"Por qué te marchas abuelo" by Manolo Galván, contributed by Jesse Hernandez
April 18th marks one month since my grandfather passed away. For the past four years, my grandparents had been living with my family, but this past fall, my grandfather chose to return home to the Dominican Republic to rest. We were fortunate to have had him with us far longer than expected—he had been in remission from lung cancer for nearly eight years. And while we knew his time was coming, is anyone ever truly ready? I wasn’t able to attend the funeral, as I stayed behind to care for our dogs, but I did drive my parents to the airport. The night before they left, my dad played ¿Por qué te marchas, abuelo? which translates to Why are you leaving, grandpa?—a song I'd heard before, maybe a summer or two ago. He had been thinking of his own grandfather, whom I never met but know he loved deeply. Part of me likes to think he played it that night to honor not just his dad, but the reunion of father and grandfather.
At first, the lyrics didn’t fully land with me—I’m not completely fluent in Spanish—but after sitting with the song on my own, it hit much harder than I expected, having me confront one of my biggest fears and sorrows of becoming a burden one day but feeling some solace in the form of familial devotion. Here’s a translated excerpt:
They say that older people are surplus everywhere. My grandfather already knew about this a long time ago. That’s why one day he packed his suitcase and left, maybe not to be a bother.
I saw him packing his suitcase, and among the things he was putting away, there was a picture of everyone from the last birthday, a wool scarf, some slippers and his tie, and those old handkerchiefs that grandma used to embroider for him.
“Why are you leaving, grandpa? Why are you leaving home? Tell me if you don't love us anymore. Tell me, grandpa, what's wrong?”
With his hand on my hair and his choked words, he said: “Child, don't say that I'm crying as I leave… don’t say you’ve seen tears in my eyes.”
Time passes quickly, and I don't even have the affection of those I love so much—and have loved so much. If you leave, grandpa, I’ll carry your suitcase, and I’ll go wherever you go.
That last image—of following him, carrying the suitcase—has stayed with me. Thank you for letting me share this. I hope you take something from the song the way I did