That’s how I remember dad saying his birthday when asked. It was always cute to hear him say that at Walmart when picking up his medicines. One day, when I was there, I had to say it and the person behind the counter asked if my dad was ok. He was not. He was feeling really bad and needed for me to pick up the medicine. Little did I know that just a few months later I would lose him.
The lady behind the counter, roughly late 40’s, early 50’s, told me that she loved his accent. She loved how proudly he stood when he would say his name and his birthday. It was so romantic she said. It was. He was a proud hispanic person and at 81, was still going strong until one day, he wasn’t.
Today is dad’s birthday. It is the first birthday we celebrate without him. It’s a rainy day and has been raining all week. Including at his house where he would always complain that it doesn’t rain and that it was like a desert. Dry, hot… It never rains. Especially when he had planted stuff outside.
In the past 5 days, it has rained almost 5 inches. I can see dad up there trying to fix the problem. Probably opened up the big garden hose and said "let it rain, have to water the garden. It’s too hot down there". Um, Dad - That’s enough rain for now. Please stop.
It’s the simple things we miss about him. The way he would swing back and then forth to get momentum, push the leg rest on the recliner until it clicked, and stand up in fell swoop. Just so he can give me a hug and a kiss when I walked in.
The way that he would call me to tell me not to rush about lunch but that it was ready. It was also 10:30am by the way. The way that we chit-chatted about this and that. Nothing too complex where it would require a lot of thought or deep conversations, but we would cover a lot of topics in our conversations.
The papers that he would receive or voice calls on the answering machines that he wanted me to review. So I can help interpret what it was all about and if we had to do anything.
The constant videos he would show us on his tablet that would come across. Which towards the end, was a video we had already seen. He also showed it to all of us and we would all warn each other through text messages that Dad had come across a new video that someone posted. So, watch out, he’s waiting for you so he can show you. We would say to each other.
One day, I walked in and he was livid, practically screaming at someone on the phone, cursing at the person on the other side, saying to the person that he wished very bad things for him. It was so unlike his character. Finally when he hung up, I asked who was that and what was that about. He said it was a crank call and he was just having fun with him. However dad was definitely bothered by the whole thing as it was the 3rd time this person had called. I ordered a call blocker and that solved the problem from that point on.
I would always walk in, assess the situation, and deal with it. Such as the leaky faucet, running toilet, water filter in the fridge… Every Saturday, it was may day to do that.
On his birthday, I would walk in with a birthday card and a gift. Usually a shirt, since most of his were stained by his cooking, or bleached because he would mix the colors and whites in his wash resulting in a white chlorine streak on a blue shirt.
Every Saturday, I would have lunch with him. Most of the times he would make it but towards the end, I was making it. I would make him lunch and take out the dinner to unfreeze it so that one of my sisters that would come later in the evening, could cook it for him.
Today is Saturday and the first birthday after losing him. Later this afternoon, two of my sisters and I will go to the cemetery to say happy birthday. To listen to his voicemail messages that I recorded to my phone so we can hear his voice.
The Mollejitas are ready.
To feel the sadness overcome us that we do not have those simple moments. Moments that we have had for about 10 years since he moved down to be with us. Moments that are starting to fade in our memories until something triggers them. Like his birthday, today.
Dad, I miss you more than I would have imagined. The pain in my throat, that feels like a sore throat is of this sadness of not having you around to talk. To do the simple things we did every Saturday.
Yes I know that you are not suffering anymore and yes I know that you are with your parents and other loved ones that left this earth before you did, or after. But I struggle to overcome the sadness I feel of you not being here so I could wish you a happy birthday and have lunch with you.
Today, on Two Twenty-Three, Two Thousand-Nineteen. What would have been your 83rd birthday.
Happy Birthday dad.
Here are the links to his voicemail and his 81st birthday.
https://1drv.ms/u/s!AiRrLD9nwgZrhuNK9f6XTsv8yZoZrA
https://1drv.ms/v/s!AiRrLD9nwgZrhuNLGx5jjOyfkaYv1A
