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.