CIVILITY

I received a call from my sister last night.

My grandmother had gone into a diabetic coma, and was in the hospital recovering.

Immediately after work, I went over to the Emergency Ward in Sun Valley. She was doing much better by the time I got there, but she put such a scare into all of us.

I only mention this because of my Valentine's Day entry regarding my grandparents.

I am not worried for her necessarily. She is strong, she is resilient, she was trying to leave her hospital bed last night because she thought she was feeling fine. This is a good sign.

No, I'm worried about the rest of my family, and what effect her death would have on them. It would destroy my grandfather. It would cause grief to so many of their children and grandchildren.

I would be incredibly sad.

My Spanish isn't that great, but last night, when she recognized me as I entered the room, we didn't need words to communicate. She couldn't speak anyway, and her hearing is a bit off. Also, her eyesight is failing.

But she knew it was me. And I kissed her on her forehead and patted her gray hair.

I saw her this morning, surrounded by unruly grandkids and other relations. She was calm and quiet, looking healthier. She has always been calm and quiet, so it all seemed normal to me.

I know that my grandparents won't live forever, but I hope she makes it through the next two weeks. We have a huge celebration planned for my grandfather's 80th birthday, and it wouldn't be the same if she were not around.

On a positive note: she called my grandfather this morning and asked him when he was coming by the visit her.

I almost lost it right there. I am very good at holding in my emotions, and yet I almost gave in to it upon hearing that.

I wish I were able to let my emotions go, but it takes time for me. I suppress it, and eventually it comes out, when I'm by myself, much later on.

In the meantime, I keep myself composed because that's the only way I know how to deal with grief.

A lot of it has to with my family. I watched my uncle Francisco, standing there, holding my grandmother's hand. Francisco has been through a lot of shit: gangs, drug addiction, near-fatal stabbings and shootings... His mother, my grandmother, never gave up on him through those trying times.

When he was in and out of jail, she was always there for him, and now there he was-- speaking softly into her ear, in gentle Spanish, whispering soothing psalms. His burly forearms are tatted up and down, and he still dresses like the fierce gangbanger he used to be, but in this instance I saw the civility underneath what used to be a feral beast, a civility that only a mother's love can imbue in an individual.

He was giving the love back.

And he didn't shed a tear.

And neither will I. I need to save them for the times when I will need them the most.