I have a surrogate grandfather. Both of my biological grandfathers have passed away. I never got to know my maternal grandfather because he died in Vietnam when I was a child. I hear stories of him a lot, and it makes me sad that I don’t have any memories of him. My paternal grandfather passed away a few years ago, and I was pretty close with him. I still remember the way he smells, and I still dream about visiting his home. In fact, two nights ago I dreamt I was there, again, just as I was while I was in college, visiting him during the weekends while he made food for me to take home.

I miss him. I miss them both.

I have a surrogate grandfather. His name is George. He was our neighbor while I was growing up in Southern California. He and my surrogate grandmother (Marian, who passed away about 5 or 6 years ago) lived across the street from us. Over the years, we knew them well. We became very close with them. They babysat us after school when our parents weren’t home. We had Christmases with them, and birthday parties with them, and we confided in them. I’ve known them since I was 9 years old. After we moved away, we didn’t cease to stop seeing them. We made phone calls and we visited them. Well into my college years, I spent weekends at George’s and Marian’s. They kept an air mattress for me and I camped out in their living room. George made me ham and sometimes even did my laundry. I kept my stuffed duck with them to keep them company.

And then after college, I moved north, to be with Dave. Marian died soon after that. I went to her funeral with my father. I cried.

Now, George has cancer. It ravages his body and it eats his soul. I talk to him as much as I can, and I can hear him getting weaker, more tired. In my memory, he is strong, with some gray hairs, but he walks and talks and moves quickly. He lifts heavy things for me, like suitcases and bookshelves. He helps me read over important college documents that I couldn’t decipher. In my memory, he is strong, and he doesn’t have cancer.

I haven’t heard from him in two weeks. He told me that he was doing his best to stay alive so he could attend our wedding. He has yet to meet Dave. The last time we talked, we talked about getting him his passport, and an airplane ticket. I wanted to speak with his doctor. I told him, “George, I gotta go to my next appointment. I’ll call you tonight, okay?” I told him I love him, and he said he loves me back, and then we hung up.

I didn’t get a chance to call him that night like I had promised. I called him two days after because things got busy at work. I left a message at his home. A week later I called and left a message on his cell phone. He has been staying at the hospital because he was too weak to stay at his house. Yesterday, I called the hospital he was staying at, and they told me there was no one registered there as a patient under his name.

I called twice, and they told me the same thing twice.

My dad and I began to track him down. We tracked down our other ex-neighbors, two houses down from George’s. I talked to him. He has hard of hearing now. In my memory, Richard is also vibrant, quick-witted, and strong. Now he has hard of hearing, and he speaks in gaps. The world changes even when my mind refuses to follow. Richard said he is also worried about George, and that he hasn’t come home in two weeks.

I spoke with another ex-neighbor. She wasn’t responsive to me, and said she doesn’t know where George is.

I don’t know where my George is. I don’t know where he is. I am frightened that he is gone, as I have been in severe denial that he may not be here much longer. I am beating myself up for not having more contacts of his, so that I can check up on him. I don’t know what to do. My dad hasn’t heard from him in weeks either. We’re afraid he’s passed away and no one knows how to reach us to let us know. My heart aches for the strong George who still lives in my memories.