In His Memory

Many of the absolute best memories I have from my childhood include my father. We used to stroll around the neighborhood together almost every night, just us, in silence. In the summer he would buy kites and we would climb up to the hill nearby and fly them for hours. I remember waiting for him to wake up from his after-work nap to see all the coins that fell from his pocket lying on his side of the bed. 

He stockpiled Reader's Digest magazines on his nightstand, and loved launching fireworks, especially on Christmas and New Year's Eve. I remember him carrying me on his shoulders, and feeling his huge belly moving when he laughed out loud. He loved going to the beach, but I hated going with him. Every time we would go into the water, he managed to pull a handful of algae and rub it into my hair, saying "this is hair treatment! It's good for you!"

He had a jeep that he painted with a different color every year, while drinking beer and listening to the group Juan Luis Guerra y 4:40. He loved that car. He could stay for hours and hours "repairing" it. I remember going to the beach with him driving his jeep, and all of my friends standing up in the back seat, hood removed, feeling like carnival queens. 

The famous jeep

I truly believed I was the luckiest, coolest girl in the world. Until he started changing. He would drink more, yell more at me and my mom, and withdraw more and more. I came back from school one day, stepped into my parent's bedroom, and his things were gone. No more coins, no more fireworks, no more music. 

It stayed that way for almost 25 years. We didn't have any contact whatsoever until one day back in 2019, when he reached out to let me know that he had lung cancer.

Thankfully, a couple of months right before he contacted me, I started my daily meditation and prayer practice. I believe these were the tools I needed to start healing from this long-forgotten childhood chapter. I was able to put myself in his shoes and figure out a way to make him more comfortable to face what seemed to be his last years. 

While figuring out how to take care of him, we started texting back and forth. He told me about all the things he regretted doing, and the things he regretted not doing. He told me he postponed making a month-long trip to Brazil (which he loved since he studied there) for many years, until he decided to do so in 2019, right before his cancer diagnosis. By the time he was ready to go, it was too late.

Needless to say, I strengthened so many personal perspectives from this opportunity with him. Besides forgiving family, no matter what, the most important life lesson I reinforced is that life is short. Period. Make that trip, move out, change the job you don't like for the one you love, start that exercise routine, reach out for mental health, say hi to that person you like, or call your parents more. Whatever you're struggling with, make an ultimate effort to resolve it the best way you can, TODAY.

I wish that he got the chance to go into remission after such a harsh diagnosis - like Walter White in Breaking Bad - but unfortunately, this was not the case. He passed away exactly one year ago tomorrow, but we managed to forgive, forget, and say goodbye.