Everything Goes On

It’s currently day three of being in San Francisco and day one of films, aka opening night, as in I’ve only seen one film. Jimpa. As soon as I finished it, I knew exactly what I was going to write about. I was a bit worried going into this that I wasn’t going to know, but here we are. I just got back to the condo and am writing this on my phone, so I don’t forget what I want to write. Because if I did this tomorrow, it wouldn’t be the same. It was a beautiful film about family, queerness, and generational differences. All are interesting topics, but it isn’t what I am going to be writing about. At least, not to the extent that most people would expect me to. 

This film reminded me of my grandpa.  

Now, why is this so important to where I need to write this on my phone right as I get back to the condo? In the film Jimpa, the main character is visiting his grandpa, who is an openly gay man who had a stroke three years prior to the events of the film. It’s brought up time and time again throughout the film. How he had changed after the events of the stroke, how he’s different. 

I don’t know why, but it brought me back to senior year of high school. It was early on in the school year, and everything was going well. I had a good group of friends, had a good time in choir, and doing college courses because I could. Everything was great. Then sometime during that September or October, my grandpa was diagnosed with stage four stomach cancer. He had been a bit off for a few months, but most of us assumed it was nothing. Sure, he was losing a strange amount of weight and didn’t have much of an appetite, but it was probably nothing, right? Apparently not. Things were relatively okay at first. Well, as okay as they could be. Sure, he was admitted to the hospital a few times, but he was still okay. He was still here. He was still alive. I could still talk to him and see him.  

They said we would have two to five years. We only had six months. In January, soon after Christmas, my grandpa passed away at home, surrounded by family. I had seen him two days prior, on a Friday. My mom had told me and my younger sibling that he didn’t have much time left, and that if we wanted to visit him, it would need to be soon. So, after school, I drove over to my grandparents’ house. My sibling didn’t want to go. To see him in the state he was in. I honestly can’t blame her. It wasn’t pretty. He was skin and bone. He couldn’t speak because there were fluids in his lungs. He could barely move. It was heartbreaking. That was my grandpa: in pain, hurting. And I couldn’t do anything about it. I could only sit and watch. My mom, her two siblings, one of my cousins, and my grandma were there at the time. I forget what movie they had put on for him, but it was one of his favorites and I caught the end of it. It was hard, sitting in that room, trying to have a normal conversation with the rest of my family that was there. Asking questions about the movie, trying to think of something; anything other than his current condition.  

I don’t remember how long I was there, probably two hours. Mom told me to go home so I could eat dinner. Before I left, I made sure to say goodbye and tell him that I loved him. He tried to say something. It was gargled but I could tell what he was trying to say, though my mom translated it for me anyway. He said he loved me, too. Those were his last words to me. Gargled and barely intelligible but they still mean the world to me.  I just wish I had more time. I could hear his voice. Hug him one more time. Anything, I wouldn’t care. I just wanted more time. Every time I think about that, I have to remind myself that he was in pain, in constant pain. If he went on any longer, he would just be in pain for longer. I don’t want that for him.  

I still miss him dearly. Certain things remind me of him. Frogs, because of a game he played with me and the rest of my younger cousins. Sports; he loved them and was also a coach for a time, not that I ever got to see it. Certain songs that I was listening to at the time of his passing, like Error (Piano Arrangement and English Cover) by JubyPhonic and Everything Goes On by Porter Robinson. Both songs make me cry when I listen to them. Hearing similar stories to my own experience or just stories about grandparents are enough to make me think of him. This is probably obvious with this whole blog I’m writing, but lastly, stories. My grandpa was a storyteller. Mostly telling stories of his childhood and upbringing. I wish I could remember them more clearly, but I can’t. I could probably ask my mom or Grandma to tell me these stories, but it wouldn’t be the same. And I think they would have trouble retelling the stories. Not that they couldn’t. It would just be hard for them to, which is understandable.  

But I’m also a storyteller. Or at least I’d like to be. Maybe I can’t tell his stories. That would be impossible. I couldn’t do it like he could, but I can incorporate him into my own stories. And that’s what I plan to do. Sure, the book might currently be on hiatus just due to me being busy and lacking motivation, but I still plan to finish it at some point. I have told so many people about it and so many of them are looking forward to seeing it finished. So, I need to finish it for them. For my grandpa, in his honor, to tell stories just like him. Sure, it’s not stories of my childhood or even anything remotely like the stories he told. It’s a fantasy book series, but I’m still telling a story.