This story I wrote in 2007 "Some days and some roses"
PART 1
All began the day my grandfather did not die. I remember it well, the event took place in February last year, on the day twenty-nine. What happened that day and those that followed, I have still very present. I remember my grandfather taking his last breaths of life, his silhouette outlined in the sheets, her eyes lost in the focus of the roof, the heat of heating, but the coolness of his body. I remember his mouth full of words dying ruggedly slipping through his throat, his hair disheveled and greasy, his left hand in mine and right resting on the mattress. When I think of the face I had at the time, but without separating its elements and factions, imagine his face separating from his skeleton, rising to the ceiling and clinging to the focus of the fan, as if unwilling to go further, his eyes mixing with the light and dropping static sparks riots with their memories. In those moments I wondered if my grandfather also imagine the same thing.
Who would imagine that this man naive, innocent, always happy, cheerful and active were ever found in such deteriorating conditions. I could not accept how a life so long could be consumed so rapidly in a short flash one as the light of a prolonged existence. I was touched to remember each morning he spent with his grandfather. During lunch always tried to tell her eighty years of existence in twenty minutes. It was a bad or maybe good habit that I had him, narrating his autobiography to whom crossed every word.
In the space of an hour the grandparent's statements became increasingly weak to become a mime and then a bad attempt to mime with gestures rather lost its true intentions. This communication is wronged decayed to such an extent that Mr. Idyll and I took us about twenty minutes to guess and understand that the grandfather was telling us he wanted a little water to turn the eyes desperately to a photo. It was a portrait of my deceased parents and I on the beach and that was on the bureau güelito . In a way this evidence led us to the inevitable conclusion about their destiny, despite having survived the adversities of life, plus eighty-three years of this, probably not achieve even last the rest of the entire evening . We had it there in front of us, dying alone, but good company.
In the family were only my grandfather, my maiden aunt and me. But as she lived with us in Muzquiz, but five hours away in Monterrey, that day was not sharing with him his last breaths of life, not even a bus was on way to our house. She is a faithful lover and family work short term. That day was not with us. Who accompanied me at that time was Idyll Venus, the best friend's grandfather and his faithful partner in a business for many years claimed the land. And we were just that man and me who were living with güelito his death.
Idyll and my grandfather were friends most of its existence. At its peak work used to have a transportation business, had connections with all major companies and trucking offices throughout the country, however, that great achievement died long before them, and probably my grandfather would join him soon.
could infer how Don Idyll felt that day, his face and carried the lonely tattooed on his cheeks, his eyes twinkled skepticism and his hands trembled more by fear than by cold. I'm sure you could not imagine life without the grandfather, who spent whole afternoons playing they knew of current policy, also talking memories and stories as old as them, or simply drinking coffee. However, deep inside him, in his subconscious must fear his own death. I think the elderly should not be surprised of his own death, probably from meet their sixties begin to prepare and blindly accept their consummation. I could feel, because I knew Idyll Venus to eight and a half decades would never be prepared for its purpose. Since I met him has always been naive, not to the degree of excessive naivety of my grandfather. More than anything is a professional dreamer who in a short time but would not dream of. And that would become defective under his only consolation, help him see güelito when we were and imagine that, despite having walked with him virtually the same path, not necessarily have to follow in that death.
Grandpa Candor was dying at home, making their own old bed, which gave him rest and privacy for many years, in his new deathbed. He had already spent three weeks internship. Had stayed in the clinic if it were not for the doctor the day before told us that there was nothing to do. My grandfather decided to spend his last moments at home, where he now lay surrounded by four walls cracked and barely contained very vitality that remained. We all knew that time was running out, even the grandfather, who watched the ceiling lamp and seemed in some sort of trance, with flashes kept track of minutes against time to spare.
I do not know what to do, did not know what to say, although at that time did not want to do or say anything. I only had courage to see his grandfather and trying to figure out where it went, it was becoming more and more distant and more away from me. I wanted to think that would chronically transfigured into an angel or a soul, or one of those things he believed. Crossed my mind the idea that every breath he inhaled exhaled here ended up being some kind of paradise. Maybe when all this ended, when he finished, be transported back in time to that period of prosperity before the crisis of eighty-three, when he enjoyed wealth and believed to live in heaven. In those moments I would have liked to believe in God, so absorbed in the certainty and faith, but I kept imagining there, separated from its skeleton, the focus of the fan, it stuck.
not so into me I wondered how my grandfather would feel, or how not to feel. Probably had almost completely lost sensitivity. Maybe it was just a matter of minutes for the whole process was consummated and sad güelito rest, as they say "peace." Apparently his body was slowly shutting down, then his eyes went back minute minute opaque. His lips were discolored, his hands froze and mine with him froze and blushed more and more with the squeezing of his grandfather. To the beat of the last beat of his weak heart, the sound of his eyes blinking and my body shivering, we were both counting on our last breaths as we had to share our lives.
I knew his inevitable end had come when his grandfather opened his eyes completely cloudy and then began to close the lids. This time I could not see the light bulb from the ceiling, I saw myself. He pressed my fingers between his hand as he let out his last breath through their lungs. I felt as if through our contact was squashed my heart and take it to who knows where. It immediately came to my mind the image of the face of the grandfather pouring static sparks. But this, instead of clinging to the focus of the fan, now left to raise by a mysterious force through ceiling, away from the more your body and chronically mixing with the wind.
born in me the feeling of my tears beginning to birth strangely between my ribs, even impossible, and making their way up my eyes were stuck in the throat. It hurt me too much as if it was stuffed full of sadness, strangled by an absence, undone by the surrounding solitude. Idyll Don approached me, but he himself was in tears, apparently the way of his chest to his eyes was not locked. With his hands covered mine and grandfather, güelito penetrated us both with what was left of his eye and then the three stop breathing.
We were all stiff, but Don Idyll Venus was the first of three to regain mobility. He moved my hand to the grandfather's bed with only two steps, silent, as discreet as a whisper in the air. I saw your expression desolate and sad way to stretch his arm in search of the wrist of his best friend. The whole scene seemed somber but accompanied by a touching grace. I only left me paralyzed, sad soul and mind full of doubts.
Then he took the pulse of my grandfather. After a few endless seconds, left him with the same gentleness and courtesy with which they had approached. Just seeing his face and felt he had followed his arms around me tight, I knew everything. I knew my grandfather's heart beating no more. Among the embrace of Mr. Venus began to melt before the abandonment, to the undeniable grief. Did not have to stay still, know that time does not imitate me or I would follow. The environment volvió pesado, pero líquido. Me sumergí en una certeza patética, trágicamente inexorable. Las palabras venían sobrando, pero Don Idilio se sintió con la responsabilidad de llenar el vacío.
— Mija , la vida y la muerte son sabias. Usted no se preocupe que dicen que los muertos llegan más rápido al cielo en año bisiesto.
At that moment the words of Don Idyll seemed silent, invisible. Actually I was feeling so many things at the same time my mind was cluttered. However, now that I think was very absurd and irrelevant, typical comment from him superstitious. At that moment everything seemed confused. The lump in my throat began to fall apart and I began to feel my face burning and my eyes explode when it happened. Of all the things that went through my head at that time I never imagined it was possible that I was looking stunned.
Grandpa got out of bed.
