Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad

Today, December 15th is my parents wedding anniversary.  They would have celebrated their 57th anniversary.  Mom was 20 years old when she got married to dad, who was 26 at the time.  Both, having lived difficult lives up until they were married, promised each other in their vows that they would be together from that point forward.

Coming from humble, truth be told, very poor beginnings and moving to a new land to pursue a better life, Mom and Dad did everything they could to live the life they could. To work hard and make sure they could provide for their family.  To be an example of husband and wife that would enable us to learn the true meaning of love.

Growing up, mom and dad never really made a big deal of their anniversary such as go out to dinner like most couples do, except for Dad's last minute "splurge" on Chinese food, but he would bring her flowers on his way back from work, which mom loved and appreciated.  Carnations were her favorite and he made sure the bouquet had some.  That was the extent of their celebration.  That said, there was no doubt in our minds that they loved and were committed to each other.

Both found their soul partner in each other.  Someone that would be there in good times and in bad.  They took satisfaction, that their marriage meant so much to us.  That we understood the simplicity of their marriage but the genuine strength and love they had for each other.  Their love was a testament of their faith in God and appreciation for the life they had and all of the blessings that they were given.  Primarily, their family.  Their 4 children and spouses, 11 grandchildren some of which having spouses of their own, and their 4 great grandchildren.  Their life was complete in their eyes, and in ours.

Growing up, Mom was the caregiver and Dad was the provider.  As Mom got progressively worse with her disease, their roles reversed.  Dad's only worry was to make sure that Mom was taken care of.  That she was comfortable, fed, bathed, properly taken care of, especially with how we would tuck her in her bed, but their faith never wandered.



Even when we knew that it was beyond the point that mom should be going to Church, dad continued to insist that we do so and mom was eager to go there until the job of getting her ready, the stress of the drive and her inability to walk or sit in the pews were too much for her.


Their love was visible for all to see, in how they looked at and were with each other.  There was no doubt in anybody's mind.

Dad predeceased mom by 13 months and for their last few years together, Mom did not know who he was, nor was she able to really appreciate the fact that it was their anniversary and that he was her soulmate.  But while they were both around, and able to, they fulfilled their commitment to love and to hold, in sickness and in health, til' death do they part.

This anniversary, their first since Mom joined Dad, we are saddened by the lack of their presence, but with tears flowing of joy that the two of them are back together again.

We love you.

Sacrifices

When we were growing up, Dad had a little brown box bank full of coins and bills.  The coins and bills were actually very old coins that included a half dime, a silver dollar, Buffalo nickels, indian head coins, $5 dollar bills with a silver certificate or red numbers and other "prized possessions". According to Quora, the 1963 $5 bill with red numbers is now worth about $25 with the silver one worth much more than that.

Every once in a while, we would either ask him to open it up or he would open it up when he wanted to look at them and admire his cool collection.  When he came across a new coin that would be added to his collection, he would ask for the box and one of us would run to his bedroom and grab the box from his top drawer where he kept it.

Even as he was adding the new coin to the box, he would take it as an opportunity to check out his precious savings. 

Years later, after dad retired and moved down, we came across the box in the house.  We also came to find out that back in late '79, dad had sold off his collection so he can pay for a trip for us to go to Puerto Rico.  We usually took a trip to PR every 5-7 years but as our family got bigger, it became more expensive for us to go there.  It was roughly 2 years after my youngest sister Annie was born and Dad felt it was time to go back, so everybody could see the "baby".  We went back during Christmas, and it was the only Christmas I recall us spending in Puerto Rico.

We were devastated but realized that Dad had made a sacrifice of his precious collection of coins to pay for that trip.  In the end, money was money but this was not the kind of money that comes around again unless you want to purchase it from a collector in the first place.  It must have weighed heavily in his mind to do so but the desire to go to PR to visit the family was enough for him to sell his collection.  He was not saving it for a rainy day nor was he doing so just to pay for a vacation.

As I have previously written, Dad passed away last year in early 2018 and mom earlier this year.  I have finally started to go through all of the massive collection of paperwork I brought over from their house so I can keep what I need, and shred the things I don't, such as old medical bills.

As I emptied one of the boxes and folders, a little coin purse fell out containing the last bit of his collection.   It brought me back to my youth and cracking open "the safe" with him and how he loved to look at those coins.  I did not know he kept this small bunch.

This Thanksgiving was the first one without both of my parents and all I kept thinking about were the sacrifices they had made for us.  Not just about taking us to Puerto Rico to visit family, but everything they did to make sure we understood and appreciated everything they did for us.  Leaving Puerto Rico when Mom was pregnant with me, to start a new life in a strange land, not knowing the culture or anybody.  Makes us appreciate what we have, but also truly understand the desire of others to want to live the American dream.  All while still remembering where we came from.

A Wave of Emotions Knocking You Down

After three weeks of essentially being on the road, I came home to try to fall back into my normal routine.  Cut the grass, run some errands and just try to unwind from what was a very intense several weeks of trade shows, meetings, airports, rental cars and living out of a suit case.

During this time, I also starting thinking about my parents and how much I miss them.  My senses were further heightened as I went through some of the paperwork that has been stacking up over this time.  Including medical and bank statements with mom and dad's name on them.

Dad passed away over a year and 7 months ago and today marks 6 months since mom left to join him. We are still getting statements as the insurance company continues to tell us of things that have been resolved.

I made things worse on myself as I started watching some videos and looking at old pictures that were also in piles on my home desk, that were part of my "todo list".  To put them away in a drawer or album.

Hearing their voices in the videos, made me both smile and cry.  The evening wine only helped let my guard down as the wave of emotions that overcame me felt like I was about to drown. 

I am not depressed, or I genuinely don't think I am, but every now and then, the continuous thought of my parents not being around are like waves that crash at me trying to knock me down.  I went to bed, trying not to stress myself out and spent the night dreaming about them, having conversations with them and hearing their voices in my dreams.

Yesterday, I finally got the nerve to request that dad's Facebook profile be memorialized.  Partially due to the concern of it somehow getting compromised and then having to deal with that and the fact that it was something that I needed to do.  Again, back to that "todo list".

The email I got from Facebook after I did it was actually very warm and touching.  Clearly, thought went into how they need to help family members handle this task.

In my search for pictures and special quotes for which to help me convey what I am feeling, I came across a blog written by Andrea Barberio who used the same analogy of the emotion of grief coming in waves and being knocked down by one of the waves.

This weekend, one of the pictures I came across was of mom, who could not swim, walking back from the beach, while I was in the ocean with Dan when he was roughly 2 years old.  There were no waves to knock her down or pull me under.  The water was warm and inviting.  The memories of Mom walking back, calmly gave me peace and comfort that I will be OK with the waves that come every now and then. 

Another picture I came across was of mom and dad, in the late 60's, with mom pregnant with one of my sisters.  

It reminded me that Mom and Dad are back together again and have been so for exactly 6 months now. 

It helped me realize that it's OK to have the waves of emotions and tears come crashing.  The wave will pass and I will once again be at peace, enjoying the tranquility in the ocean of memories of my time with them.

I miss you Mom and Dad.

Happily Ever After

According to Dictionary.com, the phrase "live happily ever after" means to:

"Spend the rest of one's life in happiness, as in In her romantic novels the hero and heroine end up marrying and then live happily ever after. This hyperbolic phrase ends many fairy tales. [Mid-1800s]"

This past weekend Luisa and I had the ultimate parent's dream come true of watching our first born son, Dan, pledge his love to his new wife, Jill, at their wedding.

I may sound biased, but it was the most romantic and perfect wedding we have experienced.  There was not a single thing that went wrong, not just to the naked eye, but as confirmed by everyone that attended and was a part of this beautiful celebration.  The detail that went into the wedding was incredible and I know both of them are delighted and relieved at successfully reaching that pinnacle moment after all of that planning and getting ready to begin their new life adventure.

It is every parent's wish for their child to find the perfect partner that will share their child's dreams and support them in every way.  For us, having two boys, it was also the added benefit of having a daughter added to our family, by way of our first daughter-in-law.  After the wedding, Luisa and I looked at each other and said out loud, "we now have a daughter-in-law", just so that it can feel even that much more real!

At their wedding, as best man, I had the privilege of sharing some advice.

It was a beautiful wedding with over a hundred family members and close friends.  While every detail was perfect, the the one that continues to replay in my mind was the mother & son dance that Luisa had with Dan.   I don't know if it is because of my regret of not doing this with my mom when I had a chance, even though Luisa suggested several times that I should do so, or because of the song that Luisa picked out that symbolizes that special moment.

However, as I was recording the video of Luisa and Dan, I could not stop reflecting about how proud we both were of everything that transpired on that special day.

The song she picked, Milagro (Miracle) by Gloria Estefan, is a tribute to a child and how special they are in your life.  The key parts that resonated are (translated):

They are our treasures,

they are our happiness.

It's because of them

that life becomes sweeter

and we live a better life.

The children are our blessing,

the miracle of our love.

They teach us how to love

and open our hearts.

They are our blessing

the miracle of our love.

They are the essence of our home,

a gift from God....

As the newlyweds tour Spain for their honeymoon, we are all here still in awe about how special that day was and what it really meant, not just for them, but for us as well.

In light of all of the sadness over these years, it was wonderful to find joy and be happy again.

May Dan and Jill live Happily Ever After!

A message to my son at his wedding

There is a rumor that Dan picked me as the best man primarily because he did not want someone to screw up the toast at his wedding. Well, let’s hope I don’t do that.

He must have also thought he would get a chance to proofread it like he does my blogs at times.
Well no, he did not get to proofread what I am about to say.

Dan sent me into total shock Father’s Day last year when he asked me to be his best man.
I had just lost my dad just two months earlier and was already on shaky ground.

I actually did not know what to think. I now understand that it is more common than I realized and know of several of Dan’s friends that have done this.

Dan has always had some amazing friends. Friends that would do anything or go anywhere with him. These friends, the ones that stood there supporting him this afternoon for his wedding, would be willing to drive or fly into the path of a hurricane to celebrate a special weekend with Dan in the Keys.

Looking back though, I can understand why he would ask me to be his best man.

You would think it is because the of the relationship we have had from the beginning. One that is more than just a father/son relationship.

No. it’s because nobody knows him as much as I do and therefore nobody would be able to embarrass him like I am about to do.

Jill, even though you two have been together for several years, I am sure you have already figured out some of these things that I am about to tell you.

Things that as the years pass, as long as you keep these things in mind, you will learn how to “deal” with him.

Be warned that Dan can hold grudges.

I figured this out when I took my first business trip and was away for several days. I came home, so excited to see him that when I walked through the door, he absolutely refused to get near me or talk to me for several hours.

That is when I learned that when I went away on trips, I had to make sure to bring him something. It didn’t matter if it was a list minute item I bought at a store in the airport or if it was one of the free swags you get at a trade show. You know the company branded Frisbee's and rubber stress balls.

So when he gets like that, buy him something. Doesn’t matter what it is, he quickly will forget that he is mad at you. He especially likes the Scansource tee shirts you get him.

Dan comes across like he is all reserved and obedient, but he has a little rebellious streak.

- He was a challenge from beginning. When he was about 2 years old, I used to come back from work, quickly change into my swim trunks and take him to the neighborhood pool. The problem was that I was not that confident in my ability to swim so I would go to the shallow end and tell him to jump in. He would run to the deep end and jump in. He did this more than once.

- Then there was the time that we actually lost him at the McDonalds at Disney world. One minute he was there with us and then he was not. It was crowded as heck and we freaked out thinking the worst. Luisa went one door and I went to the other and worked our way in until we found him in the middle of the crowd.

- Finally, his great grandmother used to take him for walks around the waterfront until one day he tried to run away and she had to grab him by the hair. From that point on, she just kept him in the back yard playing with his dinosaurs and with a stick in the mud.

The only suggestion I can give is to give him tasks or something to play with. That will keep him in place and out of trouble.

Dan hates to be pressured to do things that are outside of his comfort zone.

- He especially hates to be forced to do things that he swears up and down he doesn’t want to do. He complained for several months before we went on a camping trip, how much he hated hiking. He did not want to be go. We went to New Mexico to hike for over 50 miles in a week and after that, he came back swearing about the trip. That it was the best trip he had been on with me.

- The trick is that he was eating about 3-5,000 calories a day. So when you want him to do something that he does not want to do. Just feed him. He’ll get over it.

Finally, if you haven’t figured this out, Dan likes his sleep and when it’s lights out, I mean it is lights out. He is dead to the world and nothing can really wake him up.
- One time, he was sick and in bed and we heard a large crash from his bedroom. Dan had rolled over the edge of his bed and crashed on the floor. He just kept on sleeping. We picked him up, took him to the bathroom, washed him down and put him back in bed. He did not remember a thing the next day.

- For this, the only thing I would suggest is that if he falls off the bed, just take a pillow and prop his head. You will not be able to wake him up and you can definitely not lift him up. He is dead weight when he is out.

I can go on and on about what it was like living with Dan but then we’ll still be here celebrating your first anniversary if we continue.

Besides, I want to now share some advice to Dan.

When I got married, my dad pulled aside the night before and said to me in a straight face:

“You know about, You know, right?” So Dan, you know about, you know, right?... 😊

Seriously, marriage life is a roller coaster with ups and downs, or a game that throws fastballs and curve-balls at you. The primary reason you get married is so that you can take that journey with someone who will be there for you equally, unconditionally and for you to reciprocate.

The key word in that statement is “equally”. Jill is your partner. She is the one that will support you like no other person can and will just as easily push your buttons.

That is OK. Just have patience and remember that this is not a sprint but a marathon. As I have always said, life is a journey, and not the destination. You want to take chances, do things together, experience things that take you outside of your comfort zone. So get on that roller coaster that you have always been afraid of. Your partner has your back.

Make Memories with each other. Things that make you laugh, despite the curve balls thrown at you at times.

Remember that the answer to the question, how do I look is, “you look great”. The answer to every meal she makes is, “it is delicious babe”. The answer to every argument whether you feel you are right or not, is “I’m sorry.”

To Jill.

Being the brother to 3 younger sisters and no brothers, Luisa and I thought that when we began having children, we would have girls. Up until we found out that Dan was a boy, we assumed it would be a girl and we would have no problem with that. We thank Dan for finally giving us the daughter we have been waiting for all along.

I heard you mention one time, after all of the unfortunate sadness we have had over these years that you “get it”. You get why our family is so close and appear to spend all of our time together, making a big deal of birthdays and anniversaries…etc. It is because when we are at our lowest point, we come together to support each other. Well Jill, it also that when we are at are highest point that we make it a big deal as well.

Luisa and I welcome you to the family and we are honored to have you as part of our family.

May God bless your marriage every day. May you both wake up every day excited about what the new day will bring and go to bed thankful for what you have been given.

Congratulations.

Now everybody please raise you glass.

A toast to Jill and Dan.

Salud!

Chicken Soup...for the soul

I was reminded today by a cousin of a business trip I took once to Puerto Rico back in '89.  The cousin called to tell to me that she had booked her upcoming trip and that she was going to stay in Humacao at Palmas del Mar.

The rush of memories from that trip immediately started flowing and reminded me of all of the things I had forgotten.

During this trip, I was in Puerto Rico to inspect some computers that were being manufactured there at a plant and went down there with a business partner, Wayne.  Given that my family is from Puerto Rico, I was excited about the fact that I was IN Puerto Rico for a business trip but that I would also have the opportunity to visit my family while I was there.

The business trip was great and the weather and area was even better.  When Friday came, Wayne and I ventured from the east coast shortline of Humacao to the mountains of Jayuya.  While you can go around the island in about 4 hours, it took us about that long to get from Humacao to Jayuya, through the winding roads internal to the island.  The scene started off wonderful as the sun set over the water with our desire to get to the mountains before it got too late.  As we got closer to Jayuya, the roads were dimly lit, only by our headlights until the point that it got so dark that we could not see anything.

We lowered our windows to be able to hear oncoming cars and as we started to get into the higher elevation, it got darker and we had to slow down as the roads are technically one lane each way but only if both cars are small Toyota Corollas.

As we get into downtown Jayuya, my memory of my prior trips there kicked in and the car went into autopilot.  I would take this back road and that back road until we got to the bottom of the last climb to where my family lives.

My family lives in an area of Jayuya called Caricaboa but also known as Puerto Plata.  It is near the top of the mountains and in order to get up to where they live, you have to put the car in 1st gear and floor it, while climbing up a concrete road that is slippery given the small streams of water coming from the side of the mountain. 

As we made our way to my uncle's house, you have to take a sharp curve at the bottom of the hill and gun it so that you can make it up the driveway. The car slips and slides up the driveway as it struggles to grab onto the road but the momentum is able to get you to your destination.

I pulled straight into the car port my uncle had built and shut off the car.  Wayne stopped holding his breath and took a sigh of relief.

I got out of my car and saw my uncle standing there on the porch.  I yelled "Bendición" and we both started to laugh.  He said out loud that he knew of only one person who could park like that, and that it had to be me.  He was not aware I was coming by but did hear I was in Puerto Rico.

You see, this was before phones were prevalent in the island, especially in that mountain.  It was 1989 and the only way to communicate with that area was through letters or if an emergency, calling the police department downtown to have them send a message up.

Wayne and I got out and walked inside.  It was at that time that I asked my uncle if it was a problem for us to stay there.  Including Wayne.  Of course the answer was an emphatic no.  He would be welcome anytime.

It was about 10:30PM that night and Wayne would say something and I would translate it to Spanish.  My uncle and aunt would answer and I would translate it back.  We went back and forth for about 45 minutes when my aunt asked me if we wanted some chicken soup.  I asked Wayne if he was hungry and he said yes, that would be great.  My aunt disappeared while Wayne and my uncle continued to talk, with me translating all along.  About an hour later, my aunt shows up with a bowl of homemade chicken soup.  Wayne, had been wondering all along what had happened to the soup.  He thought she must had forgotten it. After all, he thought he was going to get chicken soup from a can when what we were served instead was an amazing homemade chicken soup.  I am sure that chicken was running around in the yard, probably a few days earlier.

We spent the next few days in Jayuya, looking around the beautiful landscape, touring the town until I brought Wayne back to the airport for his trek home.  It was 2+ hours to the airport and the same back.  I stayed in town a few more days to visit with my family. 

I was able to record my trip with the VHS video camera I brought with me on the trip.  One of the best memories I recorded was that of my grandfather Papa Moncho.

I am fortunate to have been given the chance to take that trip as that would be the last time I would see my Grandfather alive.

My visit was cut short due to an emergency.  Just by chance, I woke up one day and decided to go downtown to the nearest phone booth and call home to speak with Luisa.  To check in.

Luisa was pregnant with our first child and she had been trying to reach me for several days.  She had even tried calling the police department and nobody had followed up with me to try to get a hold of me. A recent blood test had come back high and abnormal and they convinced her that she should get an amniocentesis.  The doctors had suspected that the baby had a hole in its spine. 

I cut my trip short and rushed home.  I would later find out that we were going to have our first son. That he would be OK and that everything would be fine.

My grandfather passed away 4 months after that trip of cancer and exactly 30 days before Dan was born.

It has been almost 30 years since all of this occurred.  Within a week of me writing this, Dan will be getting married.

Life goes on.  The ups and downs of life are like a roller coaster ride.  The memories you make, while sometimes sad, are actually healing because when they come rushing back they are like Chicken Soup for the Soul.

When you look for signs...and they appear

For over a year, after my dad passed away, I was in a dark place.  I was angry, in shock, upset, in a state of total disbelief.  I had just lost my brother-in-law, and then unexpectedly two weeks later lost my dad.  For the next year, while we took care of mom, as we went through the grieving and healing process, we would see cardinals outside the window.  A bright ruby red cardinal with amazing colors, flying around.  It would randomly appear, at times when we were needing a touch or when it was unexpected.  My sisters and Luisa would see it also.

My parents lived in Cardinal Woods Way and so the Cardinal was absolutely the appropriate sign that made us stop and say, "Hi Dad".

On the Saturdays I took care of mom, a song would appear in the Pandora station that would make me think of Dad.  It would be either the ringtone I had for him or one of his favorite songs from Rafaelito Muñoz.  I would quickly point it out to mom, with tears running down my face.  Knowing full well that she was not able to understand what I was saying or why I was crying.  It stopped me in my tracks and took my breath away.

In a previous post, I mentioned about how I grew some beans and was wondering when they would be ready, only to have Facebook pop up a picture of my dad's beans 2 years earlier.  Exactly the same day I asked if they would be ready.

For over 15 months, my sisters would tell me that Dad visited their dreams and spoke to them.  That he was OK and to make sure that we took care of mom.  All the while, I was left wondering why he wasn't visiting me in my dreams.

When mom passed away, I did not have the same pain that I had with Dad, of things left unsaid or undone.  Regrets from not being able to have done more to delay that day from arriving or not having reacted sooner to the calls I received.

With mom, while it was definitely very sad to see her go, I felt closure.  I felt that we had done everything we could for her while she was here with us and it was no longer warranted to see her suffer like she was.

Today it is 4 months since mom took her last breath.  This past weekend, roughly a week after celebrating my 1st birthday without her, she appeared in my dream.  It was a beautiful dream.   She was walking and laughing.  The smile on her face was priceless and told me everything.  That she was OK.  That she was at peace and back to being her joyful self.  In the dream, I tucked her into bed, like the thousands of times I had done so and she smiled and gave me a good night kiss.

I woke up shortly thereafter with a smile on my own face.  As soon as I opened up my Facebook, I was reminded about my profile pic I had used for so many years.  One that I had not used since before she was with us.  The one where she, in her lost state of mind, walked right up to me and put her arm around me.  I grabbed it and held it tightly, making sure she knew that I was there for her.  That I would do everything I could to take care of her.

I am sure she knows.  She just wanted to give me a sign, so that I knew as well, that she was OK.

Eventually, dad also visited me in my dreams.   The cardinal has also re-appeared several times.  Though this time, he brings a companion.  A female that follows him from tree to tree.  They have come back many times and I just smile.  Thanking them for the signs they are giving me.

I miss you both.




 

My First 1/2 Birthday

This August 25th, is my first birthday without my cake buddy.  Or more appropriately stated, my 1st 1/2 birthday.  After more than 50 years of celebrating the birthday I shared with mom, I find myself struggling with how to feel today.  Trying so desperately not to be sad on what was normally a joyous occasion, which frankly got less joyous every year as I wondered if it was the last one I would celebrate with her.  Trying to remember all of the wonderful birthdays of years past.

For the past 13 years, I would walk into mom's house, shouting and singing "Happy Birthday to You and Me, Happy Birthday to You and Me..."  Before that, before they retired and moved down to be with us, it would be the first phone call I would make to her.  To wish her a Happy Birthday.  To tell her how much I loved her and was so happy to share birthdays with her.  To beg her to move to SC so that we can share it together.  

My dad used to tell her that I was the best gift that he gave her, to which she would immediately respond, "Oh Yes, the labor pains and being in the hospital on my birthday... The best gift!". I would wonder at times, if that was something that actually bothered her or if it was her way at humor.  :)

As time evolved, the celebrations got smaller but I still made an effort, to try to make her happy on that special day of ours.  The cake evolved from regular cake with ice cream to an ice cream cake which was her favorite.  With her disease evolving, giving her something cold and refreshing to cool her mouth which was always closed was also an added bonus.

Today, this day, my 1st half birthday, all I can think about is how eventually I got my birthday wish.  For mom to move down so we can share our birthdays together.  

This birthday, I won't wonder if it will be my last birthday with her.  I now will wonder when we will get to celebrate it again.

Happy birthday mom.  I miss you.

  

Laughter is the Best Medicine

It has been 3 months since Mom left us to join Dad.  As I struggle to try to remember and capture what we went through as a family for 12 years there are certain memories that continue to resonate.

The memories of how much we laughed in spite of the sadness, depression, pain and outright anger over seeing mom struggle with her disease as it progressed.  These memories are reinforced by the FaceBook memories that pop up on our feed.  By the pictures we come across as we scroll through our photo gallery on our phones.  By the simple things we do such as getting ice cream, Vanilla of course, which is what Mom would only ever ask for.

We committed ourselves to mom and promised that we would do what we could, to make her happy, to capture every moment, to hold on to her as long as we could.  In the process, we transformed our grief and anger into love for mom and giving her the best quality of life we could give her.

We made it our mission to give her as much laughter and happiness as we could.  To keep her in the moment and not let her suffer in her despair as she lost her memories and her self.  Her smile and laughter were genuine and genuinely beautiful.  When you consider how much she suffered in her childhood and even later in her years, it was miraculous to see how truly happy she was.  Especially with her family.  We did everything we could to keep make her happy.

We all did our part.

Those who know me, know that if I am going to do something though, it will be 150%.  I did everything I could to not only make her laugh, but laugh as hard as she could.

One thing I would always do is ask her if I was her favorite.  I would do this constantly.  It would drive her nuts.  I would try to get her to say I was her favorite and her answer was always the same.  That she loved ALL of her children and she could not pick one over the other.  I would ask her again, and again, I would get the same answer.  I think I asked every day.

Until one day, when I came back from a week long trip...

To Evelyn, Carmen and Annie.  I know mom loved all of us equally.  I think that she finally caved and said this, just so she can shut me up and I would stop asking.  Maybe.

Another thing I would do is tell her that we should get tattoos.  I would say "Mom, let's get tattoos!  I'll pay for them!  Mine will say, "Angelita mi Mamita" and she should get one that says, "Rafaelito, mi favorito!".  She did not like that idea but she would laugh at my shenanigans.

Towards the end, her disease was tenacious in doing everything it could, to rob her of her soul, her spirit, and her happiness.  Her happiness was her family and she demonstrated that with a genuine laughter that was absolutely beautiful and priceless.  

Eventually, as she was forgetting who we were and who she was, there was still happiness in her life through the videos we would take while we were with her.  

Of course, I would push those buttons once again, a bit too far, and she would show her sign of desperation of my difficult question, if I was her favorite.  That is, until she saw herself again and was delighted to see a familiar face that she recognized of a beautiful lady that she once knew.

Mom, I know you are laughing and smiling with dad once again.  Looking down at us, being happy that we are still able to laugh and smile at the things we do, especially when the memories we had with you both come back.  I am truly happy at the thought of that. 

But, my happiest times were when I was trying desperately to make you laugh.  When I would push those buttons to get those juices flowing.  When I saw that you were lost and the mere fact of me coming in, seeing you and saying as loud as I could, "Angelita!  You miss me?" 

I am grateful that I was able to do my part to make you happy. 

I miss you.

 

More Than Just Balls and Strikes

Fifteen years ago, Luisa and I volunteered to become a Host Family for the Latin American team playing in the Big League World Series in Easley, SC.  Little did we know what that would entail, how hard that was, but how transformative it would be for us.  Over the years we have laughed and cried while we celebrated the ups and downs of what the teams experience during this tournament.

The hook for me, was when the tournament director at the time mentioned that teams from Puerto Rico had been here and would come to play in this tournament.  Our first team was from Maracaibo, Venezuela in 2005.  As a host family we would become surrogate parents for a team of ~16 players and 3 coaches.  We immediately were called "Los Padrinos", as in Godparents, by the team.  That name stuck and was indicative of the role we believe we had for the team.  Someone who would look out for the players, in the event the parents were not around.

Because I travel a lot, I know what it is like to go to a town you don't know, try to get around and speak in a language you don't fully comprehend or speak and to miss the food you have eaten all of your life...etc.  Now imagine that as a teenager.

When we were getting ready to pick up the team at the airport, we were told that the team was lost and nobody knew where they were. For two days, we waited till we finally got the news that half of the team had traveled from Maracaibo, to San Juan, to Miami, to Dallas, to Greenville and the other team was on a totally different flight schedule.  The team arrived in Greenville around midnight, exhausted and hungry and the first thing they asked was had their equipment arrived.  It had not.

We took the team to the university dorms they were staying at and had them get to bed.  We got home at 3:30AM that night and I said to myself, what the heck did we get ourselves into?  I was still trying to work during that time and went to work in the morning, then to the airport to pick up their "stuff" and then head to the university for a coaches meeting at 1PM.

Because I am fluent in spanish, I also had the added benefit of being in the dugout, with the team, as a translator for the team.  I would run out with the manager for every player change or when there was an injured player on the field to make sure I did my part.  I was like a kid in the candy store reliving my youth as a baseball player.  Luisa made arrangements for meals every night, at our expense, beyond the meals provided by the tournament, because these were some hungry athletes burning calories like there is no tomorrow.  If a player did get injured, Luisa would be responsible for running off with that player to the hospital or physical therapist appointment.  Over these years, there were many of those, including one time when one of our ball players got so dehydrated in the final championship game that he almost didn't make his return flight back to Puerto Rico.

Throughout our time volunteering in this wonderful tournament with the hundreds of other people that do so, we have worked with and have been a part of teams from Venezuela, Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic, and recently Curacao.  We have also helped other teams from Panama representing Latin America while we were focused on our own Caribbean team.  The tournament changed from the Big League World Series to the Senior League World Series when Little League eliminated that upper bracket but the volunteering roles stayed the same.

As a Puerto Rican, with a Cuban wife, baseball is in our blood.  It is OUR past time and OUR sport.  We both have lots of famous players we are fond of, but to me and most Puerto Ricans, there is no bigger admiration than for Roberto Clemente.  He was known for what he did both on the field and off of the field.  Clemente once said something to the effect, "If you have an opportunity to make a difference in this world and you don't, then you are wasting your time on this earth".

That's exactly how Luisa and I approached this tournament.  Every team we hosted can attest to my "sermon" before the tournament, when I had my own meeting with them and promised to give it all we got for them for these 10 days.  At the end of the tournament, right before they departed on the bus to the airport or boarded their plane, I would ask them if this was the best week of their lives and then followed up with "Remember everything we have done for you this week. Make sure that when you get to your goal or grow up to be an adult, you do the same as we have for those that follow you.  In the end, that is how we make this world a better place for all of us".

In a 2007, a study came out that said the average MLB career is just a bit over 5 years. We have been volunteering for 15.  Throughout our entire time, the teams we have hosted, have been in the final championship game in 11 of those 15 years.  Our team has gone on to win the tournament 5 out of those 15 times.  We have had numerous players go on to get drafted professionally and some have even made it to the big stage.

We truly enjoy meeting some of them when they come back into town to play against the local Red Sox affiliate, the Greenville Drive.  But the thing we absolutely adore, is the personal relationship we have made with the players, the coaches and the family members over all of these years.

Luisa and I continue to stay in touch with the hundreds of people from all of these countries, celebrating birthdays or just reaching out to see how they are doing.  We worry about them just like we worry about other family members through the disastrous hurricanes to the violence and horrible conditions in their home countries.

Every year when the players leave, it feels like we are losing a part of our family.  It is really painful, especially when you consider what some of these players will be going back home to, such as those from Venezuela or the Dominican Republic and even Puerto Rico which was hammered by Hurricane Maria shortly after the team was here.   We have definitely shed our fair share of tears for everyone of our teams from all of the countries we have been with throughout these years.  As Nolan Ryan once said: "Baseball life is a tough life on the family.".

The effort we have put into the tournament, along with that of all of the other truly amazing volunteers, is incredible.  It is exhausting but extremely rewarding.  So much so that we all come back every year to do it once again.

The past couple of years though, have been extremely difficult for Luisa and I due to the losses of our biggest fans and most dedicated baseball loving family members.  We announced at the beginning of this year's tournament that this was our last year volunteering as a Host Family for the tournament.  We will be taking some time to heal our hearts and souls before we begin our next adventure of giving back.  We are not sure yet what that adventure will be but during this healing time we hope to visit our baseball friends in their home countries or wherever they are across the US in the major ballparks.  We may even hit Williamsport one day in the future.

These 15 years have been some of the most fun and rewarding moments we have looked forward to every year.  It was our thing we did as a family to give back, to keep in touch with our Caribbean and Latin American roots in an area where at times, we felt isolated.  But most of all, to pay it forward and set an example of how to do so and have fun at it.

Para nuestra gente de todos los equipos, deseamos verlos un dia alla si Dios quiera. Gracias por las oportunidad de participar en estos momentos tan especiales con ustedes.  Que Dios los bendiga siempre.

                                                                                                          "Los Padrinos"

The Beginning of Grief

I read in a recent post, in a Facebook Group for Alzheimer's caregivers, that an Alzheimer's family watches a person diagnosed with this awful disease die twice.  When the one they love is first diagnosed with Alzheimer's and then in the end when that person takes their last breath.

I would agree with that, but would also add, when they forget you, and when they forget who they are.  When they forget their grandchildren, their spouse and many more moments like this.

It has been two months since mom took her last breath and finally was no longer dealing with her terminal disease.  Mom's passing brought back memories of when her journey, as well as ours, took the wrong turn down this long, one way, incredibly dark road.  When we actually began to grieve.

In the past year and a half, our family has endured lots of losses.  Many opportunities for grief and to really understand all of the various ways a person can grieve. Our grief with mom was as long and painful as the days we had with her, tending to her every need.   We absolutely had shining moments with her during this time but were reminded daily about how horrible this disease is and how much it devastated her and our family.

I remember when we first started to notice mom forgetting things.  At first it was subtle things, like how to say something or where she put things like her purse.  Then it was her admission that something was wrong saying "yo no se lo que me pasa.  Se me estas olvidando las cosas." (I don't know what is happening to me.  I am forgetting things.)

My sisters, wife and I suspected something was not right and we would text each other to keep a closer look at her and to let everyone know if we noticed her getting worse.

About a year later, in September 2008, mom and dad were involved in a car accident, that truthfully, they should have not survived from.  There was definitely a guardian angel looking out for them.

They were in their Ford Explorer, crossing a major intersection, when dad misjudged the tractor trailer passing by and clipped the back end of the trailer with his front end as he made a left turn onto the highway.  They were caught and the car flipped, turned, rolled over and over into a ditch.  My mom who had been buckled in the front seat was found in the backseat.  Both of my parents were knocked unconscious and luckily for them, my dad had my business card in his wallet.  The officer took the card and called me.  I did not recognize the number but answered it and when he asked if I was Rafy, I knew something was wrong.

They spent the night in the hospital, both with concussions and other bruises for observation.  A few weeks later, we decided to have mom checked by a neurologist.  It was then that it was confirmed that mom was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer's.  Mom had just turned 66 years old and that was the first day we started to grieve about losing mom.  The news was devastating and all we could do was cry.

We had seen The Notebook, other movies, and knew about the disease in passing but did not know what was really about to transform or should I say consume and at times, overwhelm, our family.
Luisa was distraught and continued to tell me she was sorry, while my mind was beginning to think about what was going to happen next, how to prepare for the coming storm, but also what Alzheimer's really meant.

I immersed myself online, ordering videos and books as well as joined the local Alzheimer's support group at the local library.  Initially, I would go by myself or with Luisa, but eventually decided that I would have to take Dad with me.  He was in denial and we really needed him to be on board and to understand what was going to affect mom.  Even that this early stage, it was very common to hear him tell mom "Angelita, I just finished telling you that. What's wrong with you? Did you not pay attention?"

At the Alzheimer's meeting, I learned about an Alzheimer's/memory research effort at the Medical University of SC in Charleston.  Roughly a 3-hour drive from home.  I made an arrangement for us to head down there and visit for an initial consultation.  Mom was nervous, partially about the long drive but also because of the battery of questions they asked her, such as who is the President, when was her birthday, what day was it, what was her husband's name...etc.  They told us they would get back to us after they analyzed the results of the exam but wanted us to come back a few days later.

We went down there the second time hopeful that they would be able to accept her into a medical trial to help fix the problem.  Once again they did another analysis of her, asking her more questions and stressing her out, unintentionally.  We discussed what trials they had in place, how the research trials work and that is when we found out that there was no guarantee that she would actually get any real medication but could be given a placebo.  After all, they needed to do A/B comparisons to see if the treatments actually worked.  They also shared with us the risks of the medication if indeed she got some, that could have very serious side effects.

I immediately flashed back to a conversation with one of the other couples I met at the Alzheimer's support meeting, that was participating in one of these trials, that the brain of the patient dealing with Alzheimer's had started to swell up due to one of those "side effects".  They ended up having to pause the trial due to this but were going to go back later to try to participate in another trial.

On my way home, all I could hear was mom saying how she did not like going there because they stressed her out with all of the questions.  I remember the traffic being horrible, and it taking almost 4 hours to get home.  We would be expected to make that trip twice a week, every week, with no guarantees mom would get the medicine, would always be put through the battery of tests, would travel about 7 hours round trip, and the risk of having a side effect that could be worse than the journey we were about to face.  Even though we did not truly understand at the time what "that journey" was.

I dropped my parents off at their house and drove home crying all of the way to the point that I almost had to pull over because I could not see from the tears rushing from my eyes.  Wondering what I should do.  How could I put mom through what I just described?  But also, how could I not at least try everything I could control, to help her.  To not try it would be to admit that I would be breaking the promise I made to her that I would take care of her.  That decision was the worst one I have had to ever do in my life and to this day, have not felt grief as much as I did that day.  That is when I came to the realization that my mom was dying and I was helpless to help her.  I called my sisters and said we could not do this.  They all agreed.  I don't believe I slept that night.

Weeks later after the numbness of this decision wore off, though the guilt never does, my attitude towards the road we faced changed.  Our new goal was to make mom our first priority.  To enjoy every moment we had with her. To record every moment we could.  To make laughter our first medicine, along with understanding what medical care we could give her to slow down this disease and most of all, give us more time with her.

That is, until we got the news that dad was diagnosed with cancer in 2011.

Two months today when our grief over mom changed.  1 year, 3 months, 10 days since dad took his last breath.  I miss you both.

Habichuelas Blancas - The Circle of Life

Growing up in a Puerto Rican household I used to always say that Puerto Ricans have as many flavors of beans as Baskin Robins has of ice cream.  The staple Puerto Rican diet consisted of Rice and Beans with a side of meat, be it pork, beef, chicken, cod fish... whatever.  There was a different kind of bean to complement the white or yellow rice and the meat we would have.

The NY Times in a March 1985 article entitled, Puerto Rico's Quite Edge, had this quote: "The delights of lunch, for $6 or $7, on some of the hotel's Puerto Rican specialties - say, onion steak with rice and beans and plantains, followed by a siesta in a hammock on the terrace overlooking the forest - is one reason people who visit Puerto Rico's west keep coming back."

I remember the garden my dad had, where he would grow tomatoes and beans.  Don't remember much else he grew but I am sure there were other things as well.

When I was young, our family went on vacation to Puerto Rico and we happened to be there during the time that the beans were ready to be picked.  I remember sitting on my uncle's porch with my uncle, aunt, parents and cousins helping them peel the beans that had been freshly picked.

It was a tradition that probably goes back hundreds of years there and was common in my house in NJ every year.

Several years after my parents moved down, my dad started growing his garden in the back of his house.  He started with the tradition of tomatoes but quickly figured out that it was way too hot in his back yard with the sun beating down on it from sunrise to sunset.

During one summer, my dad's brother, Tio Confy, came to visit us from Jayuya.  He brought some white beans with him from Puerto Rico and gave them to my dad.  My dad placed the beans in the refrigerator so he can keep them fresh, though dry, with a plan to plant them in his garden the following spring.

Dad planted those beans and low and behold, they took to the sun and produced a fantastic crop.

The pattern repeated itself every year, producing enough beans for dad to share with all of us.  He would also make some great meals with the white beans that he had grown.  Facebook reminded my wife Luisa yesterday, July 1st, of one of those great moments in time. 

In April of 2018, when my dad passed away, we found several bags of beans all neatly separated in the freezer.  5 bags to be exact.  We gave one bag to each family member (my 3 sisters and I) to make a meal in memory of dad.  I also gave one to our cousin Manuel, Tio Confy's son, for him to take home and remember our father with.  After all, it was his father's beans that started that annual event here in SC.

I also found a bag of dried beans along with bags of corn, pumpkins and squash in the refrigerator. All from Tio Confy and the ones dad used to plant his garden every year.

This year, my sisters and I all repeated the tradition in our own respective gardens.

Yesterday, July 1st, 2019, I picked my first beans that I had ever grown.  I've been thinking about the beans for about a month now.  How will I know when they are ready to pick?  Have we given them enough time, for them to mature and not end up with string beans?

I got my answer from Dad in Luisa's post. Exactly 2 years to the day, Dad's post was telling me it is time to pick the beans.  They're ready.

 

When I was a teenager I got sick and tired of eating rice and beans everyday to the point that I complained to my dad, why do we always have to have rice and beans.  Why couldn't we be like the other families and have Pizza, Spaghetti, Chinese food and other stuff.  My dad said because we are Puerto Rican and we have Rice and Beans.  That's our food.

Life is a circle that can repeat itself if we want to.  It is symbol of our traditions, our values, our culture, and our identity.  But just like the beans, we have to plant, water and nurture them to continue those precious traditions.

Thank you Dad for the wonderful tradition, for the memories, for the beans and most of all, for giving us the signal that they were ready to be picked.  Today marks 15 months since you took your last breath.  I miss you.

Reflections of a Father - My Brother-In-Law

Leading up to Father's day, I can't stop but thinking about what kind of Father I am, or at least try to be, and how I got here.  Especially in the past 1.5 years since losing what I was blessed with, and  what I could call, the "Holy Trinity" of Fathers.  My Dad (Rafa), My Father-In-Law (Humberto), and My Brother-In-Law (Miguel).  Each one deserving of a separate tribute to who they were and how they impacted me to become who I am.

My Brother-In-Law.

Miguel was much more to me than just my Brother-In-Law.  Having known him for 38 years of my life, roughly just a year older than I, he was my brother from another mother.  It was amazing how similar we were in all of our views, our priorities and character.

While it may seem strange to the average person why I would specifically choose someone that was more of a brother to me than an uncle in helping me become a better father, my view of becoming a better father was of watching how Miguel was as a son to his own parents, but especially the special relationship he had with his father and grandfather.  Yes he was an amazing father to his three daughters, an incredible grandfather to his grandson Jonathan and I am sure he would been the same for Liam as well.  To my boys, he was an amazing uncle.  But as a son, it was cool to see how he was with his father.

One of the first things I remember when Luisa and I started dating was catching him wrestling with his father on the sofa.  Within minutes, a loud crash could be heard when both ended up on the floor and they continued to horse around, much to the chagrin of Martha yelling "Stop it! Someone is going to get hurt".   At which both would be cracking up.  I was 16 at the time and that left quite an impression on me as I had never seen or experienced that level of horseplay before.

When Miguel would walk into the house or leave, he would hug and kiss his father and it was reciprocated by him.  It was at that moment that I realized that I wanted the same thing between my own father and I.  With Miguel though, it was usually followed up with a little tap on the cheek with his hand, followed at times with "comemierda" and a laugh.

He had a joyous approach to how he showed his affection with his father and grandfather, but he was a pain in the neck with them also.  The constant badgering and pulling of the strings was at times, close to going overboard.  And was it constant.  He was relentless in how much he was jodiendo with them that many times it ended up with his father saying "Pipe, no joda mas!".

But through his efforts, he was able to push them into submission on what he wanted and they would then end up enjoying what he was trying to get them to do in the first place.

For example, one time, Miguel wanted his grandfather (Mipo) to go with us on a several hour trip to see the dog races in southern Florida.  Mipo was not interested in having any of it.  He was having trouble walking and required a wheelchair to get around.  He just wanted to stay home and didn't want to be bothered.  Miguel persisted and persisted until Mipo relented and went with us on the trip.

On the way back, and for the next several years, we would ask Mipo what was the name of the mechanical rabbit that was being chased by greyhounds and he would reply "Here Comes Sparky" and would laugh remembering the good time he had.

It seemed like from that point on, Miguel would visit his grandparents house and immediately get the wheel chair ready to walk his grandfather around the block and Mipo would just go, knowing that he really did not have another option.

His love of life was forced onto everyone, especially his father and he truly had no say in the matter. He was better off because of it as well.

Miguel picked up many of the same habits and customs that he had learned from his father.  Including the parties that he would throw to welcome the New Year.  Miguel and Denise's house was the place to be for that event and nobody would want to miss it.  However Miguel had to throw in a twist every year.  One year we all wore suits, decked out from head to toe.  The next year it was all white.  The following year, we're scrambling to find the best bow tie for the theme that year.  We all put up with his shenanigans because, hey, it was Miguel being Miguel.  And that's who he was.

While most of it was done in jest, the one that stands out was when he made a toast, it would almost always be "To Me" and everybody would crack up.  I copied that in bringing in cakes to my mom on our birthday, opening the door and singing "Happy Birthday to You and Me...".

As an Uncle, he built a relationship with my sons that at times, I have struggled to replicate with my own nephews in some respect.

With Dan, Miguel always treated him with respect and like an adult, ever since he was a little boy.  He saw that about him from beginning and I recall him being tender and kind with him all his life.  When Dan would act up, he would pull him aside and explain to him what he was doing wrong and how he expected him to understand that.  I saw that same tenderness and demeanor with Jonathan and it reminded me of those times with Dan.  The patience he had was inspiring.

Nick was extra special because he was born on Miguel's birthday and from that day on, not only was it the best day of the year, according to Miguel, but it was the "bestest" day of the year, because Nick shared it as well.  Nick also shared his dancing skills.  That's another topic for another post.

Miguel would ask Nick questions like "what is new, what are you up to, how is this and that" and he would genuinely listen, no matter which path the conversation would take.  Nick would be describing some, way out idea he had as part of "a plan".  I would be face palming with my hands during this.  He would then conclude it with an emphatic "All Right, Good Job, Way to go, Absolutely!" like it was the best thing he had ever heard.  To me I would be like, "Miguel, why are you encouraging him to do that?".

To his sister Luisa though, he was one of a kind.  I was honored to witness that true love of a sibling and not the uncomfortable one that many siblings have.  The videos, voice messages, text messages and just the desire to be in touch with each other grew over time, especially when Miguel started to get sick.  But it was clear that this bond was beyond ordinary and one that all siblings should strive to replicate and have.

Miguel demonstrated in his way that by being an amazing son, grandson and brother, you become an amazing father.  One that becomes a role model for other young men to aspire to and older men to respect and mimic.  That was Miguel and from whom I learned so much.

The thought of not having any of my 3 father figures to reach out to anymore causes a sharp pain in my throat and my eyes to fill up every time.  Even as I write this and think about how truly lucky and blessed I am for having been exposed to all of this first hand, I can't help but have profound sadness that this is to be no more.

Thank you Miguel for being my older brother and showing me a different way, the better way, of being a son, an uncle, and a brother to help me become the father that I am.  Life is too short to be serious and you need to leave your mark.

Reflections of a Father - My Father-In-Law

Leading up to Father's day, I can't stop but thinking about what kind of Father I am, or at least try to be, and how I got here.  Especially in the past 1.5 years since losing what I was blessed with, and  what I could call, the "Holy Trinity" of Fathers.  My Dad (Rafa), My Father-In-Law (Humberto), and My Brother-In-Law (Miguel).  Each one deserving of a separate tribute to who they were and how they impacted me to become who I am.

My Father-In-Law.

I first met Miguel Humberto shortly after starting to date Luisa in 1980.  I actually think I met him before that and knew of him but did not really know him until we started dating.  My first real recollection of him was when I went to Luisa's parents house one day and we were sitting on the floor, up stairs in the family (TV room), watching TV, just talking with her mom.  Suddenly I heard a noise, the door open and close, and then footsteps downstairs as her father started to walk through the house to come upstairs.

Luisa and I were embraced in our arms, sitting on the floor, talking with her mother and watching TV when I heard the sounds.  Within seconds of hearing this, I jumped into the air and quickly sat on the sofa, trying to show respect when Luisa and her mother started laughing at me while I hushed them to not embarrass me.  I was so concerned about my first impression and was not interested in him coming in and seeing this creep with his arms around his only daughter.

When he came upstairs, I stood up, extended my hand and shook his.  Needless to say, he asked what they were laughing about and proceeded to embarrass me anyhow by telling him what had just happened.  And that was how they welcomed me into the family.

Almost immediately I saw that it was very different than what I was familiar with.  My first time to a nice restaurant (not McDonald's or the local Chinese restaurant), was with Humberto and his family.  I was quickly embraced as part of their family and the 8 of us, which included Luisa's grandparents, Miguel and his girlfriend Denise would go out every Sunday after church to a nice restaurant to celebrate as a family.  I found myself over there almost every day, not because of the food, though I ate everything I was provided, but because he made me feel at home, like I was one of them.  And had been all along.   It was there that we also learned the value of "family style" Chinese food.  He would buy a bunch of food and share it so that all of us could taste everything.

Because I would always be hanging out there, over time he grew to treat me like a son. Much to the chagrin of his son, Miguel.  Miguel was not so much jealous, but there definitely was a little competitive streak in him that kicked in because I was doing more and more with Humberto.  Miguel was a very finicky eater whereas my pallete was much more adventurous.   I tried everything and that was something that Humberto really appreciated.  Early on, Miguel started to make certain comments, of which his most famous was, "Ralphie, Until you do, I don't".  Humberto and Martha did not like that at all, especially when Luisa made a real stink about it, that he got reprimanded by his parents.

Humberto had a bar in the dining room, that was THE party place.  Every weekend, we would hang out there, listening to music from his amazing record collection, or jokes from one of the 26 Alvarez Guedez albums he had, while we had a drink.  From there, it would lead to dancing in the dining room with all of us, once a great song, like La Murga would come on.  It was amazing to do this every weekend, be together, enjoying each other's company, laughing with and at each other, and really just enjoying life.  That was the thing that amazed me of Humberto.  He lived life for today and not tomorrow.  He worked hard and everything he made, he spent on partying, going out to restaurants, going to Texas to be with his brother around the holidays and just living life to the fullest.  The bar and his house were so revered that almost all of his other friends, including myself, ended up making sure we added a bar to our own places with a party room.  Especially around the holidays, that music was blasting till 1 or 2 in the morning, or at least until the cops came to say that the music was too loud, which did happen at times!

From the beginning, Humberto would call me "Mi hijo", even way before I married Luisa.  It was natural to him to think I was his other son, even if I did come from another set of parents.  There were times that I would reach out to him to talk about the relationship I had with my own father and the frustration I was feeling because we could not connect at a certain level.  I was envious about the relationship he had with his son that I wanted to have a similar one between my dad and I.

When Luisa and I got engaged, he immediately went to his bar and open up a bottle of champagne for us to celebrate even though he did so with tears in his eyes.  Part of it due to his happiness for us but the other part because his precious daughter was taking her next step with me.  She was of course, the quintessential Daddy's girl.  He offered to either pay for a lavish wedding or to give us what he was planning on spending in cash so we can buy a house.  We chose the wedding. The funny part was that after the wedding, Humberto had reserved another place for an after party, with pretty much all of the guests that came to our wedding, to attend so that they can continue partying and celebrating our wedding.  Without us of course.  He had even hired my cousin so he could be the DJ.

A few years after Luisa and I got married, we had saved up everything we could to buy our first house.  We also did it while she was pregnant with our first born, Dan.  What should have been one of the happiest times in my life, was also one of the most depressing and painful because it was so expensive buying our first home and putting everything into it, as well as the expense of having a new child who was born two weeks after we closed and moved into our house, that we could not afford to get our first Christmas Tree.  It cost $35 and that was more than we had in our account, even though both of us had full time jobs.  I cried so much because I felt like I failed and when I told him, his response was to immediately to get in his van, go to the tree farm, while he proceeded to buy our first tree.

Over the years our relationship got even closer.  He never treated me any different than his own son, including insulting me just like he insulted his own son with special phrases that others would find offensive, but it was his manner of bonding.  If I had a nickel for every time he called me "You bitch" or "Mira Pendejo", I could retire.  But most of the times, he would affectionately say "Hello Mi Padre" the moment he saw me and give me a kiss and a hug worth a million dollars.

Trust me.  I would push his buttons as well, walking into his house grandstanding and telling him that he should not bother to get up to help me with the luggage as we had arrived from our 12 hour trip to stay with them.  I would call him regularly and give him crap for not calling me during the week.  His response was that he always spoke with Luisa and asked for me, and that he prayed for me every day.  He said he just knew I was busy and did not want to bother me to which I would reply "yeah, yeah, yeah". To which I would hear the familiar "Mira you bitch" again.  We would then both laugh.

It was that relationship that I had with him that truly helped me form a better and stronger bond with my own father as well as with my sons.  The kind I always wanted with dad when I was growing up and eventually got.

I would go on to establish a similar relationship with my own sons finally understanding that there was more to being a parent that ruled by rule and respect but becoming a confidant and trusted adviser.  The first person you should be able to talk to when you need it most. A parent that would listen as much as preach but would finish up with a hug afterwards, every time.  One that would apologize when recognizing fault.  One that would not be afraid to show affection.  In public.

In the end, I lost my second father on March 11, 2019.  Within a few weeks just shy of a year from losing my own father on April 2, 2018.  Humberto gave me the character and wisdom that led me down a better path towards fatherhood.  He instilled in me that Life is for Living and enjoying the moment and not for reflecting the "what if's" of missed opportunities.  He introduced me to the value of having friends and going out to eat as a family on Sundays after church to be thankful for what we have.  Not just on special occasions.

The value of great music and great food but best of all, the great company, primarily one's own family, that brings and ties it all together.  I will miss the moments of just he and I sneaking out to eat the chicharrones and other things that Martha would tell him not to, because he knew we would both enjoy it.  Moments he shared with just me.

I was there when he took his last breath, holding his hand, kissing his forehead, praying for him like he had done for me for so many years.  One of the most loving, caring and honorable person I have ever met and for giving me my wife of 34 years, his precious "Baby".

I used to tell him that I wanted my money back when there were times that Luisa would push my buttons.  His response was "Listen, you pulled and I pulled.  You pulled and I pulled.  Finally you pulled, and I let go.  It's your problem now."

Rest in Peace Mi Padre and Thank you for showing me the value of family and living for today, for without you, I would not be me.