My father was born in Bayamo, Cuba, in 1941. He was the oldest of twins—being just a few hours older than his fraternal twin, Darwin (actually having been born on the 16th). Despite their completely different personalities--my uncle was the more quiet, noble one, while my father was the more jovial troublemaker—the brothers loved each other. A few years later, his younger sister, Maylia was born.
Growing up in a little town, my father was fortunate to have what was deemed as a privileged upbringing. The family had nannies and housekeepers; he even blamed one of his nannies for his slightly enlarged right ear (a topic which we all made fun of, including him). From the beginning, he seemed to have a mind of his own, and a penchant for skirting around the rules. One of the stories he told me was of his visits to one of his aunts as a boy. She prohibited him from using a slingshot in her backyard and would pat him down before letting him enter the house. Consequently, my father’s solution was to throw the slingshot over the fence and into his aunt’s backyard, before knocking on her front door.
My parents had known each other since the age of 8. At the age of 14, my father asked my maternal grandfather for permission to court my mother; he had made a bet with one of my mom’s older sisters, who didn’t think he would have the guts to do so. He defied the parameters of seeing my mom only once a week, by stealing moments with her at least three times a week. Even my uncle, Darwin, had a hand in their courtship as teenagers, as he serenaded my mom outside her window with his guitar, on behalf of my father. Eventually they married and gave birth to my brother in 1961, followed by my birth a few years later, in 1965.
The political environment in Cuba had changed drastically by then. After suffering deleterious losses, including many freedoms, and as the country leaned more towards a dictatorship, my parents set their sights on America. From what I understood, there were many deterrents for those who wanted to leave the country. One of them was being sent to mandatory labor camps during the interim, while waiting for a travel visa. As punishment for what was deemed unpatriotic, my father was forced to work in what sounded like squalid conditions, burning sugar cane fields for months, and being allowed home visits every so many weeks. My mom, meanwhile, converted old purses into sandals, in order to sell them under the table, since she had been forced to quit her job as a teacher, as punishment for wanting to leave the country. My father helped her in this endeavor whenever he was given permission to return home for a visit.
Arriving in Spain by 1971, with the distant help from my mother’s two siblings in the U.S., they both set off to work. As an usher in a movie theater, which was owned by our landlord, my father made extra tips by neglecting to shine his flashlight on amorous clandestine lovers who took advantage of the darkened theater. (During Franco’s rule in Spain, only married couples could check into hotels, thus, the latter tended to use theaters as “Inspiration Point”). My father told me that he must have seen “The Godfather” about 100 times. We made wonderful friends in Spain, and my father and mother kept in touch with them throughout the rest of their lives.
By 1974, we were able to come to the U.S. My parents began working immediately, the day after they arrived. My father worked as a machine operator for many years, and for a short time after, ran his own automotive oil change shop, until his retirement.
Growing up, I didn’t have a very close relationship with my father, thinking that he was quite the dictator, yet I also saw the part of him that had a big heart. His brother’s struggle with Multiple Sclerosis impacted my father deeply; his constant visits to my uncle, Darwin, in an effort to cheer him up and make him laugh, were nothing short of devotion. I could always see the sadness in his eyes after each visit. It was only as an adult that I understood his parenting style was actually the norm for Cuban fathers of his generation. “Old school”, is how my good friend, Mayuli, explained it to me. The only good thing that resulted from my mom’s passing, was that my father and I grew closer and learned to understand each other.
I remember my father as a man who was intelligent and witty. He made my mom and me laugh so hard at times that we’d get tears in our eyes. Those moments I will forever cherish. I was fortunate to be able to travel with him and my mom on several trips and to have wonderful memories of my parents being fun, generous, and loving. He was an expert at poking fun at any situation, and I remember that it was all we could do, to not laugh during inappropriate times when he made comments under his breath.
My dad’s humor and charm attracted many people. I once asked him, “How is it that you don’t speak English, yet so many people at the supermarket know who you are?” He would just smile. Somehow, he was a master at making fun of people without ever being hurtful; he just made them feel comfortable—enough to poke fun at him in return, and welcome him with open arms, everywhere he went.
My father and I often commented on how lucky he was to have such good friends, including friends and family still back in Cuba. He and my mom were fortunate to have been able to return to Cuba on several occasions. These trips seemed to fill them with joy even as the heartbreak of seeing the changes in the quality of life affected them. They returned each time, motivated even more to plan on another trip so that they could help.
After losing my mom, who had been his life and soul, my dad struggled to enjoy life. Visits from his friends were invaluable. As his health declined, these friends were so supportive that I can’t imagine how things would have been without them. Dr. Beaton, who we now consider part of our family, gave so much time and support that we will forever be grateful. During a time when my dad’s thinking wasn’t very sharp, and Dr. Beaton asked him if he remembered who he was, my dad responded: “I know that you are a grand person and a very noble man”. Hortencia, who gave her life and time for us supported him as much as she could---and he wasn’t the easiest to take care of when he was physically independent: stealing sweets that worsened his diabetes, and sneaking alcohol when it was contraindicated with his medicaments. When Hortencia left, she made sure that we had someone else to assist my dad; Catalina, who also had to police him when she wasn’t laughing with him, took over for the short period that she was available.
My father ended up in the hospital, followed by time a rehabilitation center , which, for him, felt like a prison. That time was a difficult time for us; when he came home, several people saved us, when others in our immediate family made themselves scarce. Ceci, Fausto, and even my ex-sister-in-law, Nikki, made themselves available to try to help take care of my dad until I found somebody permanent. Ceci watched my dad and fed him in between her regular work shifts and taking care of her children. One day, when I desperately needed someone to watch him for one day, I asked Nieves and Rafelito. Nieves, already in her late 80’s, and Rafelito in his 90’s, couldn’t have made it easier to ask for help. It’s hard to explain how much their warmth and open arms meant to me at that time, but I will never forget it.
Noemi took over caring for my father, and my father was now more coherent. He called her “the general”, but my dad was no longer able to get away with his cheating as often as he did before. In time, his health slowly improved.
Then the Covid shutdown occurred. Unfortunately for many, it was a time of much loss and pain. For us, it turned out to be a blessing. The mandatory two-month shutdown allowed me to spend much-needed quality time with my dad. By then he was able to walk again, at times with a cane, at times with a walker. We walked the dogs every day, enjoying the beautiful blue skies resulting from the lack of traffic. We watched “Caso Cerrado” together and fell asleep in our respective couches in the room that we called “The Cinema”. I even tried my hand at cooking, with my dad complementing me on every dish, even when it wasn’t quite up to par (especially compared to my mom’s cooking). I listened to his stories, and absorbed every moment as he recounted anecdotes about his friends and his childhood, and of how he first started dating my mother.
Over time, his energy level decreased, and he ended up getting his pacemaker and defibrillator. Again, human angels around us came to our rescue. Elizabeth, my dad’s friend’s daughter, took care of my dad for one day while I attended a funeral. My dad’s Home Health nurses, Elsy and Luis, who had become dear to us throughout the years, then referred Nadine to us. We couldn’t have asked for a more amazing human being. I was back at work, and my dad’s
health had taken a turn for the worse after his gallbladder surgery. Nadine provided the companionship and caretaking duties that I could no longer provide. One time I came home to find them at the kitchen table doing memory exercises that she had downloaded on her own. She went above and beyond, making sure that he got the best care possible.
Throughout this entire time, my dad’s wonderful friends lifted his spirits by calling him almost every day to check up on him. Friends , including Fernando, Kitty and Graciano, Arturo, Proscopio, Osvaldo, Zoila, even friends from Miami, would often call, even if it was just for a moment to joke around with him. I haven’t even mentioned how many times Proscopio, Elsy, Luis, and Nadine saved my father’s life by relaying my dad’s symptoms to Dr. Beaton and helping me care for my dad in the best way possible.
As my dad’s fluid retention grew increasingly worse, I repeatedly had to ask for help when he got too heavy for me to help him up from a chair or even from the floor. (His weight increased so much during these times that he slid down from the couch when he tried to shift positions; in addition, he would often forget to use his walker). I relied on our wonderful neighbor, Toby, whose strong arms and warm disposition we couldn’t have done without; my cousin, Michael, who frequently helped (“no matter when”) , and my nephew, Chad, who, along with his wife, Sandy, also helped to lift my dad, and to keep my father’s spirits up when we all had to remain isolated. Ruben, my awesome co-worker, also helped us out when we were in a tight spot, and managed to make my dad laugh every time he saw him. Gloria and Fausto, who stopped by to chit chat, and joke with my dad, while keeping the required social distance. Judy and Steve, and Melba and Jose Antonio also provided emotional support and chocolates (yes, we “sinned” once in a while, as Nadine would say). Our neighbors, Mary , Stephanie, and Nori, helped us during tough days, by providing words of wisdom and banana bread which brought a smile to my dad’s face (even though he had to limit his portion).
There is one more person that my father loved that made a big difference in his life: his cousin, Jose, who called every week from Connecticut or Florida and made him laugh every time. They were quite creative when they insulted each other. He and his wife, Ione, have been lifesavers.
I’m sure that I have missed many people, and for that, I apologize. I don’t think that people realize sometimes how much of an impact they have on other people’s lives, and how just a kind word can make a difference in someone’s life. I hope that my father’s love and his influence on your lives have made a wonderful everlasting impact. I miss him more than he could ever imagine, and I hope and pray that he is in heaven with my mom and the rest of his family.
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