This week is a tough one for our family. My grandfather, Julio passed away Saturday night. He was our patriarch. My grandfather brought his wife and 9 children to this country back in '68. He came with no money and not able to speak the language. He even had to leave one of his children back in Cuba. He never owned a car but worked every single day. He walked everywhere. People knew him. The guy in the tall hat with the cigar. I will always remember the way he smelled, the way he laughed and the way he knew all the curse words in English. Any time he saw me it was, "Hey baby, how you feel?" We had a special relationship. The last 5 years were really tough ones. Tough on me, but tougher on him. He had to live in a home in Baton Rouge since Katrina. He got sick and just never recovered. During Katrina he stayed. He stayed with my grandma and one of my uncles in Redwood in Kenner. He had never evacuated for a hurricane in his life. He stayed for 5 days after the storm until we could get him out and to FL. It just wasn't safe for him to stay. Everything crumbled around him. He was a good man who was raised in a whole different world and did the best he could. I think that is all anyone could ask of him. Anytime I smell a cigar I will think of him - well, a really good, Cuban cigar, of course.
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