This is a sad post, so if you're already down because of holiday depression or something, you might want to avoid it.
Today December 22, 2017, my grandfather on my mother's side has died.
Since my parents were divorced, and my father was basically in a constant state of inebriation and/or high (he was an alcoholic and drug addict), my grandfather was the father figure I had when growing up.
He was born in 1927, and had nothing short of an amazing life. He worked extremely hard during his childhood, and studied hard. He came from a poor family, so growing up he didn't have much. He was an athlete in his early years, and graduated as an engineer, but he had a passion for aviation, so he got a job at an airline company, because on his interview there the owner of the company himself said "if you work hard, you can even go aboard [the airplanes]", which was ultimately his intention. He started out as a mechanic, and eventually got his pilot's license and went on to fly planes all over the world.
He married my grandmother I think around his early 20's, and they had four daughters. My grandmother inherited from her father the farm and land some of you might have heard me speak of, and my grandfather went on to manage and administer it, well, but with an iron fist, which would later on create conflicts whenever someone had a different opinion.
After flying all over the world (except Antarctica), saving two airplanes in emergency landings after catastrophic engine failure, he retired from aviation and went on to study biology, and became a botanist. By then I was tagging along with him on his 'research trips', when we would go to the middle of nowhere, sometimes just to confirm that some lone species of plant existed in that place. We visited many places of outstanding natural beauty. He didn't care much about cities, but he loved an open field or a forest or a jungle. He became an almost obsessive conservationist/naturalist, which could become annoying at times since we owned a farm but more and more he tried to turn it into a natural reserve so less and less 'farm things' could be done, and the place would eventually become so overgrown, I had trouble recognizing some areas on photos I've seen recently.
He was a professor of biology and botany at two universities down there in Brazil, and traveled far and wide going on scientific conventions and events, and I often tagged along as well; as former pilot, back in the day, he could just hop into a plane and go, and because he was a very distinguished pilot, he could take whomever he wanted along with him. The younger generations of pilots all had heard of him and were glad to have him aboard. (I was bumped to First Class whenever the crew knew who my grandfather was)
In his lifetime, he planted more trees than I know anyone else to have done. We're talking tens of thousands of trees! I might have got my love for plants from him, though I like them in smaller proportions, thus my bonsai. I did pick some on botany from him.
He was a beekeeper, and we had our own hives at the farm. I still think the honey our bees made was the best honey I've ever tasted. And to maintain the hives, he had a workshop, where I would spend hours just nailing pieces of wood together or carving them into pointless shapes, but from there I learned to use everything from a basic hammer to properly sharpened wood gouges. I loved that workshop, the smell of the wood and some of the beeswax/honey is still fresh in my mind! Alas, I often had to sneak in there, because he kept the place under lock and key, being very possessive of his things.
He played the flute, I don't know at what age he started, but it was in his early teens, and he went on to play with the biggest symphonic orchestra there was down there. He was good, but spent years without practicing, so what I remember of him playing is actually him picking it back up years later, so lots of practice, which is never as good as a concert itself. I never saw him play an actual concert, but I have a recording of one. A few years ago he broke his hand and because of that couldn't play the flute anymore, and I know that deeply saddened him.
He amounted an extensive library, in subjects ranging from general knowledge encyclopedias, to mineralogy and astronomy, natural history, and of course biology and plants. And I devoured the knowledge on the books when growing up! I owe most of what I've learned on my formative years to that library.
We had a beach house, and he loved going there, he loved taking stupidly long walks on the beach, and often I walked with him. But I have mixed feelings about liking and not liking to go to the beach. I liked it when I was a little fox, but as I grew older I started disliking it. He loved the beach, to the very end!
His health was as far as I know rather good, though he always caught the flu, every year. Around 60 he had surgery to remove gallbladder stones, and in his 80's he underwent radiotherapy for some prostate growth. He suffered from tachycardia as long as I can remember, and he was a bit of a drama-queen, so whenever something would hit he would act like he was dying, even if it was just a stubbed toe. But at same time he would stubbornly keep to his routine: Teach Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and go to the farm on Wednesdays and weekends. Always! The routine only changed in his mid 80's when my grandmother started to get tired of it and throw fits about it. Only in the past couple of years he stopped teaching full-time, and his goings to the farm became less frequent.
Still, this time of the year was the time to go to the beach. So to the beach he went. He was sick with a cold, having trouble breathing, refusing to take antibiotics because he was terrified of the potential side-effects, but he truly wanted to go to the beach! So he packed my grandmother and my sister and niece in the car and to the beach they went! He loved the sea, and they drove though the road that goes right along the sea on their way there, so he got to see it one last time. A couple of nights ago he was having trouble breathing, so they took him to the hospital. He had pulmonary edema, and at some point in the night had a heart attack. The doctors sent for relatives then, because he wasn't going to last.
My grandfather was a great man. We had disagreements, he did things that made me think "what the fuck are you doing?!", and if I have one true major complaint about him was that he was a penny-pincher. But through any troubles we've had, for every one bad time, we had a hundred good times, and while he was not one to show much emotion unless he was angry, he did love us, and we loved him. And I will miss him dearly!
Rest in peace, grandpa!
