Ever since I was little, I’ve always looked up to my Grandparents. When my mom would be at work, before I was old enough to go to school, I’d spend hours at their house. My grandfather was my best friend; we’d do everything together. I don’t hesitate to say that he and my grandmother were the main reason as to why I chose to go to VCU, and why I wanted to go into the arts.
My grandfather joined the army when he was a teenager and wanted to become a dentist. He went to dentistry school and everything, but then realized that it wasn’t truly what he wanted to do. He became the art director for Hecht Company after he decided that his true calling was his art. Ever since I was little, I can remember all the handmade holiday cards that my grandparents would make for family and family friends. Both of my grandparents worked for Hecht Company, and that’s how they met. Both of them were extremely talented in what they did; my grandmother went on to have exhibits at the Corcoran in DC, as well as the Torpedo Factory in Old Town, Alexandria.
Since I spent so much of my early years with my grandfather, I have so many memories of spending time with him. I remember playing with all of his art tools in the sunroom, and watching Nick Jr. all day in the T.V room. I will always see my grandfather as that man; the man who would be goofy with me, and let me mess up all his paintbrushes. But eventually things started to fall apart. My grandmother died a few decades before my grandfather passed, and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. She was the love of his life, and when she was gone, it was awful. My grandfather was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. In the beginning it really wasn’t that big of a deal. He would forget some things, and have a hard time walking occasionally, but nothing big. Then one night when I was in about 6th grade, my mom came into my room and woke me up, telling me that we had to go to the hospital because there was something wrong with Gaga. The only thing that I can remember about that night is walking into the hospital with my mom by my side, and seeing my uncle holding my grandfather up. My grandfather’s head was covered in blood. He looked at me and said “I’m fine, Sarah. Really I’ll be fine.” But after that day, everything went downhill.
We admitted him into a nursing home, because clearly he wasn’t able to live on his own anymore. Him being in the nursing home is a big blur for me. I only remember the little things. One of the main things that I do remember is a time when my mom and I came to visit him. We sat down to talk to him while he was eating and he told us a story about how one of the men who worked at the nursing home was being very nice to him, and took him out to dinner the other night. He went on about it for a while. My mom had a complete mental breakdown. Of course this man didn’t really take my grandfather out to eat, it wasn’t possible. This happened closer towards the day that he died.
I look up to my grandfather in so many ways. He followed his heart, and made a career out of what he loved to do. He gives me so much hope in my life. There are times when I’m not sure that art is what I want to do, and that I can’t do it, but thinking about how my grandfather went through so many things and still made it makes me feel like I know I can do this. But besides the fact that he went through his life solely as an artist, he loved my grandmother until the end of his life. And that’s one of the most admirable things that anyone can do.