New Life
For Juan
In 2020, I made something like 1500 sandwiches for Juan. They weren’t my finest work (mostly turkey, mayonnaise, and mustard) but I treated them like they were my own - as if I were to eat them myself. Part of this was my lifelong love of sandwiches and part of it was our love for Juan. We’d go to his house after work on Tuesdays and help him out with whatever he needed. Life was tough for Juan in his twilight years and he accepted any and all of the help Sasha and I offered. It wasn’t hard to understand why. The Parkinson’s was stealing his body away from him but leaving his mind intact which as a result left it trapped.
I met Juan not long after I met Sasha. I can remember being at her house when she asked if I wanted to meet her grandpa - since he had just shown up downstairs. Eager at the opportunity to insert myself further into her life, I met him standing at the edge of the boisterous street that is San Pablo Ave. He was holding an Arroz con leche to surprise Sasha with which to me was a remarkably sweet display. However, even in this early stage, I remember feeling a mild concerned that his man was driving the streets of Oakland. Later I’d found out the remarkable fact that Juan was surprisingly young but a terrible victim of a sickness that shook the years out him.
But Juan wasn’t defined by his sickness, even though at times he couldn’t help it. He was once a young Bolivian man, the son of a politician and immigrant to the US living in Oakland. Famously, one of his birthday parties consisted of a rowdy group of friends, family, and mariachi band.
He’d tell us stories every week when we’d come over to feed him and assemble a massive plate full of bite size sandwiches. He’d eat them at all hours to maintain himself during his time of solitude. We’d talk about the craziness of the world and any plans we had for that week giving him a chance to live vicariously through our own youthful lives. Sometimes we really enjoyed this time and left feeling full of gratitude for life and family. Other times, we’d butt heads talking about solutions or ideas we had to help improve his situation. But most often, we’d leave feeling exhausted like we were the only ones in the world keeping Juan afloat during the tumultuous time that was the pandemic.
Eventually, Juan was confronted with a tough situation that we could no longer help him with. At the end of 2022, he was forced to move out his home - the historic massive home falling into disrepair that was picked up and moved to its new location in Montclair in the late 50s. He would be forced to assimilate into an assisted living home that would limit his movement, independence, and happiness. During this time, we continued to visit him but with less vigor and regularity than before mainly because our own emotional exhaustion. We experienced an unfortunate relief knowing we were not his only caregiver.
Juan wasn’t built for Parkinson’s. In September 2023, he made the most difficult decision of his entire life. He opted for medically assisted death. This would all come when I was touring in the mid west with little warning so I’d miss saying goodbye to Juan. It would be in an alley in Columbus, Ohio that I’d morn him.
I think a lot about Juan - so does Sasha even though he was not her biological grandfather. Regardless, we felt the natural obligation to take care of him when the rest of his family was no longer in the picture. Due to the nature of his passing, we never got to celebrate his life - at least in the way healthy families go about doing these things. So instead, Sasha and I let him invade our heads with memories or we question what Juan would say or do if he were alive to see the state of our lives, marriage, and future.
One memory however rings clear to us. It’s when we would show up to his house on Tuesdays after work. We’d greet him and ask “Do you need anything, Juan?”
Most of the time he’d respond, “A new life.”
“New Life” is now available on all streaming platforms and of course the SF Public Library. I hope your viewing, listening, or reading of all this opens a door to your own life. Thanks as always.
