My Big Fat Greek Funeral: The Prelude

My father-in-law was itching to go back to Greece. He had booked his airline ticket in advance. He enthusiastically prepaid all his credit cards and utility bills and packed his carry-on suitcase. He bragged that he traveled light, and checking in luggage only slowed him down. He started carrying his pen and his passport in his breast pocket. The only thing holding him back was the days to departure. He still had two weeks left.

It didn’t matter that he was leaving in the middle of January. One of the worst times to be in Greece. The fierce wind can race right through your bones like tiny icicle needles. Staring into the wind froze your eyeballs, and cold, wet winters made the cold wind feel like ice needles. I would never go in the middle of winter. But he didn’t care. He wanted to return to his little village, high on the mountain.

His home was on the island of Zakynthos. Tucked near Mount Vrachionas is a sleepy little village called Maries. Legend had it that Mary Magdalene traveled to Rome soon after Jesus’ Crucifixion. The ship made an unexpected stop for repairs and docked in the port at the foot of the mountain. A shepherd led Mary Magdalene up the mountain to his village. Mary Magdalene spent a few days in the town. The village people fell in love with her sweet and pious demeanor. As a result, Mary converted all the villagers to Christianity. The village and the Church were soon named after her. There is a cement cast of Mary Magdelene’s footprint in the Church. Many villagers argue about how old the church is; some say it is over 100 years old, and others say it's much older.

My father-in-law was a taxi driver in Athens. Driving in Athens is akin to driving the streets in New York. Traffic jams, major road construction with insane detours, and crazy drivers all rolled into one. Navigating through the daily rush hour was an art form for taxi drivers. He often told the story of losing his brakes at high speed and how he safely stopped his taxi by turning off a street, heading uphill on a steep grade road, turning the engine off, and coasting to a stop. He even bragged that he could park it safely in a densely crowded neighborhood. He took great pride in his driving skills. But, of course, when it came to driving his grandson to school every morning, he was the logical choice; nothing but the best for his grandson.

It was January 13th, Friday the 13th. I wasn’t superstitious, but I dreaded that ominous date after what happened. My father was ready to take my son to school like any other day. He had finished his morning coffee and was watching the clock. His grandson was finishing his bowl of cereal, and they would be ready to leave.

“Niko, We are going to be late,” my father-in-law reminded my son. Niko was short for Nicholas. My son preferred Niko over his given name. Niko looked up with his dark brown eyes, picked up the cereal bowl, and drank the remaining milk at the bottom of the bowl. “ I’m almost done, Pappou,” and he slurped the remaining milk. His blue book bag was on the other end of the kitchen table, and his blue knit cap and blue overcoat lay draped over the head chair. Pappou, sitting opposite Niko at the breakfast table, finished his cup of coffee. It was his third cup of black coffee in the morning; Pappou was addicted to it.

The snow had stopped late last night, but the lingering frigid air still lurked. The wind blew fiercely, etching water crystals along the bottom of every house window. That morning, Nicholas wasn’t going to school by school bus. It was too cold to linger in the frigid morning waiting for the bus. Pappou took it upon himself to take his precious grandson to school himself.

Pappou Yianni always wore his dark sweater vest underneath his grey sports coat. He never was sensible during the winter season. He would preach to his grandson to double up and wear a thick overcoat but never followed his own advice. Nicholas got up from his chair and started to don his jacket, mittens, and hat.

Pappou Yianni had left the kitchen and walked into the garage. He had started the old Nissan Sentra and drove it out of the garage. It idled for two or three minutes to start the heater and warm up the car.

Little Niko scurried out of the kitchen and into the backseat of the car. Pappou entered the driver's side and sat behind the steering wheel, waiting for the car to warm up.

After five minutes, Grandfather pressed the garage remote control. He pressed again. Nothing happened. The garage door did not move.

He swung his driver door open and dashed to press the garage door switch just off to the side of the garage door frame from within. But Niko saw him slip and disappear from view before he could reach for the switch. He didn’t get up. He stood in the back of the car and peered down through the window. There he lay, motionless. Nicholas quickly darted back into the garage and opened the kitchen door.

“Yiayia, yiayia, Pappou fell, and he’s not moving,” screamed little Nicholas. His sister Tina came running from upstairs, hearing her brother scream but didn’t hear exactly what he said. Yiayia got up from the kitchen table and hurried to the kitchen door. Standing in the doorway, she saw her husband lying still on the frozen snow and ice. He was gasping now but not breathing. She froze. She was in disbelief at what was happening. Nicholas stuck his head between the door jam and Yiayia and saw him gasping. Nicholas again screamed, “Pappou is not moving. He is not moving.” Tina came from behind and poked her head around the legs of Yiaiyia. She let out a shrill, screaming inconsolably that made yiayia motionless with fear. Nicholas quickly ran to the phone and dialed 911.

“ Pappou is not getting up. We need help. We need an ambulance. He fell, and he’s not breathing.”

The operator quickly asked for Niko’s name and address. Thank God for his school teachers drilling all their students to memorize their addresses and telephone numbers. Niko recited the address without hesitation. The operator stayed on the phone. They asked for Pappou’s Yianni’s name and how old he was. They also asked if Nicholas was alone.

“No, my sister and Yiayia are here too. Can I do something”?

“You can place a blanket on him so he doesn’t get cold.”

Nicholas dropped the phone, ran upstairs to the nearest bedroom, and pulled off the blanket. He ran quickly down the stairs, pushed his sister and yiayia aside, and laid a blanket over his grandfather.

Time stood still. Niko kneeled next to his pappou, crying. “Pappou get up please; C’mon... get up!”. Pappou lay still on the snow-covered driveway, pale and rigid. Yiayia stood frozen at the doorway, trembling with fear. Ten minutes later, the paramedics drove up the driveway with their sirens blazing. Three firefighters leaped from the ambulance and kneeled on both sides of him. One man carried a tackle box and oxygen tank and kneeled overhead. He quickly laid his two fingers on his neck and waited. Seconds later, he shouted, “No pulse”. He quickly connected a facemask to the end of a bag and fixed the mask squarely onto his lower face. He gently squeezed the bag in a slow and rhythmic cadence. The second firefighter quickly started cutting through his black wool vest and shirt with bulky scissors. The third paramedic dropped a monitor and another tackle box next to Pappou and scrambled to lay his hands on his chest; the big and burly paramedic quickly began pushing down on his chest in a frantic up-and-down rhythm.

ECG leads were frantically pasted on his shoulders and abdomen. The second firefighter reached over to the monitor and yelled to his comrades, “Stop for a second let's check his rhythm.” A line darted across the screen but didn’t jump or waver. The glowing white line monotonously moved straight from left to right. The silence was broken by a tense shrill, “Continue with CPR”. One firefighter quickly placed the mask on his face, and the second firefighter placed his hands on Pappou’s chest and continued to rock his full weight onto Pappou’s chest. The third firefighter scrambled through the tackle box and grabbed a lighted blade and a tube, and nudged the firefighter with the mask aside. Within an instant, the breathing tube was in. The man scrambled with a syringe and quickly taped the tube across Pappou’s face. The first firefighter removed the mask and connected the bag to the breathing tube, again squeezing the bag in a rhythmic motion. The other firefighter scrambled to fasten a blue tourniquet around the Pappou’s forearm. Quickly inspecting his forearm, he placed an IV with some fluids. As soon as the fluids were attached, two more firefighters rushed to Pappou’s aid with a stretcher. One of the firefighters asked Yiayia, “ Do you want to ride with us to the hospital?”

She replied in broken English, “No, I cannot. I can no leave grandchildren.” Yiayia quickly asked, “What hospital? So, I call my daughter.”

The firefighter quickly replied, “St. Luke’s....NOW, Lets Roll, Let's Roll...” In an instant, the five firefighters scooped him into the stretcher and rushed him to the nearest hospital. Within minutes, Pappou was gone.

Read what happens next by following the link below:

My Big Fat Greek Funeral: Part I

Are Destination Funerals the Next Big Trend?

https://vocal.media/humor/my-big-fat-greek-funeral-part-i