My baby brother died of Covid in February of 2022. He had gone to a dark place and despite having underlying conditions, he adamantly refused to be vaccinated. It was three weeks of hell from the day he went into the hospital until he died and I was afraid the whole time. Initially, he was alert and we talked and texted. Knowing how distrustful he was of the medical establishment, I walked on eggshells as I gently encouraged him not to dismiss their treatment recommendations. He blustered but accepted them and was “holding his own” during the first week. But the inevitable happened. His breathing worsened and his kidneys started to fail. Before being intubated, his last text message to me was saying he was scared and then a big red heart emoji.

Then came two weeks of ICU hell: days where staff did not think he would make it through their shift, fleeting moments of hope but always dread and fear. So many people prayed for him but he was the sickest person they had ever seen. I watched this little boy, now 57, who was adored from the day he arrived on the planet, die on Zoom. I used to tell people that when I was eleven years old, I had “ordered” my brother. I clearly remember being in the car with my mother and telling her that I was sick of my sister. “Why don’t you have another baby?” I pleaded. So, the “accident” baby, my brother, George M. Gregorian was born and instantly became the shining light of our nuclear and extended family. Everyone has a presence, an essence of course, but George’s was always louder, larger, and impossible to ignore. Outgoing, curious, annoying, kind, generous, smart, and up for anything, including allowing my sister and me to dress him up in girl’s clothing and send him to return Christmas trees we had deemed too skinny.

My mother worked outside the home so I took care of him. People sometimes thought he was my child. I was just a teenager and in the late 60’s that was quite scandalous. I didn’t mind taking care of him. I did all the things for him and with him that maybe I felt my mother didn’t do with me and later on, I realized that nurturing him was healing for me.
Christmas was so much fun when he was little and even as we aged. One memory I will cherish is of him walking into my home on a Christmas day about five years ago, with his Santa hat on, his arms full of gifts and a huge smile on his face. He was late, as usual, but how could I be mad? He was known for last minute shopping and buying gifts no one ever knew they needed or wanted.

Stuffing stockings with useless or kooky things was sort of our “thing” and George had a total of 5 stockings to hold all his loot. Some are labeled with his many nicknames, Georgie, Bad Georgie and Mazod (which means “hairy”) in Armenian. I can’t throw the stockings away and yet; my heart aches at the thought of Christmas morning without my brother.

One Christmas memory that I will cherish began rather tensely due to a family disagreement. I was enjoying an adult beverage to ease my nerves and somehow started to dance and sing to “Party Rockets in the House Tonight.” I am NOT a good dancer nor singer. Georgie took his phone out and started filming. You can hear him egging me on and giggling like a little boy until we both crumple to the floor in hysterics. I loved that we liked to bring out the fool in each other. Now that he’s gone, there is no one left to laugh with me and at me in quite the same way. I will miss you forever, Georgie.

My dad was a man of few words. He didn’t talk about his feelings and if he did it was only to my mother. She had the key to that box and she kept it close to the vest. He was a man of action and showed his love through his many labors. He was always willing to lend a hand on any project and then eventually take over the entire project himself. He would not stop until the job was completed and was a true perfectionist. As a father he was hard to read. He was silent and proud. He seemed intimidating because of his mysterious nature, but I loved him immensely. He was always home by 4 pm at the latest and if he wasn’t going to be home at that time we would know days in advance. Every day, I would wait outside shooting baskets after school waiting for him to arrive. He was never late. He was tired, he was dirty, but he would still play horse or around the world with me. He never said no. He taught me much. He taught me how to ride a bike, he taught me how to catch, he taught me how to fish and he tried to teach me how to golf. As my mother took care of our needs emotionally, my dad was steadfast as a teacher, not knowing at the time that he was providing me knowledge that would last me a lifetime. That was most of my childhood. Much of what he did went unnoticed. He never wanted the credit, he was content in letting others shine as he stood back and watched with pride.

As I grew older, I grew fonder of my father. I started to understand his sacrifices. My mother would take care of our wounds and emotions but my dad was the one who took care of her. I would notice his callused hands from being in the field, which were permanently dirty from his days working. I started to notice the sacrifices of providing even at times working in different states so we could stay in our home. I started to notice that his love was without word, but as I have mentioned his actions and caring for us was his language of love. In my adult life he stood by me, answered every call, literally and figuratively and as I mentioned he never said no. He was consistent to say the least. He was unrelenting. He was like the Greek God Atlas, out of sight with the world on his back. The old adage says that for every great man there is a great woman behind him. To my father that is an untrue statement. For my dad, it says there is a great man behind a happy family in front of him. We came first and I couldn’t have asked for a better father.
This showed as a grandfather as well, as he showed me how to be a father at a young age. I was lost when I had Camden. I struggled with his autism, not knowing how to parent a child with a disability. I would consistently go to my parent’s house and my dad would jump right in. Camden wasn’t different to him. He treated him as he treated me as a child. He challenged him, cuddled him, loved him unconditionally. They would make pancakes in the morning. They would go visit family. They would go on walks. They would watch TV. He taught him how to ride a bike, he taught him how to catch, they shared laughter and my dad would chase him everywhere he went. He never left his side nor missed an opportunity to be with him as he did with me. He was as good as a grandfather as he was as a father. Even before Melissa and I got married, Dax was his grandchild. They would play games for hours on end as my dad would teach him. They would ride on the lawnmower together circling the yard. He was the favorite grandparent, the tireless one, and they knew that. They both dragged him every which way as he followed, he never complained. He never said when. He would eventually tire them out, knowing his job was complete. He will be remembered by them as the perfect grandfather and I take comfort knowing the there isn’t a smudge on his resume as one. My father was an example of what family was about. He had a sense of duty never ignoring it and always fulfilling it. He was routine. He never missed an event. He always showed up. The examples set above were in place long before I was born. He was that man from day one. From his brothers and sister to his stepbrothers, to his in-laws, nieces and nephews; if you needed something he was there. He is the meaning of family and unconditional love. He is a role model to all of us. If you weren’t blood related or married into the family, to my dad you were family anyway. He would treat you as his own. This was not fake or forced, he wanted you to feel a part of it. My dad always had this presence about him. He was 5’11”, 190 lbs. and built like a brick house. I wanted to say 200 but my mom said he’d be mad. I used to tell my friends and co-workers no matter their size that my father would make them feel small. He seemed larger than life. He had a way of making me feel safe when I was in danger, sheltered with no home, happy when I was sad and loved when I was alone. His aura and presence always gave me the assurance that if I had him things were going to be okay. He was my security blanket.

I grew up not knowing Spanish. I knew it was important as an adult to learn my heritage. My daughters both danced ballet Folklorico for 8 years and my mother always watched them with such pride. She loved watching them swaying back and forth with those vibrant beautiful dresses. She was so amazed by their talent and bragged about them all the time.

Dia de Los Muertos is a time to celebrate our loved ones who have departed this world. Ofrendas are made with beautiful marigolds and pictures of family members that have passed. Their favorite foods and drinks are placed on the ofrenda. My mom loved her coffee and concha’s in the morning. She always sent me to the Mexican bakery first thing in the morning to grab the fresh ones.

Today, and every day, I remember my mom and her request for her favorite bread. I remember her dancing in the living room to a Selena song. I miss that fun vibrant woman, my mother.

Ray loved Halloween since he was a kid. When our nieces and nephew were old enough, he would take the day off to trick or treat with them in the neighborhood. We would decorate the house and he would buy something new to display on our trail of terror. He bought a spooky cd and would blast it through the neighborhood, calling the children to our house.

One year, our niece got frightened by someone dressed as Jason with a chain saw. She didn’t like Halloween after that house. The next year, Ray purchases an animated spider and brings over our niece to see him. He explained that Halloween is not scary and it’s make believe, just like the spider. She took one look at him and named him Spot. The name stuck! Spot would come out every year as part of our decorations.

After Ray passed away, I didn’t know what to do for Halloween and my niece asked “Where’s Spot?” She got him out of the attic and lovingly made some repairs. She is now 18 and has a job as an actor at a haunted attraction. She does the makeup and the costumes and she loves it. I like to think that her love of this holiday is because of him. This year, Halloween was amazing. Our trail of terror was a hit but we had an issue with our cd. The player has a continuous button so the cd will repeat but for some reason, it wasn’t working. I guess Ray is celebrating Halloween on the other side but he chose trick!

Happy Halloween, Dad.

Well, this weekend — we know you would of loved it. You loved Halloween teasing and playing tricks on us all and all the kids. God knows what trick you would have had up your sleeve if you had went out with mam and your friends last night and whatever you would have done would of been the talk of the night. You enjoyed having a laugh, you also enjoyed making things with the kids.

In this, the last Halloween photo we have of you, Halloween during lockdown, you thought it would be funny to knock our doors to frighten us. You never got to knock my door as my house was in darkness because we were watching scary movies with Jack and Anna. Looking back, I wish we had left one little light on because then you would have knocked and it would of been so funny with you standing there.

I love and miss you every minute of every second of every day.
I love you, Dad.
All my love, always and forever,
Sara