I'm numb right now if you want me to be completely honest. I don't really want to talk to anyone and I don't really want to feel obligated to express myself or accept any comfort thrown towards me. Maybe that's just the way I am. I don't want my mom to come and hug me and tell me that everything happens for a reason, even though I know she's one hundred percent right. I don't want to cry in front of anyone because I don't want them to see my tears, I don't know I just don't want it. That's just me I guess. I'm numb right now if you want me to be completely honest. Don't ask why, don't ask how, don't ask anything that requires an answer because the chance of me answering your questions are slim to none. The shock has got to me.
I've never really experienced the feeling of losing some one until today. You know what I can already tell that this whole thing is going to sound cliché, but you know what? All I want is for this to be completely genuine. I'm pouring my heart out to you now. It's hard. This for me is so hard right now I feel like my oxygen is cutting off. I'm trying to take in a deep breath but I can't capture the breath. I can't breathe right now. Maybe it's the denial. He didn't die. What the hell are you talking about? My grandfather did not die. Yeah, my best friend was cold as ice and his hand didn't respond to my grip and his ears began to turn purple, but guess what? It didn't happen. It's not true. My grandpa did not die, got it? No, I don't get it. It's true. And it sucks.
My grandfather, Kalost Purut, I am confidently saying right now was the strongest man I had ever met. I'm not saying this from a biased standpoint, because anyone who had ever had any interaction with him would have said the same thing. He was a strong man but would never hurt a fly. He was stern when he was supposed to be, but kind with the help of having the sweetest heart. He was calm, but never turned down an opportunity to relive is inspiring past with his four grandchildren. His three granddaughters and grandson looked up to him as if he was the sun sprouting through an hours long storm. He was their rock. He was their everything. He was their sun, he was their rain, he was their happiness, he was their healing when they felt pain.
Never did I once see my dede without a smile on his face, there was never a moment in time where this man frowned, at least we never saw it. Every time he drove all the way from Massachusetts to New Jersey with my godparents, Herman and Laura, and my two cousins, Lorig and Jivan, every time he walked through the door he would still be wearing the same grey, wool hat, hands folded behind his back and a giant smile on his face. Always smiling. Like an angel. My angel. My best friend.
He would laugh at anything. I remember one year my little cousin painted me a picture of a Thanksgiving turkey and it was one of the sweetest things I had ever seen. I thought maybe I should show it dede, he'll appreciate it. Here I go with a picture of a Thanksgiving turkey in the middle of June, to my dede and his reaction was the best, most memorable one I will eternally hold dear to my heart; he looks at the picture, a face accompanied by the cutest, widest smile ever, hidden behind his same signature glasses, and all he does his laugh and wave at the picture. That's it. He just waved. So simple and so sweet, so innocent and so appreciative. The man whose smile made me smile was loved dearly because of his simplicity, love of life and his family.
Sometimes I wish maybe I should have called more, or maybe I should have written him more letters. But what grandchild doesn't think of a slew of things they could have done better for their grandparents? I know he loved me and will continue to love me and my sister, my cousins, and his children, his daughter-in-laws, his beautiful wife and my grandmother Zabel, and the rest of his family and he will be watching over all of us as our guardian angel but there's just that one sting that will always be in the back of my heart and mind wishing that he was still telling me stories from when he was a young boy in the living room with my cousins and my sister laughing uncontrollably as we laughed seeing him loving life with us.
If there is one thing that I have noticed about my grandfather, is that he always wanted to learn. Learn more everyday. About anything. Foreign politics, American politics, new languages, new cultures, how other people live on this giant planet we all share and call our home. My dede was my home. My shelter, my safe haven. He was a man with a surplus of new ideas and indescribable knowledge. A man who loved faith and a man who loved love. A man who was married to his wife for 66 years, a true love. I remember she told us in his hospital room on his last day in Armenian: I never told you this, but I truly believe that God sent you to me as a gift. My gift. My wife. A love that has been lived for 66 years is a love that I know will live on for all of eternity. A love from a man who loved to love and a love from a beautiful woman who loved the man who loved her since the day they meant.
That purple and sienna sweater, that wool grey hat, those signature champagne glasses, that irreplaceable smile. All things that I will never forget about my hero, my grandfather. Kalost Purut, my best friend, may you rest in peace, a beautiful person, a beautiful soul, a heavenly angel. My heavenly angel. May I always feel your smile shining down on me. You will be missed. Our hero, our mentor, our angel. Our dede. Kalost Dede.
