If it’s not the same it is different

Every year, for as long as I can remember, the routine was the same. Celebrate Christmas home with my family and then New Years with my wife’s family.

Likewise, being Hispanic, the obligatory Lechón para la despedida del año, the annual pig roast to bring in the new year. That was a routine that I had the honor of doing with my brother in law, Miguel. While there were others that participated, including my son’s Dan and Nick, or Miguel’s son in law Mike and others, the privilege of arguing with Miguel about not burning the pig, watch the flames, you let the fire die,... fell entirely on my shoulders and was something he and I shared.  And I looked forward to every year.

Every year it was the same routine but with something different. First we used whole garlic cloves that we spent at least 20-30 minutes peeling until after several years later, we discovered pre-pealed cloves!

Also, sometimes we would mix things up, especially at Miguel’s whim, when he wanted to use bitter orange this year or Spanish mojo next year.

Even where we would get the pig, would change multiple times over the course of our annual tradition with the hopes of getting the right one. We would take trips to Miami from Cape Coral, roughly 1.5 hours, to stand in line, tell stories about various things, talk about work, and listen to the new tracks we both discovered with the hopes of showing one up over each other.

Over the past several years, Miguel even discovered minced garlic. Which I would strongly disagree with but he swore it was the same and pure, like fresh squeezed orange juice. To me it was more concentrated juice watered down with something that reflected garlic at one time.

Every year it was the same. We would prepare the pig the night before, and next morning, on the 31st, would start the charcoal and set up La Caja China.  Even that would evolve over time as  Miguel got a new one, that was “better”.

Once the pig was on the charcoal, we would start the dominoes game with some new beer Miguel got just for the event. Have you ever tried mats labatt's beer? Overrated. However, his Rum and Coke (Cuba Libre) was something else.

We would play nonstop until it was time to check the pig. There were times that Miguel would disappear to the store for an ice run or something and come back hours later asking if if I ruined his pig. Ok, that occured every year.

“Did you let it burn? How’s the pig Ralphie?” He would say. “Did you let the fire die?”

Over time it was as though he was instigating me on purpose by wanting to start the pig face down instead of the skin down which is how we ALWAYS did it! That was the one disagreement with me that led me to get forceful just to make sure he would not ruin it!

We would start that way and after the pig was done, we would take it out of the box, take our pictures and then begin to cut it up for the dinner. We would always say it turned out great and that it was the best pig we had made to date. I do thing it got better every year but then it was just the fantastic memories we created doing this routine.

This year it is different once again. This year, I will not have anyone to argue with. I will not ask an hour into it, when is Miguel coming back? I will not have the opportunity to play dominoes with someone who cheated every time and created new rules in his favor. Though sometimes those rules were in my favor as well as we partnered up against Mike and Spencer.

This year the pig will be done to relive the memories that we have made, year after year, to remember all of those wonderful trips to the supermarket to get the last minute items and make sure the pig was delicious and very well prepared for the family to enjoy.

This year will be different and not the same. It will never be the same. This year we will try to do our best not to cry over the pig as we remember the priceless moments we had every year.

For the past several months I have wondered if we would do this. If we would want to do this. If we could do this.

Years ago, on one of Miguel’s birthday, I posted a picture of he and I along with the masterpiece of the lechón.

Along with the words:

“God gives awesome brothers-in-law to people who don’t have real brothers. And God did that with me too. You are an inspiration to everyone that meets you and bring out the best in people. It’s awesome that you learn from people as well.”

Miguel - I hope you took everything you learned down here, year after year, and are up in heaven teaching them how to prepare the best pig roast they’ve ever had.

Just don’t burn it and we will try to do the same without you.

I love you my brother and will forever miss our thing we did every year.  That was just between us.

The scar of a wound

Back in the early 80’s I was repairing a computer, replacing a video card inside.  The computer slipped off of the desk and when I grabbed it to prevent it from hitting the floor, I sliced my finger due to the very sharp internal computer case. I was rushed to the hospital, where I got some stitches on my finger and they wrapped it up in a bandage.  The person who "patched me up" did something to my figure that left a scar and to me, never healed properly.

Still, almost 40 years later, I can still see the scar on my finger. Normally I forget it is there, though I can see it clearly when I look at my finger.  When I pick up an object with my left hand, it reminds me that it is there because of the pain I feel when something is pressing against the wound. If I rub my other finger across it, it feels tingly until I touch a certain point and then I feel a sharp pain.

The memory of losing my dad and my brother-in-law Miguel, now going on 8 months feels exactly the same as this wound. I don't wake up crying from the constant throbbing pain I once felt. I usually go throughout the day as I go about my life, living in the today moment with everything that is calling my attention until something stops me in my tracks and I think of one of them.

Recently, on this Thanksgiving, it was the memory of dad making his delicious pot of rice for the big gathering.  He would start early in the morning preparing the spices, making the rice and then calling us to let us know it was done. Usually about 2+ hours before it was supposed to be ready and we had planned. To which he would say “se me adelanto” which means it got ahead of me.  This would happen, year after year.

It also was the memory of Miguel, along with Denise and the rest of our Florida family arriving the night before. Usually around 9PM or so, unloading the massive amount of suitcases for the 7-9 people packed in the van.  Immediately complaining about how cold it was, if we had the wood pile stocked for the fireplace and if it was already burning nice and hot. If the turkey was already prepared or if he had to go start doing all of that by himself. "Mira Denise, como me tienen trabajando!" (“Look Denise, At how much work they’ve given me to do!”). "Quick! Take a picture", he would say. Same as my Dad’s rice, this would also be the annual pattern, year after year.

Just like my finger, the sharp pain I feel when memories like I describe come back, the tears immediately start flowing down my face, almost to a gush. The thought that I will not be “whole” anymore and will forever have this wound in my heart, in my soul. Almost seem unbelievable and unbearable.

8 months later, I still feel the sharp pain and wonder if it will be like this from now on. The numbness of my mind thinking “How can this be, that this would happen like this”. That the plans that we had made were completely turned upside down.

Will every Thanksgiving bring back these painful memories or will my wound heal? Leaving just a scar of a distant memory that once robbed me of my ability to breath from the pain I felt.

8 Months and counting.

I miss you dad and Miguel in ways I struggle to describe as I rub my finger over my scar.

When the wound heals but the pain is still there.

It’s been 5 months since you left us.  We try to continue moving on, not trying to forget but continuing to live.  Trying to celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, special days like Father’s day, vacations and even holidays.  But the fact is that while the numbness has disappeared, most of the time, there are times where our emotions get the best of us and stop us in our tracks.

Today was one of those days.  For 2 days actually, I have been thinking about this weekend, knowing that we were approaching 5 months since we last heard your voice.  That the long weekend was coming up but that it would be different than what we have done in the past, where we all got together at your place.  The grills will still be used, but it won’t be the same.

Sitting in church, reflecting on the day, I could not stop thinking about what I would give to have you there right next to me. What if it were different?  Why did it happen the way it did and why it was different than what we had planned?

On my way to the cemetery to visit you, a song came on that forced me to pull over and let my emotions take over me.  It was a song that Dan introduced me to that made me cry when I first heard it.  Hearing it again though, I heard something different.  I heard words that I had not heard or frankly missed before, because previously I heard it from his point of view.  Today, I was hearing it from my point of view and it took a different meaning.

The words to the song, “My Old man”, when he is talking about Feeling the Callous on his father’s hands, made me touch mine, but think of yours.  When he says that his father was a Lion, and they were his pride.  It reminds me of how much you really loved your family.   He talks about being forced to walk the line, but in the end finally understanding what plan his father had, to make him like he was.  That now that he has a son of his own, he understands that his father was only trying to raise him up the right way, to be the best he could be.

Dad, I hope you continue to be as proud of us as we think you were.  That you continue to look over us, how we are taking care of mom and trying to live our lives the best we can.  We try to be strong and that strength clearly comes from everything you taught us.  But the pain is still there.

We love you, and miss you so much.

My Old Man

Never leave for tomorrow, what you should do today.

I am sure that people have heard that quote before in some form or another: https://quoteinvestigator.com/2013/01/17/put-off/  but for me it took on a different meaning on 4/2/2018.  Four weeks ago, on that day, my dad took his last breath.  I was not there at that moment and a few hours later, when I saw EMS trying to revive him, not once did I remember the fact that he had a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) in his will.

I did not think about the fact that he had passed away peacefully, in his home, on his recliner, listening to Spanish TV with a remote control in one hand and a toothpick in his other.  I did not think about how I would miss talking to him almost daily. I did not think about how I would not be able to ask him about a new family member I found on Ancestry like I had been doing for several years.  I did not think about what we are going to do with Mom, or how our world would be turned upside down.  I did not think about how hard it would be walking into an empty house, expecting to hear a response to me saying “Hey Dad, I’m Here” when I walked in, Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday.  And those were the days I did not take him to the doctor’s office.

What I thought about was the guilt of not being there for him as he left this earth.  What I thought about was the last conversation I had with him, when I got home the night before, at 9PM, after driving more than 12 hours from Ft. Myers to Greenville.  What I thought about was hearing his voice, when I said, “Hey Dad, I just got home, have to do some laundry, and I am tired.  I’ll see you tomorrow.  I woke up at 4:30 in the morning to attend Sunrise service with Denise and the family in honor of Miguel.”   His response to me was “That’s OK, no problem Rafy.  Te veo mañana, me alegro que llegaste bien. (I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m glad you are home safe.)” 

What I thought about was how I should have come over to see him, right away, since I was away for almost two weeks.  What I thought about was how I should have come in the morning, before coming to work, to check in on him.   What I thought about was how throughout the day, I kept getting calls from my sister about dad having problems concentrating and that he was “out of it” or acting strange.  What I thought about was how I should have dropped what I was doing immediately, given the promise I gave him 13 years back to take care of him, to be there for him.  What I thought about was how I should have told my sister to take him to the hospital.  What I thought about was how instead, I asked to call the nurse that was coming in later that day, to see what they would recommend.  What I thought about was how I should have asked to speak with him, to hear his voice one more time.  What I thought about was how I could not believe what was happening in front of my eyes.  All I could say was “oh Dad..oh Dad”. 

How could this be?  I never expected Dad to outlive us or last for ever.  That was never something I second guessed.  I know he was getting older, having just turned 82, but just 4 months earlier, he was walking around the gym for a mile and would still come home to cut the grass.

I always thought dad would at least survive mom, given her illness, and go away for 4-6 weeks to PR to visit his family.  What I did not expect was to get called at 5PM that day, and be told that dad was not-responsive and that EMS was on their way.  What I did not expect was to walk in, and find him on the floor, surrounded by strangers along with my sister, niece, nephew and neighbors, all crying or consoling my family, and have dad just lay there on the floor, shirt open while someone was attempting to do CPR.

The guilt I feel, even after four weeks, is hard to put in words.  Yes, we did what we could and took care of him better than I had hoped.  Yes he had a beautiful life, and if anything, showed us how we can go peacefully.  Yes he was not tied to tubes in a hospital, struggling and suffering.

So why is it, that all I can think about was that last conversation, and me second guessing how I should have come over when I got home from my trip.  How I should not have been so selfish and made the extra trip. How I would never have that chance again and I blew it.

I will not have that one more time, one more visit, one more conversation, one more kiss and hug.  If there was ever a meaning for the adage not leaving to tomorrow, what you can (SHOULD, NEED TO) do today, this is it.  I’m sorry Dad.

Trying to wake up from the fog

A little bit over 2 weeks ago, I lost my father.  It is true that I do take some comfort that dad had a wonderful life of 82 years.  That he went to be with God and live in eternal glory.  That he was reunited with his parents and other family that have preceded him.  That we did everything we could as a family, to take care of him and help him through his medical issues.  That we were there during the last 13 years of his life and literally spent every day visiting him, especially over the last 4-5 years.  That every holiday, birthday, family event was jointly celebrated as a united, large loving family with his 4 children and their spouses, 11 grandchildren and 4 great grandchildren all under one roof and usually celebrating it with great food and games of dominoes.  

But to say that we are ok with his passing is incorrect.  What we would give for just one more day, one more hello, one more hug and a kiss.  What we would give for just one more disagreement and frustrated moment, followed by a hug with an apology.

It hurts more than I would have expected.  I don’t mean this in a wrong way, implying we did not love him, but that this was completely unexpected and we were all unprepared for what would happen on April 2nd. 

You see, we have been taking care of mom, who is in her last stages of Alzheimer’s, unable to respond to our calling, smile when she sees us, or react in any way due to this crippling disease.  I can’t say that when mom, passes, it won’t hurt like hell, but we know what’s coming and while we cannot predict what it will be like when the time comes, or when it comes, we know that for 10 years we have been preparing our selves for the fact that this disease is what will eventually take our mother away from us.

But dad was different.  His passing was a complete surprise to us.  Something we were not expecting or even to be honest, prepared for.  He was resilient.  He was strong, and had a character that would not let him give up.  Yes, over the past 3 months, he was having health issues, primarily with his heart, but dad appeared to be getting things under control.  His weight was under control, the liquid around his heart was sort of being managed with the medication.  His kidney was ok.  Even the sores on his feet due to the last minute bout of gout was being managed.  He was walking around with a cane the day before he left.

His nurse had come in and said that his vitals were perfect.  How could this be then that we would lose him that day?

We have scrambled to take care of his affairs, execute his wishes, and make sure that we make all of the arrangements to take care of mom, exactly like, if not better than what we did before.

But those moments when we are not in “action mode”, are the moments where we break down, question how could this be.  How could the strongest, most stubborn, resilient man we knew, not be here with us?  How could the 82 year old that just 6 months earlier, would go walk about a mile or mile and a half, then come back and actually cut his own grass have gone before mom?

The 13 years we had, were the best 13 years of our lives with him.  All of a sudden, they’re gone.  The memories we were building everyday just stopped.  There are no more memories to create.  No more dominoes to play.  No more baseball games to watch and discuss. 

It has left a vacuum in our hearts that makes no sense.   A fog that is still with us, that at times looks like it is disappearing, only to come back to leave us wondering, how could this be?  The guilt of not having closure since it was sudden and not being able to say goodbye.

Cry until you can’t cry anymore…then cry some more

Over the past month, the pain I have felt is like none other. In a matter of 2.5 weeks, I lost both my brother-in-law and my father. On March 21st, my brother-in-law Miguel lost his battle with cancer. Knowing him for more than 38 years, he was significantly more than a brother-in-law and more like a brother. I was glad to be there with the rest of the family in Florida and was glad to participate in his Celebration of Life Service at his church on Good Friday, March 29, 2018. I was the first family member to speak about my relationship with him.

Here is the memorial video that was played at the Church:

Here is the Eulogy I gave.

http://ralphhered.blogspot.com/2018/04/miguels-eulogy-march-29-2018.html

On April 1st, I drove back from Ft. Myers to Greenville and got home around 9PM. I called my dad and told him that I was tired, but that I had arrived. I told him that I would see him the next day and he said ok. See you tomorrow. I went to work on Monday the 2nd, and at 5PM I received a call from my sister that dad was not responding. I rushed home, through rush hour traffic and was frustrated that what should have taken me 10-12 minutes to get home, took closer to 30.

I walked through the door, only to find EMS inside the house trying to do CPR to my dad. After about 10 minutes of me being there, they pronounced he had passed. I was numb, and could not believe what was happening. My dad lived to be 82 years old and had been living in SC for the past 13 years. I was his only son, and the oldest in the family and now felt lost and did not know what to do next. I am normally a pretty level headed and methodical person but this left me with my legs shaken and head in a cloud that felt like a very bad dream.

On Saturday, April 7, 2018, we held a funeral for dad.

Here is the memorial that his grandchildren and I prepared:

Here is the Eulogy that my sisters and I worked on:

http://ralphhered.blogspot.com/2018/04/dads-eulogy-april-7-2018.html

I will miss the beautiful times I had with both of them and know that I will struggle to go even 30 minutes without thinking of them.

I will continue to try to focus on the great memories that I had with both of them but know that at times, I will struggle to keep it together as I miss the precious moments that we had and the things that I did together with both of them. Over the next few posts, I will highlight some of those, just so that I can remember them down the road and share with everybody, how wonderful these two people were and the impact that they had in my life.

I miss you both Dad and Miguel. I hope that you are playing Dominoes in heaven, and that you both really understood how much you meant to me.

Dad’s Eulogy - April 7, 2018

On behalf of our large family, we thank you for being here to support us and pay your respects to our dad.

Dad valued and demanded respect. But, as much as he demanded it, he also showed it. To everyone.

Respect is one of the traits that he instilled in each of us and one that we as parents continue to instill in our own children.

One time, dad was helping me with my Spanish homework and I used the sentence “Mama Isa (his mother) es “vieja”. (Mama Isa is old). Boy did he go off on how disrespectful it was to call the elders “old”. He said that word “vieja” was for old food, old dogs, anything but elders. I corrected it and said “Mama Isa no es vieja, es anciana”. “Mama Isa is not old, she is elderly”. Dads reaction taught us how much respect he had for his mother and father.

Dad always expected the best of us. Growing up, when we would bring home a report card with A’s and B’s, and his comment to us was, why could they not all be A’s? Dad expected us to succeed and do something with ourselves since he was giving us the opportunity he never had.

Two months before dad finished his 2nd grade, his teacher told him that he did not have to continue to come because he was ready for 3rd grade. His father told him that he had learned enough and that he was needed so that he can take care of the animals and bring lunch to his father while his father worked “en la finca” - in the farm. He never told us this story when he was lecturing us on our grades. It was only when he let his guard down that he would start to get upset and even cry when saying this.

He did not hate his father because of this, because he respected him. Yes, he felt deprived and that an opportunity for him to make something of himself was taken away from him but being the oldest son of 9 siblings meant that he need to help provide for them. All his brothers and sisters refer to him as their 2nd father and to this day, they say he was one of the pillars of the family.

That drove him to push us harder.

That drive to succeed and persevere was one of his strengths.

A man who faced whatever life had in store for him with courage, and he would face it head on. He had a will to live and to fight whatever battles in health he had to fight. He beat cancer twice. Survived a horrific crash with an 18-wheeler. Battled diabetes, congestive heart failure, vascular disease, high blood pressure, and the effects of having only one kidney since 2005. He may have never gotten a diploma officially from school, but upon defeating his most recent cancer, he received a Bachelor’s of Perseverance from the hospital.

We never questioned if he loved us, though he had difficulty showing it emotionally when we were young. He demonstrated his love by working hard and making sure there was food on the table. He made sure we had the essentials in life. A warm bed, clothes on our backs. He somehow managed to give us everything we ever asked Santa for. He did this, even though he didn’t make a lot of money. Let alone make enough to pay for a family of 6.

The simple things were priceless. Such as when he took us to Holmdel Park after church regularly, or how we would sit on his lap while he ate dinner. Or how we would help peel the beans that he grew in his Garden. Even as most recently as last year, his own grandchildren followed our footsteps and helped him peel the beans.

But to see how dad treated Mom during her continuing battle with Alzheimer’s. There was no stronger love than what he showed. He prayed for a cure every day. He made sure we were feeding mom and that we would position her the right way. Even after 3 years of us doing the same thing, he would still come in to make sure we were doing it right. He would make sure she had everything she needed. He would come into the room and talk to her in such a tender voice while he brushed her hair with his fingers. Many times, we would have to look away to hide our tears. Oh, how he adored mom.

His faith in God was strong and he would put it all in God’s hands.

We went to church every Sunday growing up. Unless we were sick, we were there. Even up until a month ago, he was going to church early, in time for the Rosary, so that he could pray for mom to get better.

It was his strength, faith and love for his family that allowed him to live an amazing 82 years.

13 years ago, after years of pleading him to move to SC, he finally relented. We promised him that we would take care of him if he moved down here. He and mom retired and even bought their first home together when he was 70 years old. He knew moving away from his environment was going to be difficult, and most of all, he expected to be lonely. But he embraced his move and changed.

He was more open with his emotions, and this was especially true for his grandchildren and great grandchildren. He was completely a different person than what he was when we were growing up. He would always want to cook their favorite items and would put aside food for them. On Easter Sunday, the day before he passed, he was upset that he was not able to make his great rice. After mom got sick, the responsibility to buy gifts and cards fell on his shoulders and he would pick the perfect card. The one that said things that he could not say in person but that we knew he meant.
These 13 years were the most amazing years we had with Dad and his love for his family, faith in God, drive to continue living just so he can take care of mom and be with us was inspiring.

In the end, with his remote and a toothpick in his hands, TV full blast to the Spanish station listening to the news about Puerto Rico to try to get a glimpse of what was happening where his family was, dad left us to be with God. Not suffering but having lived a life full of accomplishments, memories, love and gratitude for God. Gracias a Dios, as he said.

It is not “Bye Dad”, it is “We love you. We thank you for being you and doing the best job you could do in teaching us respect, how to be strong, how to love family and how to be faithful."
We will continue your wishes on how to take care of mom, do right by your example and be a family that loves each other, and works hard to be respectful.

We love you Dad and will see you again one day.

Miguel’s Eulogy - March 29, 2018

“Until you say I Do, I don’t”. Those were some of the earliest words Miguel told me. They weren’t the first words and to be honest, it was probably a couple of months before he said that, but those were the words that defined who he was and how high he was raising that bar for me.
For starters, Miguel was very proud of his heritage.

I am sure everybody knows that Miguel was Cuban. I, however, am Puerto Rican. I think initially, it bothered him that I was Puerto Rican and not Cuban. This presented my first hurdle. He saw this as an opportunity to identify ALL of the ways that Cubans were better than Puerto Ricans. He began by reminding me that the Puerto Rican flag was modeled after the Cuban Flag. His exact words were “that we stole the design and the colors of the flag”. The next item on his list was that Salsa was invented by Cubans, and Puerto Rican’s copied that. Let it be known that Miguel’s favorite Salsa artist was Marc Anthony. A Puerto Rican. He would complain that while Bacardi Rum came from Puerto Rico, it was originally made in Cuba. When it came to Dominoes, Cuban double-9 dominoes were better than Puerto Rican double-6 dominoes. His Cuban heritage was so pure to him, that he refused to take a DNA test for fear that it may prove he was not 100% Cuban!

No matter what the topic was, the cards were stacked against me and seamed unreachable though I really believe that over time, he softened his position. Even to the point of admitting that he needed me to be here to help him with the annual pig roast. Or so I am told. By others.

What Miguel did not realize was that while he was raising that bar, he was also helping me become a better person. I can honestly say that I learned to appreciate my culture and learn more about my Puerto Rican heritage, even if it was just so I can defend myself from his attacks.
He impacted me in many other ways.
Miguel’s love for Family and relationship was unmatched and inspiring.

I know it started way before I really knew him but it was immediately evident when I first met him. I was in total awe of his relationship with his dad. I was shocked to see him wrestle on the floor with his dad. The wrestling match would actually start on the couch, but it would almost immediately end up on the floor with some sort of body slam. And the laughters.

I am sure everybody who knew him could appreciate how affectionate he was. He would walk in and give a hug and a kiss to everyone. It wasn’t just immediate family but also family friends. It was very awkward to see at first how personable he was until it just became natural. For me, when I was growing up, we were taught to respect our elders and to ask for “la bendicion” or a blessing. We did that to all of our aunts and uncles, grandparents and especially our parents. He did not do that. I genuinely appreciated his method so much, that I changed how we showed affection within my family. I remember declaring at one point to my parents that I would not ask for the blessing anymore and that I would prefer a hug and a kiss. After all, I never heard of a person asking for a blessing and not receiving it from their elders. If that’s the case, why ask it? Would it not be a better way of showing an affection with a hug and a kiss?

My entire family, siblings and their families, and even my parents evolved to show our affection and greet each other that way. Was it only Miguel that did that, no. It was his entire family that did it but I honestly say, I learned that from him and it made my relationship with my own family, including my own father, better as a result.

While his relationship with his daughters, is something everybody who knows this family can appreciate, it was his relationship with my sons that brought absolute joy to my heart. He was “The Uncle” that the boys admired. The favorite Uncle.
He had a bond with them that was as close to a parent/child bond, as you can get.

My youngest, Nick was even born on his birthday and while that “took away from it being Miguel’s day”, he eventually convinced Nick that it was the best day of the year because they shared it with each other. Because I share my mom’s birthday, I completely understand how special that day was for both of them. I pray that my son Nick continues to view this as the best day of the year going forward and to think of the happy times they had through that unique bond.

Miguel would not take no for an answer. His persistence was unparalleled.
I remember Miguel would visit his grandfather “Mipo” and would pressure him to go out with him for a walk. Of course at that time, his grandfather was wheelchair bound but that did not stop him from taking him around the block. I remember one time years ago, he told his grandfather he was going to take him to a dog race track nearby and his grandfather complained all of the way there. He ended up enjoying it so much that for the next several years, we would ask Mipo what was the name of the mechanical rabbit from the race track and his grandfather would say “Here Comes Sparky”.
This was who Miguel was. He persisted until you gave in, but then you realized that he was right in the first place.

His persistence was very evident in how he pushed through this battle with Cancer. He would get up every morning, giving thanks to God and continued pushing like if there was nothing going on.
But it was his unwavering faith that gave him that ability to continue to shine bright for all of us.
My mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s about 10 years ago and my faith has been rocked and challenged like never before in my life. I did not think that I would be able to find my way back. While I am still struggling to walk the straight line, it is by watching Miguel walk his path, that I have hope that I can be even stronger in my faith than what I was before. That is the highest bar he has raised for me.

Miguel challenged all of us to become better people through his actions and his words. Miguel raised the bar for everybody. I know he especially raised it for me and for that, I am eternally grateful. I grew up wanting an older brother to be able to count on and help me through my challenges in life. God answered my prayer with Miguel. I love you my brother. Until we meet again.