In 1979, February 11 was on Sunday as it is this year. Our family had been to church when we got a call that my grandfather had a heart attack and was in the hospital. My dad boarded the big Delta jet that would take him back to the place of his own birth, Los Angeles so that he could be with his dad. He got settled in his seat and put his head back against the headrest and his thoughts were on the man that was known as the “strongest” man amongst the Armenian people where he lived. The stories of his exploits of strength were told and retold and probably exaggerated a little more with each telling. More than the tales of his strength were the stories of the miracles and prophecies of this man of God. He walked with God and as his age increased so did his powers of seeing into the future. He spent his last birthday with us here in this very house, he turned eight-five that year. One morning while he was here he asked me to sit beside him at the kitchen table while he drank his tea with a spoonful of strawberry jam stirred into it, so I sat down and he took my hand into his own huge hand. He began to massage each knuckle of each finger and I began to feel so relaxed as I listened to his deep voice speaking very broken English and he related to me a dream he had when he was only fourteen years old. It was about his birth mother who had died when he was only a baby. As he spoke of her tears made his eyes that used to be so brown now faded glisten with tears. I got up and walked to the sink to give him a moment by himself but he got up and followed me and called my name, I turned to see what he was going to say. “Granddaughter you are an Armenian Princess, did you know?” “If you say so Pop, then yes I know”. I smiled as I imagined him saying that to all of his granddaughters but let him think I believed it was just for me. “You have a beautiful home and a precious little girl, but that is not your whole family as yet, soon you will have a son, he will be a great blessing to the nations…” He went on to tell me about this wonderful son I was going to have but I think I had mentally checked out because I was thinking, “No Pop, you are wrong, I have had my family!” My marriage was not on the firmest terms and I didn’t want to bring another child into the world. He read my mind, I was sure of it because he began to address what I was thinking and told me, “You will see that what I am telling you is the truth.”
Long story short, Ararat Mushegan Leguizamon was born 2-6-81, two years after the physical body of my grandfather, Aram had perished, his words o truth had come to life in this beautiful baby boy who has indeed grown to be a man of compassion and love and helps so many people through his chiropractic practice but mostly to me, his mom.
Thanks Pop for the many words of wisdom and truth you left with us, I am proud to be your Armenian Princess ❤
Aram Mushegan May 17, 1893 – February 11, 1979