I never knew him or saw him, but my love grows for him each and every day. He is my mother's dad, who she loved also and cared for. He's gone now, but he's in my heart. I've seen pictures of him, but they're old black and white photographs. When I was little my mom would cry because she missed him very much. Sometimes I cried or prayed to God that he'd rise from the dead so I could see him for one day, and see what a wonderful man he was.

His name is George Aragandona, "a great man", my mother says. He died when my mother was sixteen. He died when he was going somewhere; he died of a heart attack. They buried him in a cemetery in Boliva, South America. n