Last week my grandpa would have turned 77 years old. It has been 3 years since his passing. This is a short telling of his physical state when he passed and how it completely changed the course of my life and the work I am committed to doing.
When he passed away, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to live, I just wanted to live in another time. I wanted to rewind years before, to when he was still alive with his vibrant energy and warmth. Cracking jokes and giving my grandma a hard time on purpose, just to get a laugh out of it, eventually from my grandma herself. No one was safe from his teasing, yet there was an unwavering feeling of security and love in his presence.
He is the closest family member I have lost, and even as a child I couldn’t wrap my head around life without him. At four years old I asked my mom, “If Grandpa dies, are we all gonna die, too?” Grandpa was the boss of everything, if he was gone, life just didn’t make sense.
As I got older, I realized my grandpa wasn’t bulletproof, and I became aware of the reality that he was sick, constantly sick and often in pain, yet the doctors couldn’t seem to pinpoint exactly what it was. Something in his stomach and digestive tract. It felt like he was always going in for procedures to investigate further. Sometimes a diagnosis appeared promising, but then it would fall apart. By 73, my grandpa’s body had changed drastically, he had lost a lot of weight, and his liver was shot. He needed a liver transplant, but with the risk of his age, he wouldn’t be at the top of the list.
Usually when someone mentions liver failure, alcohol habits come to mind.
My grandpa wasn’t a drinker though. Ever.
One day at the hospital, a nurse was asking him questions.
Nurse: History of smoking?
Grandpa: No. Never.
Nurse: History of drinking alcohol?
Grandpa: Never!
My grandpa was clearly proud of his answers, and it just didn’t seem fair that he was about to lose function of such a vital organ without a real explanation. The best explanation was that he had been on and off of so many meds over the past decades that his liver couldn’t handle it anymore. Weeks before he passed, I watched my grandma organizing his prescriptions, it was easily over 20 different pills and capsules, several of which the purpose was unknown and the price tag ridiculously high. I saw the results of his last set of blood work and his numbers were stars away from what was considered normal range. It was incomprehensible how his body had gotten so out of order. I must have stared at those two pages for at least 20 minutes, fighting back tears and the guilt of daring to think that it was too late for him to get better. His body was too far gone and maybe all our love and prayers weren’t going to cut it this time. I cursed the feeling in my gut that his physical being wouldn’t be with us much longer.
During his last month, there were days when we thought he was improving. He was eating and talking, but soon we’d see he was still in intense pain and discomfort, and there was very little we could do to help that. His bones had become brittle, sections of his spine fractured, so that every movement and position, standing, sitting, and laying, brought him little rest and comfort. The day he passed, he was sleeping when I arrived, and I soon found out that he hadn’t been awake in over 20 hours. His inhales pierced the silence of the room, sounding sharp and painful. I no longer wanted to see him in pain. As the nurse was called and family members discussed what to do, I sat down and took his left hand into mine. I was scared and all I wanted was his pain to go away. Without speaking, I told him, “Grandpa, it’s ok. You can rest now. Be free of pain. It’s ok. You can let go now. I love you.” He took his last breath within the next 10 minutes. The following weeks seemed to morph into one extremely long dream of loss, pain, endless tears and mourning, regret, relief, remembrance, love, and deep disbelief that it was all truly happening.
I have always believed that everything happens for a reason and I try my best not to hold onto thoughts of what could or should have been. Seeing my grandpa’s body deteriorate and disappear into the underground was a reminder that life on this earth is extremely fragile and we are never guaranteed the next breath. I realized that I had been taking my own body and health for granted. I was all too familiar with digestive and stomach issues and I no longer wanted to just deal with symptoms that I had been excusing as my personal normal or inevitable characteristics due to my genetics. Searching for answers, I started a journey into health and wellness, and as I dove deeper into recent findings in nutrition and ancient wisdom on how to properly nourish and heal the body, a ball of fire ignited in my chest.
I was angry. Why didn’t my grandpa’s doctors recommend any of these dietary lifestyle changes, instead of simply preaching worthless dietary modifications, like eating fat free and reducing the use of salt, when what he really needed was a revised grocery list and new ways of caring for his body altogether? How did so many decades go by without him at least trying ANY small part of what I was learning about nutrition and healing the body from the inside out? As much as I’d like to believe that his doctors did the best they could with their knowledge and abilities, the health care system completely failed my grandpa, and I will never let that go. I can’t unlearn what I now know. I am disappointed and frustrated at the state of health in our world and the lack of sufficient education to spread the knowledge that our earth’s natural resources are far greater and more capable of healing, nourishing, and preventing disease than factory made ‘food’ and pharmaceuticals will ever be. My sadness over losing my grandpa quickly grew to anger, and I have channeled that anger into my passion and purpose — to continue learning how to heal and spreading that knowledge to help others heal, so that together we can reduce the pain and loss of lives to preventable causes, both physical and spiritual.
I think about my grandpa often. I miss him every day and I ask for him to visit me in my dreams before falling asleep. I know that the universe always has a greater plan, yet I long for just one more day with him. Still, I am grateful that my grandpa’s spirit lives on. I feel him in the breeze when I walk outside, I hear him in the rustling of the leaves, and I see him in the rays of light cutting through dark and heavy skies. He may have left this earth, but he left behind the greatest gift I have ever been given. I wasn’t able to help him heal, but I will be damned if I don’t spend the rest of my life learning and teaching the healing power of nature and the keys to living a strong and thriving life. To live long so we can love even longer.
<3 Gissel
Original blog post on gisselgarcia.com.
