By K. Osorio-Teamer
Ten years later and I still think grief isn’t the right word for this. Vast, never-ending emptiness. Yeah, that feels more appropriate. It’s a specific emptiness. Like when you have a craving and only the food you desire will satisfy you. Because if you want Ben & Jerry’s Boom Chocolatta Cookie Core, but Kroger only has Fudge Brownie and Half Baked, those just won’t do. No problem, you go Target and they don’t have it either. H-E-B, Walgreens, Walmart, and Whole Foods let you down, too. The terrifying realization hits you. Did they discontinue the flavor? That’s it, right there. That emptiness is eternal.
And that’s what you were, Papi. The best fucking ice cream flavor. To honor you on your 10th death-aversary, I have compiled my top ten favorite memories of you. I’m definitely going to cry, as I do at anything from a candle commercial to most Pixar movies, but I’ll also smile. Time doesn’t take away the hurt, but it does give you a chance to catch your breath long enough to let the good memories in without so much pain.
- Every single time you picked me up from school or work, you’d turn up Suavemente by Elvis Crespo, take out your work shammy, and proceed to clean the windows of your car and anywhere else a speck of dirt dared to touch your Grand Jeep Cherokee. It wasn’t just a Jeep. It was a GRAND JEEP CHEROKEE.
- When you told me the story of the horse that you loved, but had to give away for financial reasons. You stared at the framed picture of two brown horses Mami had given you to hang in the garage and told me you saw him years later and he recognized you. You didn’t cry, but I saw the sadness in your eyes. That day I learned why you were so reluctant to get us pets. You’d never forgiven yourself for giving away your pet all those years ago.
- I always knew to ask you for things after you’d been drinking. You got real generous after 3 or 4 Budweisers. I asked you for the new Britney CD one evening when Mami wasn’t home, and you drunkenly took me to Soundwaves. Sure, it was child endangerment, but boy, was I giddy as we swerved home with Oops! …I Did it Again in my hands.
- When we watched Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban at the movie theater because my friends bailed on me. You watched a fantasy movie in a language you didn’t understand because I begged you take me. You hated fantasy movies! You always said, “It’s not even real,” but Jean Claude Van Dam or Jackie Chan beating 75 guys at once was definitely believable. Regardless, you took me and even said it wasn’t that bad. Your favorite part was the hippogriff, which you called a chicken.
- Speaking of HP, you took to me to buy the books the day they were released. I didn’t know midnight releases were a thing back then, but on the morning when it was released, you’d take me to Borders or Half Priced Books to get my brand-new copy. You’d ask me what the book was about and I’d tell you Harry Potter and you’d say, “otra vez?” Again? Yes, Papi, again.
- When I was washing clothes at the washateria close to home, and you came to drop off some of your shirts that needed washing. You insisted on staying because it was getting late, but I was on the phone with my boyfriend and didn’t want you listening. I insisted you go home. We both insisted until finally you left. Happy to have won, I kept chatting away with the dipshit I was dating and folded clothes. When I was done, the parking lot was nearly empty except for my little green Nissan and your Grand Jeep Cherokee. You had waited for me despite me kicking you out. You were always there for me, Papi. Ready to protect me even when I didn’t want protecting.
- When I was little, I liked to mess with you. A LOT. You’d come home tired from work, and sit in your chair with your feet up. You wouldn’t even take off your work uniform right away. You’d just sip on your Budweiser and watch a novela or movie in silence. I’d come to sit as close to you as possible and incessantly repeat, “Papi, Papi, Papi, Papi” until you finally turned to look at me and say, “Que, hombre?” What?? I’d reply with an “I love you” and giggles that were probably annoying the shit out of you. I have a kid now so I get it.
- Sometimes when I’d kiss your cheek, you’d make a sound that sounded like a cat screeching and it always made me laugh. You’d laugh, too.
- When my best friend was heartbroken over an asshole that cheated on her, I came to your room to say I was gonna go spend the night with her to keep her company. After hearing how upset she was, you said, “Por ese sapo feo?” For that ugly toad? I laughed so hard, you smiled in surprise. You weren’t trying to be funny.
- This isn’t a real memory. It’s a story many family members have told me. When I was born, you and Mami worked long days. My grandma watched me during the day and apparently, I loved to take long naps (still do), so at night, I’d be up and ready to talk/scream to my loving parents. You would hold me in your arms and sit in a chair until I was quiet. Sometimes you’d hold me all night and sleep in that chair. I think the part that strikes me about this story is that you didn’t really do that with your other kids. Your circumstances were different in the U.S., and you had to take on more responsibility as a father with me. And you fucking killed it. You held me as long as you could. You watched over me and loved me more than I could’ve asked for.
I told you I’d cry.
biSKITs & gravy 