Grandpa.

I was named after my grandpa. Well, middle-named. His name is Teymour. That makes me Vincent Teymour Della Morte.

My grandpa is in the hospital right now. For the second time in two months. He is very sick and is going through a second series of dialysis treatments. The doctors are saying his breathing is extremely heavy and deep and his heart is not in the best condition. My mom is going crazy, pacing around the house, crying for him. And it makes me really sad.

I never really knew Grandpa much, but my memories of him are all great. He lives in Los Angeles, and when I went to Los Angeles when I was six years old, he made my whole trip alright. Even though I was young, I still remember everything about L.A: the horrible smell of the city, the smog and pollution, the creepy people that walked outside my Grandpa's apartment (he doesn't live in the best neighborhood), and the police and ambulance sirens that went off every few hours. What I remember most, however, was Grandpa holding me on his lap and kissing me on the cheek a lot (as all Persians do) and telling me he loved me. Even then, thirteen years ago, he still wasn't in the greatest condition. He had a hard time walking, he coughed a whole lot, and he always needed help getting up from his chair. But he really is a sweet man. When I was there, he treated me like a king, like I was everything that ever existed to him.

Now I'm getting really sad. All of a sudden, with visions of him dying in my head, I miss him like crazy. I want to see him. I just might drop by L.A. during my spring break to visit him. After all, I have nothing else planned. I never have anything planned. Family is important. I probably will go see him.

<- this is the only picture I have of Grandpa and I.