Monday, July 20, 2015
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
My Story Begins Here . . .
In my attempt to report well and true of this world, I find I cannot do so without telling my own story as I go telling you about the world as I see it. I need to set these words very carefully yet be brave in the telling of this tale, which is all about love and loss. Like all of us, the lives we lead are from different vantages, you will no doubt see much of your own yearnings and experiences. I hope you enjoy it and love it, not because the words set down may be beautiful or because you want me to feel good. I hope you love it just because it resonates in your heart, mind and soul. I only hope my simple catharsis will teach me to again love truly and well. As I write this, I am filled with too much heartache and loss recently in myself . . . a man I don’t even know anymore.
Don’t fret dear reader, It’s not like I am going to begin this with my birth, I will only go as far back as my father’s illness and his death and through my own suicide attempt and bring it all rushing up to what’s going on now.
Many of you reading are my friends, acquaintances and my business associates . . . fancy word for co-workers. Don’t be surprised to find your name put down here for the millions, (ahem . . .) to read.
After finishing my bachelor’s degree at Fresno State, I was on my way to San Diego to join the sports staff at the Union Trib. When I received a call from my mother. Yes, the same mother who no longer talks to me or even wishes me a happy birthday. She must have her reasons, but as of yet, she hasn’t told anything to me.
She called me and I remember being at the beach that morning indulging in a burrito. The day was overcast, as it was January. She asked me to come to live with her and my father in Virginia. My dad was slowly dying from complications of diabetes and a broken heart. The diabetes was from years of too many treats snuck into his mouth. He always thought he could just will himself well.
He couldn't.
Now I also know the same tribulations having inherited this deadly killer of Hispanics. I can imagine the hell my dad went through as a construction worker and life long workaholic. The hands and feet go numb, you can’t see, sweating as you eat because the all-mighty blood sugar isn’t in check. How he kept going, I will never understand but I will always admire his strength in the face of this terrible disease.
The broken heart came from the violent end of his time in Virginia. My sister Susan informed my mother that she and her husband Roger were getting a divorce and that our mother and father would have to leave, as they were selling the house.
Everyone in the family figured this was typical of Sue, But Roger? He was more a part of our family than my sister, or even I was for that matter. My father loved and doted on Roger, who didn't want this separation. I guess it's all part and parcel of the Aguilar madness, because I still don’t know what she was thinking.
Anyway, back t0 the beach and the burrito. I listened to my mother and wondered suspiciously why she was calling me? My father and I were close, but not so with my mother, who I knew called my sister Rosie and my brother Mike. She only told me I was the only one she called.
What is it all good journalists say? If your mom says she loves you, check it out.
I did.
She had indeed called Rosie who was married and living in San Francisco. She couldn't because it would be a major life change and etc..
My brother could not for the some reason or other. I was single and seemingly had nothing better to do, I guess she thought. I had worked with physically challenged people at Easter Seals Camp, so I did have experience bathing, feeding and generally caretaking people, so what the hell? I was going to be there for my dad no matter what anyway. Besides, moving to an exciting new place like Washington D.C. might be good for me, Right?
Right?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
