Mira Macario, esta es la humanidad, part II
This is part II of yesterday’s post.
Word had spread that my uncle’s health had deteriorated and a stream of distant family members, friends, & acquaintances were visiting my uncle while my aunt (who used her visa to stay in the Bay Area with him), uncles, grandfather, & (sometimes) dad kept my uncle company. My dad last saw my uncle about a week-and-a-half before my uncle died. It was clear that he would die soon and everyone allowed my dad time alone with my uncle. My uncle was the child before my father, with only two years between them.
On March 2, around 10:30 am, my mom called my cell phone and left a message. I was in class with terrible cell phone reception. The missed call and message did not show up on my phone until around noon, before I had lunch. It was one of those winter days that I really like: cold, with no clouds, only a bright sun warming people. I had already developed a resistance to cold weather and enjoyed walking because the opposing sensations of warm sun & clothes and cold air felt great. Before I walked in to have lunch, I felt my phone vibrate and listened to my mom telling me my uncle had died that morning.
I wasn’t shocked by the news; I knew the day would arrive. We were prepared for this death, but I didn’t know what to feel about his death. My uncle and I were never close and I did not know how I should conduct myself. My family has always held that when someone close is near death or has died, no music should be played. That week, for the first time, I decided not to go to a mariachi performance. I felt that though I was unable to attend the memorial service with my family, not performing would be my way of honoring my uncle. The next time I am in the Bay Area, I want to visit his grave, as a goodbye.
A few days ago, I was looking through old photo albums, trying to find pictures to scan. I came across a series of photos taken a few weeks after my birth. In them, my now-deceased uncle is holding me, smiling.
This is my 200th post.