FAREWELL TO MY FATHER

Six days ago my father died, the strongest pillar of my original family. God gave him so much health, that he died only 2 months after reaching 90 years.

My mother has also received that gift of life, she has just turned 80 years old, so we have been a fortunate family, because apart from some successful surgical operations, it was practically the first time in so many years, that we saw a close family member leave.

From the first moment I saw everything happen like a movie, I was surprised that my father died so suddenly. I do not think anyone was prepared for it, despite his advanced age.

In that sad short film, I saw that the characters involved reacted so differently, that they even surprised me.

It is not in my mind to give details of the intrigure of our family life, but I write this post with the intention of leaving a useful message for those who read me. That is the ultimate goal when I write most of my publications.

I have always thought that life is a school, and God is the great Teacher. Therefore, nobody leaves this world without learning something.

This unexpected experience taught me, for example, that it is up to each person, before the events of his life, to make an examination of conscience, frank and sincere, in relation to what we did well and what we did less well.

For hours, after the death of my father, I traveled with my mind my relationship with him from my childhood to the present. I was inspired by the idea of ​​writing a poem that summed up a lifetime with my father. Today, thinking about it, I recognize that my relationship with him was not easy, if not complicated. How much I wanted it to be different, but it was not like that.

They say that our disagreements derived from how similar we were. It is possible, because he taught me to say things by his name and not accept what does not seem right or correct. I learned so much that lesson that we faced many times, precisely because of different criteria, and for what I considered nonsense. Even so I wanted it with my soul, and I showed it to him always. In that, I am at peace with my conscience.

This bitter experience led me to reflect a lot on the subject of love. I came to the conclusion that there are two types of love in this world, and that people assume, even without realizing it. I have called them "pagan love" and "silent love".

The "pagan" love is that kind of surface love, that of the many photos on the internet, those that sometimes, even love itself never comes to see, that of the call or the sporadic visit, because there is a birthday to celebrate . The one of the many "I love you", the love of the bank deposit for the shared expense, is a love with affection shown in public, it is a love that seems a beautiful love and it looks like it, it looks nice, it comes loaded with gifts and words beautiful.

It is the love that usually appears on the birthday card, an intermittent love, that seems indifferent, of many farewells and meetings in special events. A love that shines a lot, that makes a lot of noise. That attracts attention and that dazzles. It is the most common love in these times, unfortunately.

And there is another kind of love, which I call "silent love". That does not have so much frost, or drums, or cymbals. It is a love that tires and bothers, a love that gives work, that costs, that makes you sweat. A love that makes you get up early even if you do not want to, because it is necessary, the one that makes you get wet because you have to go out and solve some situation, some problem, the one that carries drinking water because the love is thirsty, the one that heals aches and wounds, He who buys and carries medicines, who prepares and drinks warm soups.

It is a somewhat gray love, because it has neither audience nor applause. It is a love that cares for love, and it deals with it, even if it is not rewarded. A love that so many times hurts, that cries and is disappointed, for having to say what is necessary, for the sake of those who love each other, even if it bothers the claim and earns long faces.

It is a love always present and often ignored. A love that is lived from the effort, which is short in vain words, but abundant actions that sometimes no one knows or recognizes, is a silent love that hurts but goes on. The "silent love" is permanent, it is the love that stays when others leave, it is reliable love, it does not need guarantees; It's the love I want for me when I'm old.

I love that kind of love, and it's the one I want to keep giving to the people I love, it's the love I gave my father, despite our differences, it's the love that gives peace in the conscience, it's the love that It always gives and it never takes away.

I hope people understand that life goes by very quickly, and that there is nothing more satisfying, than knowing that we did our best to make life easier for the people we love. That will last in my memory.

In front of my father's grave, I recited this poem, which sums up my infinite affection for that person who gave me life. I will miss him despite our disagreements, because when a father leaves our side, we can not stop questioning if we could have done much more than what we did. Surely, yes, there is no doubt, however difficult that might be.

Then I present the farewell poem of my father, which I named "Rest in peace, restless adventurer."
The "chusmita" to which I refer in the poem refers to a small and simple sailboat that dad wanted a lot, and with which he ventured several times in the sea, without seeing danger, as if it were a tall ship prestige.