Being Sick in 1996

            Staring at the crack in the ceiling while my head rests on the arm of that pink, floral print sofa I hear a soft strum of a guitar and instantly followed by a voice singing, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey…”  My eyes welled up in tears and I close them for a quick moment because I forgot in which moment or life, I was in.  What seemed to be about half a second later, I open my eyes and I wake up in my grandparents’ bed.  With a cool towel on my head to calm a fever and as my eyes begin to focus, I notice that the man sitting by the bed was my grandfather.  There he was.  Just like I always remembered him.  With his oxford style shirt, chinos and baseball cap.  With a guitar in hand.  As I realized what was happening, I sat up.  I was on the left side of the bed, which was my grandmothers.

                I reached out for him, but although he was only about three feet away, he was too far for me to reach, no matter how hard I tried.  He looks at me, smiles and with his warm voice, asks, “Estas bien monkey?”  I tried to speak, but I couldn’t.  I tried to scream, but no sound poured from my mouth.  I remember this exact moment!  I was 15, and I was sick.  My grandmother was in the living room with my cousin Valerie.  They called her “Chungara” because of her curly, frizzy hair.  She came into the room to check on me and look at me and ask if I was feeling better.  She says, “Grandma wants to know if you want her to put you Vaporu.”  I smiled at her and nodded yes.  She left the room skipping, while her pig tails frantically bounced. 

My gaze returned to my grandfather.  He looked at me with a confused smile.  Almost as if he was wondering why I was there.  With a shift in his body posture he returned to his guitar and began to play again.  His song which he sang to me every time I was sick.  Every time I was sad.  Every time I needed him.  It calmed me and I quickly drifted back to that slumber I woke from. 

                What felt like hours of sleep I wake to a wet pillow.  I was certain it wasn’t drool, although it being me, I couldn’t be too sure.  What confirmed my suspicions was the fact that my eyes were puffy and almost burned from opening them.  I had woken up from crying in a dream.  Was it because I didn’t get to finish that dream?  Was it because for a moment I went back in time when my life was simpler, and I woke in an empty bed with no song?  I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening.  Although I had obviously been crying in my sleep, I didn’t feel sad.  The tears didn’t seem to burden me.  They seemed joyous.  Peaceful. 

___________________________________________

                Maybe with the anniversary of his death approaching is why he is so heavy on my heart and on my mind.  I’ve had that dream so many times in the past month.  I don’t know why I keep waking up at that moment.  However, this last time, it felt like it ended in peace.  Whatever the reason or the cause, I know that my grandfather’s memory is still alive in my heart.  He’s been gone for 17 years now.  Even though it seems like it was yesterday that he left this world.  He will always be my hero.  So humble and always so giving, even when it seemed he had nothing to give.