Missing my Grandpa

This is Huejucar, Jalisco. My Spanish ancestors settled this town!

Six years ago, my first tragic loss happened. My grandfather died. He was a man I looked up to, the patriarch of our family, and my second love. He always made time for us, gave out lots of hugs, and spoiled us rotten. I know for a fact he would have loved Max, he wouldn't have been able to say his name, and he would have teased me relentlessly for my Asian infatuation. I miss him. I have only seen my dad cry twice in my entire life and one of those was the night he got back from grandpa's funeral. I cannot even imagine the loss of a parent.

When I was going through my deepest struggles and couldn't even tell my family about them, I had a wonderful dream. I was in the garden my grandfather was buried in and I was 8 years old again. My grandpa was sitting under a tree and I went there and sat on his lap. He gave me a big hug and held me as I cried. Weird, right? But I had become so detached that even crying seemed impossible. Then he smiled, wiped my tears and told me "It's time to go home, call your dad. Go home please. They need you there. You're going to be okay mi Rubita, I love you. Don't forget it." The sense of peace I felt was invigorating. He had been sent to me to give me that final act of strength that I needed when I had become too weak to go on my own. I miss my grandpa so much yet I know from that experience that he is looking out for me. I love you grandpa. Thank you for being the best grandfather in the world, for choosing to raise a family, and for accepting the gospel. Families are forever.