The last look?

Logically, since my father passed away, I have not stopped thinking about what it implies or means and what death leaves behind. Being in the house where he had lived his last years, the inevitable was present: to see him in every corner, to await his arrival as not so long ago, to still feel his scent, to get his things together without feeling his absence, or embrace his clothes waiting for his affectionate hug back. His huge collection of Long Plays, as well as his books and plans, or his huge photographic records are the evidence of how he had grown in size and wisdom from childhood until his last days. Each one of his belongings told us who he was, and at the same time they seemed to deepen his absence.

When the spate of memories became unbearable, I naively left his home, to try to forget him. It was an impossible mission, because just as in his house, out of it there was also reason to see him. My father was a very active person, so every corner of the city of La Paz ​​was reason to remember him; his university where he lived and gave his best years, his office, the stadium where he lived as a true fan, his favorite restaurants, the Plaza Murillo where he would read the newspaper so many times or where he would have his shoes polished, churches in which his faith grew, shops where he bought his magazines, the record store, the school where he studied, the house where he was born and grew up ... Maybe what I am trying to explain seems crazy, but even seeing older or young people, was a reason to remember him ... I suppose that I am still unable to understand or accept his absence...it is not true that time heals all wounds!

The good thing about all this was that being with my mother and my brothers, living for a few days in the same house like when we were kids, we started remembering my father's way of being, anecdotes that my mind had already forgotten, his peculiar humor, and in the end, all of us could only see the good things about him. Obviously, there were some not so positive things; that being said, time showed us that my father did the right thing and / or the best he could.

I naively believed the Chinese proverb: eyes that see no heart, do not feel (out of sight, out of mind), so I thought that when I returned to Spain, that pain that my heart occupied in all this trance, would diminish; but on the contrary, I discovered that my dad is in me and it's hard for me to accept that the person who I loved a lot and who loved me most in this world... is no longer ...

Many say life goes on ... and that makes me depressed, because for me life is not the same anymore, at least right now, so I do not feel the same and of course I am not the same person. I can not hold back the tears coming to my eyes in the most unexpected places and situations.... I guess I am stuck with what they call sadness ...