My first, His last

Practically my whole life revolved around music, as soon as my abuelita found out I
could carry a tune, I was signed up for the church children’s choir. As I got older my abuelita
started pushing me to do more for church. I smiled and nodded but I never really went the extra
mile. I practiced piano and sometimes I would sing for church, but I never went above and
beyond. My abuelita would tell me all the time
“Before I die, I want to see you behind the piano at misa. That is my dream”
“Yes abeulita” I’d always reply. Because in my head, the image of her and my abuelito
sitting in their front pew was eternal, I would never see abuelita there without abuelito, and I’d
never see abuelito sitting there without abuelita. I felt I had all the time in the world to make her
and my abuelito’s dream come true.
Throughout freshman year I was practicing and learning some of the mass parts hoping
that when my abuelito got better I’d be able to play at his first mass back. My teacher had offered
to let me play for a mass before that but I was always so worried about messing up or looking
stupid that I never took her up on her offer.
Fast forward to around late March/early April of my freshmen year. My abuelita had
started taking care of my bed ridden abuelito who could barely eat or move. His cancer had come
back and it was stronger than ever. I would spend my weekends helping my abuelita with
whatever she needed me to do. Sometimes I had to go take care of some of her jobs for church
because she was taking care of my abuelito, or vice versa. I remember on my 15th birthday I had
woken up and gotten ready to go over to her house because it was a Saturday and I always went
over to help with the quinceañeras she oversaw. Everything was just like normal, I got in the car
with my dad and we drove over to their house. When we got out of the car, we went up the stairs
and went to their bedroom to say hi to everyone. I said hi to my abuelita and after the usual
greeting filled with little cheek kisses I went over to go talk to my abuelito. As I was talking to
him I could over hear my dad and my abuelita talking.
“He’s not getting better here ama. I know what you’re doing to help him, and I know it’s
helped but its not enough. He needs to go to the hospital.”
“Alberto I cannot leave your father to the hands of a hospital!” I heard her whisper
scream.
“Ama look at him. Do you want him suffering in front of your very eyes?” I heard my
dad croak out. I’d never heard him sound so vulnerable and raw. It was at that moment that I
looked, and I mean truly looked, at my abuelito. His face was empty, it looked like saggy skin
covering a skull, his arms so thin and fragile, like twigs. His shirt, which he once easily filled
now fit him like a child when they put on their father’s shirts. His torso so tiny, so skinny, you
could see the outline of his ribs through the shirt. And that’s when it hit me, the reason I hadn’t
really been bothered by what was happening: in my mind I held onto the image I had of my
abuelito, this stocky man full of life. Sure, I had been around him since he had gotten sick again
but in my mind he never changed. I couldn’t imagine that the man I knew who had always been
so full of life, had been reduced to this frail and weak version of himself. The cancer was eating
him from the inside out and it was showing.
I turned to look at my abuelita, her yellow flowy sundress shining as the sunlight hit her,
her hair done in a set of curls that bounced and framed her face, but her face showed only
exhaustion, desperation, and worry. She had been facing all of this with determination, and for
the longest time I thought it was because she had absolute faith that he would be able to get
better, but it was in that small, warm, and worn down bedroom that I realized the truth; she
wasn’t doing all of this because she knew he could get through it, she was doing all of this
because she needed him to get through it.
“Maybe I should play at this mass.” I thought
“Nah I’ll just embarrass myself.” I said to myself “I’ve still got time.”
- - - - - - - - 
th
May 6 , 2018. The worst day of my entire life. We walk through the hospital hallway
with its grey and beige walls, and as we get closer and closer, the lights start to flicker. The
crappy quality of lights was something I had gotten used to through my many visits to the
hospital but today, it felt like the hospital was mocking me. A peppy blonde nurse with pink and
lavender scrubs approached us and with a thick southern accent
“Hiya y’all! Is there anywhere I can direct you lovely folks?” she said with a smile.
As soon as she approached us all I could think was “That is an atrocious choice of scrubs.
Who do you think you are? Barbie?” I remember criticizing every aspect of this woman in the
span of seconds. I wanted nothing more than to punch her straight in her happy face at that exact
moment. After I thought about it, I let out a chuckle. My mom elbowed my side.
“No we’re fine” my mother replied softly. And she pushed us gently along to the room.
When we step inside, my first thought is
“Who the fuck are these people?”
There’s three men I’ve never seen in my life, all of them looking solemn but
uncomfortable, as if someone’s been invited to a wedding and then the bride leaves the groom in
the middle of the ceremony. I immediately ignore them and make my way towards the bed with
the sheet over it. I felt this overwhelming urge to laugh and scream, like “haha very funny joke
guys, my abuelito isn’t dead, he’s waiting to scare me.” But deep down I know that’s a lie I was
telling myself. The last thing I remember about that moment is my abuelita clinging onto me and
sobbing “ya no tienes un abuelito”(you don’t have a grandpa anymore) repeatedly.
- - - - - - - - 
th
May 19 2018, I’m wearing a black dress in the front pew of church. To my left, my aunt
and her husband sit quietly, to my right my father sits with my abuelita in her pew. My piano
teacher is playing for the mass and as I see her an idea forms in my head. I hadn’t told anyone
that I had learned some of the mass parts on the piano. It was supposed to be a surprise. I make
eye contact with her when we reach the part of the mass that I knew how to play. My heart beats
out of my chest and in an instant, I’m getting out of my seat and walking to the piano. I sit at the
bench and get ready. The priest gives the cue and I take a deep breath and play. I mess up a little
and I get so embarrassed and angry for a split second and then I remember where I am. After I
play, I get up and move back to my seat and I start sobbing. My first mass behind the piano, and
it was his last mass ever. I was so mad at myself, how could I have taken so long to do the one
damn thing they wanted me to do. Why did I let it get to the point that one of them had to die for
me to finally do something?
“I’ll never wait this long again. I promise”

Emotional truth:
1. These moments in my life showed me that sometimes whether or not we’re ready we
have to act. My abuelita was scared that if she put my abuelito in the hospital he was
never going to come back. She wasn’t ready to accept that possibility of his sickness
getting worse but she had to. When I was little and my abuelitos encouraged me to
play the piano so that one day they could see me play at mass, I didn’t really try.
When I did finally start to learn and practice, I let my fear of humiliation and
judgement get in the way of playing for them. It wasn’t until I was sitting there at my
own grandfather’s funeral that I finally said screw it to fear of humiliation and
judgement. And even in that moment at his last mass, I messed up the song a little.
But it was probably only because I was crying and trying to see the keys, but besides
the key slip up, it was probably the best I had ever played. Sometimes we’ll never
think we’re ready to do what we want to do or what we need to do until we get a
push. I finally played for him at church, sadly, it took him dying for me to knuckle up
and do it.

2. Story Arc:

i. Exposition: My abuelitos’ love of music and them signing me up for lessons,

finally learning the songs, my abuelitos telling me their dream
ii. Inciting Incident: My abuelito’s cancer relapse
iii. Rising action: the taking care of him, me pushing off playing thinking I still
had time, His death
iv. Climax: His funeral, where I make the choice to get up and play for the first
time
v. Falling action: me heading back to my seat and crying
vi. Resolution: promising to never wait that long to do something for the people I
loved.