Fallen Hero

His persona was definitely one of a kind. One that begged for respect without him asking for it. He was down to earth, light-hearted, yet so powerful and had full authority. My grandfather was a man of word, of honor, and of power always putting his family back in order. He would not tolerate my aunt being mad at my mother, my uncle upset at grandmother, my cousin upset at one my aunts, or my father mad at my mother. If someone was upset, God forbid, he would force them to reconcile. I loved that about him. He was the glue that kept our family together. He brought us together for every holiday and for every occasion he can possibly come up with.

The last time he had authority over us was February 25^th, 2000. We all gathered at the Assyrian Church of the East for his funeral, my first funeral experience. And mind you, I didn’t know they actually do a viewing before all the praying starts. So, there I was walking behind my brother down the church aisle the whole time. Everyone was already sitting, so I kept my head down. I felt everyone’s eyes watching me as their heads turned toward me with every step I took. I tried to block out the wailing sounds of my family members, but I failed. My brother finally made a left to have a seat in one of the pews. I looked up and to my shock, I saw the hero of the family lying lifeless in his coffin. My whole body shivered.

I couldn’t bear looking at him. He was no longer smiling with his missing front tooth showing. The way he used to laugh kept running through my head. My fallen hero was no longer going to be sitting in his regular chair for Thanksgiving dinner, or Christmas. He was no longer going to make me laugh. He was no longer going to call us to come over, and end up watching one of his Clint Eastwood movies or Lion King for the one hundredth time. He wasn’t going to be there for my 13^th birthday. My memories of him still live and his traditions have not subsided.