Yesterday we went to Pueblo to watch my neices perform for Dia de los Muertos. I was VERY impressed by the fact that they could dance with a REAL candle on their heads. Dia de los Muertos is a three day Mexican holiday to celebrate and honor our loved ones that have passed away. The best way to honor deceased loved ones is by remembering them. In remembering them, we honor them. Today, in my blog, I would like to honor my maternal grandfather, George Galvan.
My grandfather died when I was nine years old so my memory of him is the sketchy memory of a child who lost two loved ones within a few short months. My cousins, brothers and sisters did not get to know him like I did for they were very young when he died and that was truely a tragedy as he loved his children and he loved and indulged his grandchildren. My Grandpa Galvan fought in World War II and one of my favorite pictures of him is in his uniform in a gold regal frame. He looked very handsome and it made me very proud knowing that he fought for our country.
We basically grew up on "the hill" which is Grandpa and Grandma Galvan's home as well as Grandma Tina and Grandpa Frank's who were across the street and a few feet down the hill. I remember my Dad calling it "the hill". We were there most of the time with our cousins who were like brothers and sisters as we were together all of the time. My Dad felt that I was spoiled rotten by the grandparents and the aunts and uncles and I probably was as the oldest grandchild on my Mom's side. I remember loving Grandpa Galvan VERY much. He was a hard worker and he was very jovial. He had a great smile but if he got mad--watch out! I remember him spanking me once and I was very unhappy with him--he actually apologized but I wouldn't forgive him. When he died, I felt very guilty about that. He was very religious and went to church every Friday for the Rosary and on Sunday and I always went with him.
Grandpa liked to go hunting and he would hunt for rabbits and Grandma would cook them. It was pretty good. Sometimes after work, he would go to the bar in town to have some drinks with his buddies and Grandma would read him the riot act. He would smile and kiss her but that didn't work--Little Rita had a temper.
The day he died, he was going to take me to Walsenburg to buy some new shoes for Easter. For some reason, I had the feeling that he wouldn't buy me those shoes although he had never let me down. My Uncle George came to get me out of school early because Grandpa had died that day. He was operating a grator on a steep road, it tipped over and trapped him underneath and he wasn't found until it was too late. At Grandpa's funeral I saw my Dad cry for the very first time. I remember seeing Grandpa in the casket and while it looked like him, it didn't feel like it was really him because he wasn't smiling at me and I knew then why my stoic Father was crying. He was a good man and God took him too soon but while he was alive he made a difference in my life and I still miss him. I wish my cousins, brothers and sister could have had the time with him that I did and I know that he is one of my guardian angels watching over me and smiling down at me. I love you Grandpa.
I remember that day.
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