First man in my life

One would think that the first man in my life would be my father. However in this case it is different, sure as a baby my father was indeed the first man but as I was growing up I saw my grandfather as the father figure I needed. The first 5 years of my life I basically lived with my grandparents which was fine with me. I loved being there, I felt loved and I was very well cared for. My parents worked so my grandparents are the ones who took care of me.

My grandfather was born in Mexico and like others before him (and afterward) came to the US to find good jobs and to better his life. In Texas he met and married my grandmother and they started their family. From all the stories I have heard about my grandfather he was an awesome person, he loved life and made the best of what he had to provide for his wife and his 8 children.

After having several children my grandfather moved his family from Texas to Chicago and worked at the famous Wisconsin Steel Mill. Even though he didn't make a lot of money working there he was able to put all of his children in a Catholic school. My grandfather was a very hard worker and did his best to put food on the table and clothes on the backs of his family.
Some would say that my grandfather was a strick man, and I do agree with that, but he was that way because he loved his family and wanted a good life for them. He was always there when someone needed help, never turning his back on anyone. He loved helping people. I heard that once he met people that needed a place to stay, he was taking his family on a trip and decided to let them stay in their home while they were gone. When they came back from vacation they found that these people that my grandfather trusted had taken everything my grandparents had.

I was his first granddaughter, fourth grandchild and yes at that time I know I was "his" little girl, of course, that changed as the other grandchildren came but for four years I had the attention of my grandparents. Now my grandfather was not at all affectionate, he never said "I love you" but everyone knew that they were loved, I knew that I was loved and that was good enough for me. He was very tough and as a little girl I was afraid of him. He had a loud bark but he was a puppy at heart. You could tell just by looking at him that when my grandmother came into the room that he loved her so. He use to tell the same story about how when he was 17 he had held a baby girl in his arms and said that this baby was sooooo beautiful that when she grew up he would marry her, well that baby was my grandmother and although we would laugh at that story and say that we didn't believe him he would say it was the truth and stuck to that story for years.
I had to write a paper one year for school and I asked him about his life and from what I can remember is that he was the eldest of 3, he had two brothers that he had to raise because their parents had died when they were young, and how he had to provide for his little brothers and when they had no where to turn for food they would carve the bark off of trees and suck the sap out of them to survive. I got an A on that paper, and as I read that paper in front of my class there were tears from some of my peers.

I use to love hearing him talk on the phone because he would speak broken English, I thought it was cute, his accent was deep but I could understand what he was saying.
I also loved hearing him whistle the tunes from songs that played on the radio, and I remember that he would sit in his favorite chair by the window and read the paper, sometimes out loud.

Throughout his life I was told that he had had 5 or 6 heart attacks, he bounced back from each of them. I thought that nothing would bring him down, but in 1982 he suffered a stroke and this time he was not so lucky. I saw him before he slipped into a coma I remember that he had tears in his eyes, and yet he reached for my hand, I held his tight not wanting to let go, he couldn't speak although he tried. I told him not to worry, he would get better soon and that I would be there to help him get better, never knowing that would be the last time I would see him alive.

The memories from that year will haunt me forever, for the first man in my life was gone, forever. It took a long time for me to talk about him without having tears in my eyes (11 years to be exact).
GOD gave me the pleasure of knowing this great man for 17 years and there will never be other man like him. I just know that one day it will be my turn to go home and it will be then that I will see my wonderful grandfather and he will embrace me in his arms and I will feel like his little girl again.

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