He sits in the same rocking chair he always does, the one to the left of the room, next to the bookshelf and the miscellaneous pictures of London.
On this day, he is wearing a Lakers shirt that seems three sizes too big for him, a brand new UCLA blanket to cover the fragile legs that have practically failed him, and a huge, child-like smile on his face.
It has been a good day, I can tell, the kind when he is awake, alert, smiling, and the 15-foot walk from the hospital bed in the bedroom to his favorite chair isn’t the tremendous struggle it can be. When it’s time to leave, I get out of my chair, walk over to him and lean down to give him a hug. A stiff and bony hug, yet a hug I will cherish forever.
That was the last time I was with my Grandpa. He passed away on Tuesday night, peacefully after his body slowly failed him. I’m happy that my last living memories of him are ones in which he is smiling and attentive, rather than groaning and unresponsive due to the tremendous pain he sometimes felt inside.
As I was looking back on all of the memories I have shared with my Grandpa, I realized that there has always been one constant in my relationship with the man, one thing that has always brought the two of us together: UCLA.
It was the place where he went to school. It was the place where he spent time with my Grandma, the love of his life. It was the place he continually gave back to, whether through teaching, rising up to become professor emeritus in the field of microbiology, or cheering on the men’s basketball teams under the guidance of John Wooden. It was a place he truly loved, a place where he felt calm and at peace.
I remember the day when I received the letter saying I was accepted, and the first thing I did was drive over to his house to show him. I don’t think I have ever seen him more happy and proud of me in my life than he was that day.
Now that I am actually here at UCLA, I realize that everything my Grandpa told me about this school, this community, was accurate.
The great people? From coaches and players to professors and fellow students, UCLA is filled with some of the most genuine people I have ever had the honor to come in contact with.
The sense of community? I see this in the students who camp out days in advance just to cheer on the basketball team, in coach Rick Neuheisel returning home to coach the football team after years spent in exile, and in the alumni who are so passionate about their school.
The feeling that you belong? I have found this in the friends that I have made who have accepted me for the person that I am, not the person who others may wish me to be, in the Daily Bruin, which allows me to do what it is I love the most, and in coming home to my Grandpa, the first Bruin I ever knew.
I see all of these characteristics in my Grandpa. He wanted everyone he met to feel welcome, to feel wanted, to feel like the world cared about who they were as people. He was a living example of what a man should be: a loving husband, a caring father and a nurturing grandpa.
And so I will always see my Grandpa in the students who walk to class, the professors enriching the minds of their students, the Den cheering their hearts out at games, the coaches imploring their players to be the best they can be, and the athletes who play for the name across their chests.
He was UCLA personified.
My Grandpa may be gone in the literal sense of the word, but he lives through each and every one of us, through our actions in representing the place he loved so deeply.
My Grandpa: a Bruin until the end.
E-mail Howard at ahoward@media.ucla.edu.