My grandfather

He had a hard life. His parents migrated to the US when he was a very young child. His mother died in Brooklyn when he was nine years old. His father brought him back to  Mexico, only to die a few years later. By the age of thirteen, my grandfather was an orphan with no one to take care of him. Out of pity, a local bishop in the state of Veracruz took him in and tried to give him an education. The Cristero revolution made him flee to Mexico City, where he strived to make a living, mostly as a salesman. He seldom spoke about his past, or about anything else. In spite of his detachment, he was a kind man. He passed away this Saturday, while I was still in Germany.



He will be missed.