Dear Tío: son las cosas pequeñas
Hola Tío,
When you first came to stay with us I had this expectation that your presence was going to match my Dad’s. That somehow hugging you would feel like hugging him, engaging in conversation or just creating memories would remind me of the simple times that I took for granted.
As days turned into weeks, I started to realize that you’re nothing like my dad. (I have a point, I promise)
Growing up, I always thought of my Dad as a hardworking, heroic man who could face any kind of challenge and remedy life’s inconveniences. While that still rings true, the way I view him now has changed, in a full circle, I desperately miss my dad and everything about him (kind of way).
For years, my Dad always did the saving. From holding my hand so I could walk over the unique configurations of rocks on the outskirts of the beach, to letting me cry on his chest, boogers and all, whenever my heart felt heavy—my Dad always knew what to say, what prayer to give, and what eye would leak tears first.
As I got older, my Dad shifted from being a hero to becoming simply human; a human who has a love for his cats and dogs and greets them first before any person within a mile radius.
A human who loves to indulge in seafood and desserts.
A human who is a believer—one who visits a chapel more often than a grocery store.
And a patchwork of all the things I love; reading, fighting, crying, loving, forgiving, learning and holding onto hope, this cosmic and magic essence of something that can only be felt in one’s bones.
So it’s safe to say that I did set the expectations of your stay very high.
When you first arrived in November, I remember it being cold, you wore a snapback, a cross necklace tucked close to your neck and you carried a black tiny backpack.
I thought to myself, I can’t believe you're here under these circumstances.
We shared a lot of heavy and powerful moments together. Like the time we sat on that wooden bench in front of the marina. The fresh breeze filled our lungs, the coolness of the air finding its way under our sweaters and grazing the skin. Fog was spread throughout the sky, but colors of the sun setting were still visible; yellow, orange, grey and blue. We sat in silence, I had my arms crossed and I began to cry, one stoic tear at a time, gritting my teeth and finding words in me to express how grateful I was that you were there.
Looking back, most of that memory is numbed out by lots of pain and loss, but truly Tío, I do not know what we would’ve done without you being here.
From helping my mom break the situation to grandma, to comforting us all through prayer, company and insightful stories, you never gave up believing in justice and in God. You gave my mom prayers when she didn’t have the right words, you gave my brother laughs and bickering discourse when he didn’t have my dad around to do so, and you gave Bella her first driving lesson and shared bonding moments with Josh, welcoming him to the family as my Dad once did.
Every tear wiped, tissues passed and tight grip of a hug, you slowly began mending the gapping wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding when you first arrived. Every “uh huh” after a powerful sentence, and “Ges?” after you managed to successfully remember a word in English– little by little I began to see that you’re the beacon of hope for the whole family.
You serve as a lighthouse, shining a bright ray of light in a trial of discomfort, grief and righteous anger.
All the times you wanted to cry you turned on a candle, all the times you wanted to yell you closed your eyes in silence, and all the times you wanted to break through the window in that dark room of G2 you consistently gave my Dad love, support and solidarity. “Que estoy aquí contigo. Yo te quiero como tu hermano y no te vamos a dejar. Te animo, y ten esperanza en el señor.”
I’ll never forget my first birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas without my dad. I’ll never forget sitting at the kitchen table with you, me, Grandma, and my mom; a candle lit, an open Bible, a rosary, salt, a bottle of holy water, and a phone between us—my dad’s voice still alive on the line as we prayed together.
You never gave up on my Dad, you believed his truth just like we all do, and saw the situation for what it was and what it is : dire defamation and spiritual warfare.
Spending time with you and my Dad’s siblings made me realize that you are all still the same four kids just in slightly bigger bodies. You showed me kindness instead of aggressions, patience instead of fear and love instead or resentment.
Te quiero mucho, tío; ahora entiendo por qué mis abuelos te pusieron Jesús.
