Today is the 10th anniversary of Armen's grandfather's death... all the family members showed up at the cemetery, in the morning, to pay their respects... they brought bread, halva(a doughy sweet made usually for the dead), and water. It was nice having the whole family there, eating and enjoying each other's company. I hadn't ate, so all I could think about was the bread in the bag, by my feet... I sat on my knees, on the grass, and helped myself... I don't think I had enjoyed bread that much before, but it wasn't the bread, it was the people around me as I ate...
We also stopped by my grandfather's grave and left him some roses...
I've never met Armen's grandpa, but I've heard so many great things about him that I feel as though I remember him, kind of like I remember my own grandpa. My grandpa died about 20 years ago, so I was about 5 years old when he died. My sister and I were dropped off at my grandparents house every morning, so we grew up there. I remember him taking us out for walks... we'd pass by this small store mart, and he'd always take us in and buy us snacks. I always went for the gummy bears and the candy necklaces... he never, once, said "no" to us... We would take daily naps, right after he read an Armenian fairytale (by Hovhannes Toumanian). But... honestly, that's all I remember of him... I wish I remembered more... then, I remember him being sick in bed... he had one of those breathing devices, with the 5 or 6 balls in a row that you had blow into, through a plastic hose, to see how far up the balls would go. I remember trying that out for fun all the time, but I don't remember much of his sickness, other than that. They say he died from blood cancer... he was a good man... he loved Pepsi and us...
After his death, our families grew apart, in a way. We became separated and distant... until lately, since some of us kids are grown up and getting married, we see more of each other. It wasn't until today, while watching Armen's family members, that I thought about what my grandfather's death had really done to our family... after he died, my grandma moved in with my uncle for a while, then, moved out to live on her own, and, things were never really the same, ever...
I visit him at the cemetery every once in a while, and as the years go by, he feels more distant and further away, but, I try to keep his memory alive in me. I try to think about him every once in a while... His name was Benjamin, and I plan to name my son after him... one day...
Tip of the Day: Visit the cemetery every once in a while... hopefully, if you don't have anyone there, you're very lucky, but if you do, visiting the cemetery brings you down to Earth sometimes, it keeps you grounded and, oddly, puts you at ease.
“Every man dies - Not every man really lives.” William Ross Wallace
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