Spider-Man. Knowing who you’re reading about, chances are you smiled. Joe was our Spider-Man from actually saving lives as a firefighter to offering to help a friend or family member in need. This hero was an awkward and at times sarcastic individual that did not like the limelight. He protected his community, his friends, and his family without the need for thanks. After spending time with him, one couldn’t help be drawn to his compassion and humor. Am I still talking about Spider-Man or Joe? That’s the point.
But, of course, Joe was his own person.
He was a son to parents Maria and Felipe that loved him as much as he drove them crazy. He was a little brother to two siblings, Gabe and Natalie, that claimed he was the favorite in the family when they themselves knew he was their favorite too. Though Joe spoke in slow, broken Spanish, era Mexicano because when he got drunk, Joe sang Vicente Fernandez songs. He was there for the boisterous quinceañeras, weddings, birthday parties, and gatherings where his family teased him for his reserved nature but loved him all the same.
Joe had another family. He was a brother among firefighters and paramedics. They came to learn that this quiet individual came with subtle quips and mischievous side-eyeing. As said by his shift, Joe got them “fat.” He cooked for them, and though he never said it, it was his way of showing his affection. As a firefighter, he came home exhausted and smelly, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He knew he was going to play with firetrucks forever.
This was who my husband was. He was quiet and a riot. He was humble and sarcastic. He was caring and impish.
And he was loved.
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