"No hay mal ni bien que cien años dure."

So last Wednesday, I lost someone who was very special to me. I wasn’t what you would call close to this person, but they meant a lot to me. The person was my grandpa, Bill Remily. My grandpa was 88 years old. Yea, I know what you’re thinking. Aw that’s so sad but it happens to everyone so whatever. She’ll live, cuz we all do.

I wouldn’t be so quick to judge. You see, my grandpa was my dad’s dad, and the only grandpa I actually knew. Yea, that’s right; I grew up my whole life with only one set of grandparents. My mom’s parents died before I was born. That’s something I don’t really want to get into, so don’t ask. Anyway, my paternal grandpa was a veteran of World War II, so for his funeral, he had a color guard from the Navy.

My grandpa was one of those people that walks into your life and leaves a footprint on your heart. He was the person everyone seemed to remember and have crazy stories to tell about them. My dad tells me stories of my grandpa all the time, like how my dad’s whole family built a house. Yeah, a house. I actually got to see that house. It’s amazing, truly, completely amazing. My grandpa was an electrical engineer after the war and he liked to fix things himself. He gave all his kids and grandkids hammers with red handles and their full name etched on it. I have one, though I’ve never actually seen it. My grandpa made my two brothers and me wooden chairs with our names on them.

My grandpa was famous for wanting to fix things himself and being very manly. We have hilarious stories told at the dinner table of my grandpa. One time he told my older brother “Men don’t hug, they shake”. My brother was, like 5. And I always remember him shaking my hand instead of hugging me. But as he got older, life started catching up with him. His hands started shaking. My grandpa smoked, like many war veterans, so he got lung cancer and had to have much of his lungs taken out.

But my grandpa was strong, with good old Remily genes. Us Remilys live quite a long time. He outlived every prediction of death the doctors gave him. And finally, he beat his lung cancer. All was fine. But his time was coming, and even the great Bill Remily couldn’t escape death. My grandpa’s lung cancer came back, and he developed dementia. He had to go on an oxygen machine and wear a diaper. He couldn’t be independent anymore, which was the worst part for him, and he started forgetting things.

Finally, after months of waiting and fighting, Bill Remily took his last breath as his diseases won and took his life at a little after midnight east coast time, on October 19th, 2011. The funeral was last Friday and he was buried with his hammer, the one with the red handle, so he could, as the pastor said at the mass, knock on the Gates of Heaven, not with his hand, but with his hammer. Of course, the pastor didn’t know my grandpa very well. Bill Remily would want to rebuild the Gates before he entered it. But that’s my crazy, passionate, loving, amazing grandpa.