For months I thought about what will I write in this blog. My dad is dead and I wanted to make him justice, by writing something meaningful while at the same time being really what I felt on the moment. I don't wanted a rehearsed document to attest love. Never wrote a line under that premise, never held on phrases.
My dad died at 22:35, two days ago. I saw it. He died in peace, while sleeping. I can recall it from heart as I didn't wanted to face reality. I will skip the details, because they don't matter. I know that, but I remember them nonetheless, no matter how I feel about holding on meaningless details.
When the doctor said it, I got into denial. And I knew I was under that phase. I forked. Two personalities coexisted. And I knew it was wrong but human. One cried and couldn't work at all in a mental fetal position. "This is not happening." The other took control and peacefully put up with the situation. "This situation won't mark me. I will will myself a strong man."
The rest of the night and yesterday... I think, I got it under control. My mother and brother needed a shoulder and I provided. Julio told me, he believes myself stoic. I didn't want to discuss it, but no, I'm not. Just someone had to be calm. Wait. That's bullshit.
Most of my family took the news well. My mother worked as usual. She was like that when her parents died each one years apart. By "work", I mean she acted normal-like but not letting her guard down at all. I suppose I'm just following her modus supervivendi :p
Anyway, I want to talk about my father. I want to write his biography, but I can't. His life was too hard to put it here and be just entertainment. I want my sons to know him, but not strangers. What do I know about my granddads? Not much, and I wasn't very interested in them. So it follows that my sons probably won't.
My dad lived for 61 years and got a happy life despite life itself, which was rude to him as if he wasn't important to the world. I have a great life thanks to him. He was the father he never had. He is the reason I'm idealist despite bad news. He was no saint, but his love had no limit. Not once had I thought about not being loved in my life. How could I?
My dad was just like my brother in every sense. Or vice versa. And I can't tell more about that.
My dad was aesopic. I learned so much from him.
My dad was a firm believer in that you can learn from others. That people can be whatever they want if they fight enough.
...And I hold tons of things to say.
Anyway, I'm proud of being Guillermo Alcántara. I'm proud of knowing him, of having told him so many times how much I loved him and of always getting his response "I love you more". He is gone and not for a moment I believe he continues to be in heaven or some other place, because what I had was so beautiful. I don't regret anything for I lived with him as best as I could. And that was his last gift to me. He grew me wise enough to live without him for he loved me so much to make me a Man of Will.