Hi, it’s me again. Let’s just say this has become my journal and for the next few days I will be sharing with you all kinds of things that are going on inside my head. I can’t sleep right now and it seems that I can write whatsoever comes to my mind in the next couple of minutes. It’s about 12:45am already Saturday. What can I do. Was it too much coffee late tonight? Is it the fact that my dad is not doing as he would in times past? Or am I just simply forcing myself to stay awake in a whim hoping I can write something worthy of your attention. I know we spoke on this yesterday, or should I say only a couple of hours ago, but I am reaching here. Writing. Let’s see, my day was a bit hazy yesterday. I stayed at the hospital Thursday night and I couldn’t sleep either, not because I didn’t want to. It seemed that they came in to see my dad every hour. I wasn’t there for leisure, I was there to help and watch over him. So, I woke up every single time. My dad is and always has been a very strong man, but seeing him in this situations doesn’t fit. It’s like, he’s somebody else. Somebody that was willing to take one for the team. Someone that decided he was going to deal with what ever came his way..
It’s hard to imagine that someone as serviceful and hard working man as himself could face something of this nature. As long as I’ve known him, he has been working, always finding ways to make a living. He has a way of thinking of ways to solve problems in the most unconventional ways. His trust in the Lord has kept him going, specially after all he went trough before he got saved. The story goes that he was an alcoholic and got into an accident and in a not so coincidental circumstance, the doctors gave him an ultimatum. He had to stop drinking or he would die. So he turned to Jesus. Gave his life to the Lord, and never looked back.
We moved a lot, and as I grew up I noticed it more and more. Not knowing the reasons, nor do I think I ever found out why. It all really began when We moved here to Florida from Guatemala in the cold Month of December of 1983. I was 7 years old. It felt like everything was new. Oh! the nostalgia I feel every time I hear a madonna song or Michael Jackson’s “Billy Jean”. How about Stevie wonder’s
“I just called to say, I love you” Always takes me back in a big way.
Anyway, like I was saying. We moved quiet a few times, from schools, Apts., even churches. The only thing I perceived and understood was that it was for our own good. He was looking out for his family. I began working with him in the weekends cutting grass, then that lead to afternoons after school, which mades us come home from school, eat something quick, get ready to go when he got home at 4:30pm. We probably only did one house clean up. But it was sufficient for me to dislike the process and the labor of lawn service, of which I am now the sole owner of the company my dad began in those days. Interesting I may say the least. Out of all my brothers I decided to stay with him through the years and work with him.
It wasn’t easy at first. Leaving school early and dropping out just meant that I would go full time with him at a ripe young age of 17. For the past 7 years I had done it part time, but my time had come, and like an old school papa. He made me work with him. I never stopped till this very day. Almost 41 and still have accounts that pay him, just like the good old days.
I didn’t understand him at all at first. We had intense moments of communications every day, which translates to fighting arguments. Never did I want to pursue this business, but I love my dad. I stayed because I saw something in him that now I am so grateful for. His endurance. His energy. His joy. It still is contagious. So I wonder why he is going through all this? Maybe it’s a test of his resolve. He never backed down from a fight. Trust me, I’ve heard stories and I even saw one back in 1981 in the corner of our “barrio”. I saw him hit a guy twice his size, and hear everyone cheering for him, was simply amazing to me. Really a larger than life character. So in closing for today, I really think he deserves his story to be told, and as I write about him in this couple of pages, I can certainly say that he is my hero. He is a man, that I learn to love. In spite of his temper and crankiness and indisputable yet sometimes bogus arguments. I wouldn’t trade him for anything.
I am believing God for his full recovery, but I also have to surrender to His will and sovereignty. God knows best, he knows what my dad can handle, and even though, it feels like it doesn’t fit the story line, there is a deposit of faith that is carrying our whole family through, and we will see that the best of heaven is reserved for my dad, I know it. Our God is too good. And my dad, well, he is a fighter, he will be here until he is called. And I will thank God with all my heart because he didn’t take him 39 years ago, I wouldn’t have met him, and certainly I wouldn’t be the man that I am with out him today. Maybe I will be an extension and take his legacy to new levels…