Legacy of Love

I used to always say that Vovô Joaquim was the wisest man in the southern hemisphere, so there would be no confusion about my faith in the Prophet. He was calm, funny, loving, and always present when we most needed him. He was kind to all, elegant, and stalwart.

About 5 years ago, I asked him for a blessing before I returned to college in Provo. He lived a 2-hour drive away, and couldn't drive in the dark due to his diabetes. He wrote me an email, a beautiful email, telling me wonderful things about me, about my grandma who had already passed, and apologizing that he couldn't be there. But he came. He came because he knew I really wanted him there, and to this day I feel awful about it, but immensely grateful. That was his way of showing me that although he has 4 children and 12 grandchildren, he cared for each of us individually.

He once told me dad, who then told me, that there's a lot more going on in my head than I express or let others know, and I needed to marry someone who understood that. That was incredibly insightful to me. When my wedding came around, he told me he liked Gustavo, so I knew I was all set to go. I asked him to be one of the witnesses at my temple sealing, and so he was. His signature will always bring me sweet memories of the strong and exemplary man that he was.

His wedding gift to us. It expresses his love for painting, lights and shadows.  And his love for us.

It seems to me that after these big events that took place in the family, namely my cousin Nathalie's wedding, and my wedding, his health dropped very quickly. He was doing hemodialysis at home every night, he lost his eye sight, and he could no longer get out of bed. He had a fall in August, and was in the hospital to get pins in his knees and stitches on his head. He hadn't been able to serve in the temple, which he loved, and that took a bad emotional toll on him, I believe. He married a fine lady named Rute only 2 months ago, who was an enormous blessing to his and our lives. She's a sweet lady who was there to love him always, especially when he was in the hospital for 3 weeks this past January, bringing him home-cooked meals every day.

I last talked to him while I was in Calgary. It was about 2 weeks ago. My dad called him on the phone and put him on speaker. Grandpa had a little stroke, and he spoke very slowly as if his tongue was heavy. I listened to the two talking and cried my eyes out. I couldn't stand imagining the pain he was in, his possible frustration with all these physical impairs. He sounded so different from when I had last spoken to him in December. I didn't want to talk to him, only because I didn't want him to know I was crying, that I was so sad to hear him like that; it hurt me inside. I felt guilty. I should've just been happy that he was still alive and not in the hospital anymore. I thought I would call him another time, and talk to him when I wasn't crying. But I felt so compelled to tell him I loved him, because that's what I was really feeling, was love. All I could say was: "Hi Grandpa, it's Marjie. I love you, Grandpa!" I was still crying so much. But I am so glad I did. That was my closure with him.

And if I had known that was my last time talking to him, I would have told him so much more, and I guess that's why I'm writing this blog post. I love my grandfather. I am grateful for his example, and for all that he accomplished in his life despite his awful childhood. All the joy and laughter he brought to our lives. All the people he helped. He was totally selfless. I hope I can someday leave my future generations with the same legacy of love that he left us... though doubtful.

Here's a beautiful video my dad made for him: