Apuleyo
Nicolas Apuleyo Bibian Sanchez is my grandfather’s name. Nicolas wasn't his legal name and everyone called him Polo. To me he was “Mi abuelito Polo”. He passed away on March 2nd, 2023, after 89 years on this earth, 24 of which were intertwined with my life.
Most of our conversations were through the phone. As a child, I never questioned why he lived far from us; I simply assumed it was due to work or other responsibilities. It wasn’t until my teenage years that it was revealed to me he had another family. Despite this, I cherished his visits and the memories of him wearing buttoned-up shirts, carrying a handkerchief, and a hat he’d rarely take off. He would give me money to spend on snacks at the corner store. When I'd return home I’d offer him some and as he’d discreetly grab them I’d hear my mom yelling in the background “Don’t give him any! He’s not allowed to eat sweets!” I didn’t know much about diabetes, I only knew it meant we had to be more discreet if we were gonna share snacks. Then as the years passed, it meant he couldn’t walk for long periods of time so he would visit us less often.
I adored listening to his stories. His tales of adventures of all the places he traveled to without ever learning how to read or write, and the wide range of jobs he undertook, with being a radio host among his favorites. I loved watching old movies with him. I believe his favorite actors were Cantinflas and Pedro Infante. I never delved deeper into his upbringing or his family from Michoacan, nor the second family he had in Moroleon, and I likely never will. I know he was raised differently, during different times, with different ideologies. Despite our contrasts, I admired him greatly.
Grief has been difficult as I try to deconstruct my ideas of heaven and hell. I strive to maintain an open mind and try to comprehend the boundless concept of death beyond religious beliefs. I keep these thoughts in mind while understanding that my grandfather's vessel has expired but that he remains alive through memories and words. He is now buried 1,425 miles away from me. I know where his vessel is but where is his soul? It sounds impossible to ever know, even unimaginable. Yet, he knows me and he knows my energy, so if he wishes to visit and share some snacks, he knows where to find me.