I was 18, out of high school and living at home. I worked at a pizza place and was trying to decide what to do with my life. My mother pulled up one day and the world changed. She ran in and said "Your grandfather (aka Pepa) is very sick and we need to take him to the hospital". I didn't hesitate, I jumped in my car and away we went. He wasn't good and in need of help but hated the idea of screaming sirens so we had to call a private company and make them promise not to sound the horns. I rode with him and off we went. The aneurysm was confirmed and surgery was refused. He would go home and deal with it the best he could. The next problem was he couldn't be alone... so being that I was out of school it was decided that I would move in. I never went home again. I found a new job, much closer and with night hours as my great aunt could be there for him. I took over everything... the cleaning and laundry, the shopping and his meds. I wrote a lot at that time. I eventually had to sleep on the couch next to him (he loved his recliner) and I watched as this once very strong man withered away. I would wake up to the humm of an oxygen machine and at one point had to hide his gun as he was ready to end it. Although it was only a few month it was the hardest time of my life. I grew up a lot and very fast.
He had a few trips back to the hospital and during his last one I got a call from my aunt to come quick. I thought he was ready to come home but he took a turn for the worse. Needless to say I spent the next few hours holding his hand and telling him how much I loved him. My Pepa died holding my hand that day. After everyone left the room I laid down next to him and just cried until they pulled me out. He was a wonderful man and I will never forget him.
The day before the funeral my mother and aunt told me that I could not stay in his house as they were selling it and that home wasn't a good option either. I went to the viewing and then straight to sign a new lease on my first apartment. What a summer...