My Grandfather Ben, A Victim of My Husband’s Deportation

My grandfather Ben died in September of 2008.

I was in Mexico when he died, and, as some of you may have read in another blog of mine from that time, it was very devastating for me. How I found out, when I found out, the fact that I did not have the money to get over to the very small funeral that went down, etc…

I am clear a year later, that my relationship with my grandfather, the only grandfather that I’ve even known, suffered directly due to the fact that I hardly saw him during his last seven years of life. It just wasn’t possible health-wise for my grandfather to visit us in Mexico. And there was a time that two years would pass before I would be able to swing a visit to the States.

I loved him the best that I could, and my grandfather did the same with me.  That thought is a coin that I turn over and over in my hand on days like today.

Do any of you watch the amazing TV series Fringe?

I daydream that I can find a soft spot in our energy field, so that I can get to the alternative universe, where I like to think that grandfather is alive and well.

We both have lots of time, and he’s made fresh whole wheat bread and fruit-flavored tea. We sit at his table, with the view of the State of Liberty from his living-room window.

“Give me your tired, your poor,/Your huddled masses yearning to be free.”

Indeed.

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