No matter how old you are, a child or an
adult, you’re never truly prepared when a parent dies because nothing can prepare you for the magnitude of the loss. My dad died on June 25 and I
still remember the early morning call from my older brother telling me that dad
had died. I don’t think that I will ever forget that morning, that phone call, or my reaction. The only thing keeping me upright in that moment was Moises.
I’ve waited a long time to write this because I didn’t really know if I could without being overwhelmed. A thousand memories have run through my head since my dad died. Some good, some bad
but the predominant feeling that I have when I think about my dad is serenity. An attitude that it will all be ok. I always knew that my dad loved me even when I was a young
teenager fighting to try to find my identity. As I grew older, I
realized that even in the moments that I thought that he wasn't there, he was and as an adult, our relationship flourished through a mutual respect for one another.
After
he died, my brothers and I were there to pick up the pieces of a life left
behind. A man of 86 years was reduced to boxes of paper and a lifetime of
memories. On his desk were momentos given to him by his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. In the place closest to his computer I found a picture set of me from a trip we took to Hawaii when I was just five years old. He used it as a letter holder and tucked away inside were various mementos from me over the years. He had notes I'd written to him, worn and tattered from what were years of folding and unfolding, my business cards from all the jobs I've ever had, and ticket stubs for events we attended together. The loudest
sounds are the things you don’t say to those you love and in that moment all I felt was his fatherly love.
After he passed we received numerous calls and texts sending condolences, all of them kind and thoughtful, but none sticks out in my mind more than a family friend who referred to him as being cool like Sinatra. It made me laugh because it was kind of true. He was fun and brash. He was smart and thoughtful. He was tough but loving. And in
the intervening years, I’m sure that my father will become a man bigger than
life. As we take the tales of his lifetime and spin them into stories to retell to the younger generations of Ledezmas and Linds who were too young to know him before he passed, he will forever and always be Pop.
