Richard David González

On November 29 we celebrated your birthday, each of us visiting in quiet acknowledgement, a vigil to your birth, angel dear, among us. Three little ones sang Happy Birthday to their grand-uncle, sweetly laying in his semi-conscious slumber, seconds away from Heaven, minutes away from Earth.

You were born six years after me. You never looked like all the ordinary babies around us. I climbed up to see you in your crib and I didn't recognize you. I thought you would be drinking chocolate milk from one of my mother's breasts, and vanilla from the other, but you never did. You couldn't drink or suckle. You were spoon-fed from the time you were born, until you were six. Your diapers were changed for as many years as well.

Now, again, you eat from a spoon, often with closed eyes, enjoying the gourmet meals our sister prepares lovingly just for you, pureed to a gourmet consistency as your earth-bound body becomes smaller and leaner. And now, again, your soiled diapers are quickly changed. Your curled eyelashes sparkle with tiny pearls of moisture, pearls adding to the weight of your too heavy eyelids, peeping open only to see those of us around you, hoping for a chance smile from your cherubic face.

We learned and witnessed true joy of life as you played your drums, practicing the beat and rhythm on your set, with drumstick pencils, chanting, singing, humming melodically, now more clearly following an ancient tune, more ancient perhaps than we'll ever know or understand. These were your quiet moments in your room, followed by your endless patient practice of calligraphy, writing all our names, your favorite TV shows and characters, the next football game and boxing matches.

Then the drill continued with your ever obsessive collection of badges; police, firemen, security guards, sheriffs, all the metallic emblems of the world were not enough to satiate your appetite for those “stinking badges”. We collected the best of the best for you, and every day with endless care and patience you chose a different one, reviewed how best to attach it to your shirt, as the public officers wear them, or attached to your card holder, more like a private detective. Although your school chums took a few, maybe more, there was an endless supply coming in for your approval and from many; siblings, cousins, nephews, nieces.

Your sweetness and charisma were ever present, making all laugh and enjoy life with you, from slick dance moves, to imitations of daffy duck, porky pig, bugs bunny, the roadrunner and the three stooges. You won Special Olympic medals and bowling trophies. You stole Mama’s roses for your sweetheart on the bus to school. But you stole all our hearts too. We laughed with you and were always encouraged when you saw our worried faces by saying, "I'm all right", forever assuaging our concerns. Even so, when we sneezed, you were there with tissues. You even helped bring Mamá and Papá their medicines and evening snack, always aware of their schedules.

You were part of the beat of the home, and then the home adapted to your beat as well, as streams of people came for your care.

Your 59 years have come and gone in a second. Nephews, nieces, neighbors and playmates became parents and grandparents, replenishing more matured playmates with young ones who always asked about you, were curious, and deeply desirous of your toys and playthings.

To be a child forever is who you are and how God made you, bringing you among us to learn unconditional love, forgiveness, tolerance and joy. You were never weighted down by judgment. Thank you, Ricky, Our Little Drummer Boy, for living among us and giving our lives special meaning, more than we will ever understand, until we join you with Papá, our tíos and tías and those who watch and guide us everyday.

— In your honor from your sister, Licha © Dr. Alicia Maria González