One Year Without You
May used to be my favorite month of the year. You all know that I always celebrate my birthday for the entire month and it’s always so much fun feeling so loved by your family and friends, but I’ve actually been dreading May this year. My grandpa passed away at the end of May last year and I still remember it like it was yesterday.
I had just started my new job and after spending the first few weeks officially on the job on vacation and on a work trip, I was trying to settle into the new routines of the role. I didn’t know anyone so I had a lot of one-on-one meetings with people to start to get to know them and what they do. I was in the middle of one with my new boss when I got the call. I get so annoyed when my mom calls me in the middle of the work day because I somehow expect her to know when I can or cannot talk on the phone with her. She’s supposed to just read my mind. Anyway, she called and I declined it. I wanted my attention to be on my boss and I just kept seeing the phone ring out of the corner of my eye. After a few times, I got worried and texted her that I was in a meeting and to tell me what’s wrong. She just replied with “Poncho.”
In Mexico, we rarely call people by their actual names. I feel like we have a nickname for every name and for Alfonso it’s Poncho. We know a lot of Ponchos so I always called him “Mi Poncho” and I know my mom is gonna read this and say that was her thing but that’s besides the point. I really did feel like he was mine. He was my everything. My best friend, my biggest cheerleader, my greatest advocate, my toughest critic, my weatherman even. He really was my everything.
We lived in different countries for most of my life but every summer and winter break I would count down the days to go see my grandparents. It’s strange now to go to to Mexico and arrive at the terminal where I last saw him. It’s strange moving around the city in Ubers without him insisting on driving me somewhere to meet my friends, even though we both knew he was gonna make me late because he was horrible with directions. It’s strange sitting down for breakfast without having my favorite mango juice sitting there at my seat, perfectly placed there by my grandpa. As much as I love being in Mexico, it’s hard on me to go back. I don’t know Puebla without him and it’s hard to experience new places because he’d be the first person I would share new experiences with.
Oddly enough, during the pandemic we seemed to get closer than ever, which neither of us thought was even possible. Covid sucked because I couldn’t go see them but it forced us to finally get them on zoom calls and FaceTimes. The first time we tried to do a zoom call with the family, he was so frazzled because he couldn’t figure out how to do it on his iPad. The next day he asked me to call him an hour before our family zoom call to help him set it up. He later was able to do it all on his own but WhatsApp video calls became our bread and butter. Instead of getting the whole family on zoom, he and I would video call almost every day. Because I was working home, my time that I would normally spend commuting, I would spend working out and cooking. We started FaceTiming a lot while I was cooking and both of my grandparents would love to hear that I was taking care of myself. They always wanted the best for me and they knew I’ve always struggled with my weight and body image so virtually cooking together was a fun way to spend time together but also gave them reassurance that I was trying to take care of myself.
I can’t believe it’s been a year now since he’s left us. I remember going through my breakup thinking that that sucked but receiving this news absolutely broke me. It’s hard to think I’ve made it a whole year without him because at the time it felt like I wasn’t going to be able to make it one single day. They say that time heals but I don’t feel healed. I hurt every single day and as fucked up as this sounds, I kind of like it that way. I don’t ever want to forget him and if that means waking up and hurting every day then so be it.
When I was traveling to Mexico to get to his funeral, I asked my family for his ring. It probably wasn’t the best time to be making demands but my family appeased me, as usual. His ring has his initials AO on it and it’s made out of gold. It used to be connected between the A and the O but not anymore because it’s too small for me. He wore this ring every single day and towards the end of his life, he had lost quite a bit of weight and I was worried his ring would slide off. The funny thing about that is that my fingers are so chubby and the only finger it fits on is my ring finger and it’s a tight squeeze! But it kind of reminds me of his hugs. He would hug me so tightly and I could just feel how much he loved me with each hug. So each day I wake up and the first thing I do is put this ring on. My fingers are usually swollen when I first wake up so it doesn’t even go on all the way until I make it to the office usually, but it’s always there. On days when I’ve forgotten it, I can’t even focus. I get so frazzled and stressed wondering if I’ve lost it, when I know it’s in my jewelry box. I feel a little guilty when I forget it because I let something else take control of my attention in the morning when I’d rather my mind just be with him.
I’m in Mexico now and my friends and I have been taking turns playing music and when I play music it always ends up with sad or heartbreaking and emotional songs. I don’t like being sad but I love feeling things. I feel things so deeply, which is a double-edged sword sometimes but I don’t really mind it. Being sad kind of just means you had something so great that it’s sad to miss it but it’s incredible to have had it. I don’t know if that even makes sense or if I’m just rambling at this point, or maybe both! I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m so thankful for the beautiful memories that I shared with him. He was truly one of a kind.
I see and feel him everywhere. When I get mad or frustrated with my mom I hear him calming me down, telling me that it’s not worth getting upset over. When I start to cave into my never-ending negative thoughts, I feel him hugging me and reassuring me that it’s just a bad day and not a bad life. When things don’t go my way, I know he is looking down at me and telling me that it’s just an opportunity to try things a different way. When I step into my tennis club I remember him walking around in my oversized sweater vest, taking pictures of the beautiful courts and clubhouse — all with his finger in the corner of the shot. When I’m in a slap happy mood, I wish I could call him to tell him about some silly little joke that is cracking me up even though it’s probably not even funny. He would always laugh with me and he would put a smile on everyone’s face. You know how they say some people can just light up a room with their presence? That was him.
My grandpa was such a hard worker. He worked until his last day on Earth and I will forever respect that. Growing up I kind of hated it. He was always on the phone taking calls or responding to emails or even coming home late for lunch because a meeting ran long. Everyone loved doing business with him, some a little too much. They mistook his niceness for weakness and tried to take advantage of him and his business. Some of those people being people that we trusted and allowed to get close to our family, even when they didn’t deserve it. But he never held a grudge. He would hold it in and not tell us because he didn’t want us to think less of them and because he didn’t want us to worry or get mad. I’m sure you know by now that my mom, my grandma and I all have a temper :). He protected us even when we didn’t even know he was protecting us and now that he’s not here anymore, I really miss that shield I never even knew existed. He was remarkable. I pity those who never had the chance to meet him.
It’s getting hard to finish this post. I could write forever because he was just an incredible human. There is truly no one like him and I am so honored to have spent so much of my life with him by my side. My college tennis coach used to tell us that if we don’t play for our team then we should at least play for our family name and that’s always stuck with me. Everything that I do, I have the best of intentions even though it may not seem that way at times. I think about how my family would feel about the things I do and the decisions I make. Inevitably when I make mistakes I think of how I’ve disappointed myself but how I have disappointed my family. I think that’s something I will carry forever because even though he’s not here, I always want to make him proud — as proud as he’s made me feel to be his granddaughter.
Love you, Ochoa forever.
xx marn
