture. We said our goodbyes, with the promise that I would come back in a couple of months. When I landed in Newark the next day, I called my mom to let her know I made it okay. She told me Dad was really upset that I didn't come by to see him before I left. A warning light came on in my head. I knew that I should have gotten back on a plane and head west, not east, but since my ex and I were trying to work on our relationship, I went against my gut. Not more than 3 days of getting back to England, my mom called and said time was growing short. Thanks to a snow storm, I wasn't able to get back home until about a week after I left. Two days later, the Old Man left this world to go have adventures in the after.
On my way back from England, when I landed in Newark (for the 3rd time in 3 weeks!), I called Mom to check in. Dad was starting to get really incoherent and I could tell his time was growing short. We said our last "I love you." It was so hard seeing him in hospice, seeing this man that loved life and family writher down to a ghost of his former self.
It's been a rough few years, yet it's been the most growth producing time for me. I adopted a saying shortly after Dad's diagnosis that, quite honestly, I've not really lived up to 100% yet.
Yesterday has come and gone,
Today is almost over,
And tomorrow is never promised.
Live, Love, Laugh for we never know when they will be our last.
Today is the Old Man's anniversary and it's odd to think it's been five years since I last saw him. And PoPo. That old saying, You don't know what ya got until it's gone, has never been so true. These two wonderful men took my brothers and me and made us theirs. They didn't have to. They didn't have to show us what a true and good man does and doesn't do. I feel so grateful and blessed to have had the opportunity to be called daughter and granddaughter by two of probably the greatest, most exceptional men to have ever lived. Neither had to open their arms wide and accept me, my brothers. But they did. And a whole new world was opened for us.
) Could barely walk back to my bedroom after that. Thank goodness for some good meds and a heating pad... Today I'm really feeling it. Probably should be walking with my cane, but it's kind of fun trying to pretend I wasn't so crazy yesterday!!
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