Recordar es Vivir

I have very few memories of my dad. Although I was five when he passed away, I have no recollections of my time with him, of what he was like, not even of how he looked physically. They say children block out things that they can't cope with.

While growing up I developed an image of him that was shaped by what others told me...that he was a good dad, he was funny, he loved children, that he waited for his little girl to arrive and three boys later he was ecstatic in the waiting room when I was born. They also told me that when I was a baby he used to take me for a walk everyday and nap with me after lunch. I have tried very hard to look within and remember that brief and wonderful time with my dad. People tell me I am so much like him, and I wish I could remember, but I can't.

As I navigate these feelings and vanishing memories, I am disheartened by the fact that I might never be able to remember him. Yet, somewhere in there, meshed with my buried memories, I do remember something; I recollect the sweet, subtle feeling of being loved. In my heart, this love feels like comfort, like an undying point of reference that grounds me when I feel lost and far from my roots, it makes me feel accepted for all that I am, its a sense of protection that has sheltered me long after my dad went away.

There are no guarantees in life; no guarantee that those you love will stay alive, that circumstances won't deprive you of your heart's desires, that memories won't vanish to dust. I know there are no guarantees awaiting me and that I may not remember much, but luckily, I will always vividly remember, feeling loved by my father, Rafael.