My Father, a Sugar and Chocolate Man (English/Spanish)
A loving greeting to all my friends of Hive, it is a pleasure to write again for this beautiful community The Ink Well especially in its space of creative nonfiction initiative on this occasion I want to share with you a very special story for me, it is quite personal, but writing about these things help me every day to reconcile with each of my stages.
Yesterday was January 19, on that same date but in 2005 at four o'clock in the morning my father passed away in a bed at the Military Hospital in the city of San Cristobal. On the eighteenth anniversary of his death I found among my old things a letter from him, I saw in the sender his name scribbled, his presence at that moment was undeniable.
The letter is from the year 1988, at that time I was 16 years old, I have said it in other occasions, I grew up in a family with three male siblings, I was the only female and the youngest of all. My mother was a housewife, with the privileges of the middle class, my father was a military man, his role in the house was that of provider and authority, as in any patriarchal family. From a very young age I began to see him as a powerful man, surrounded by walls that I could not break through.
He himself was in charge of maintaining that image of Almighty, it was not his fault, from a very young age he was left without parents and had to choose military life as a survival measure. That life of hierarchies, power, authority and discipline hardened him quite a lot; and sometimes he let himself be intoxicated by the power that his rank granted him. All this was expressed in the family sphere through a terrible relationship with his children, he was not very close to me and my siblings, his means of communication was my mother, who served as an intermediary between him and us. For a long time I thought that he did not love me, and consequently I did not love him. That year, thanks to a series of circumstances, I discovered several things about both of us.
My best friend at the time was named Mirny, she invited me to a retreat for young people in El Paramo del Zumbador, this is a wonderful place located on the Trans-Andean highway, in the suburbs of the city. The retreat had some religious connotations, as my friend's mother was involved with several groups of the catholic church. That was not very important to me, my goal was to enjoy with my friend and breathe a different air than at home. The meeting lasted three days and I fully enjoyed it, I never imagined that I would learn so many things that I still practice today, now much more mature with the years.
The last day of the retreat the dynamic was very particular. The organizers of the meeting had asked our parents to write us a letter, which they sent to the place where we were. Shortly before handing us the letter from our parents, we were led to imagine that our parents had died in an accident. That idea was very painful for me, even though my mother also died imaginary, I concentrated all my pain on my father, I guess because I had a very good relationship with my mother, but with my father I experienced a sense of guilt, fear and helplessness of not having told him what I felt, of not having done with him what I wanted to do.
Just as we were reflecting on the idea of losing our parents, the organizers handed us their letters. I remember that I cried a lot reading Dad's letter, his tender words "...You can't imagine how much we have missed you, although I am sure you have felt the same... we only long for these days to pass quickly to have you back among us, although I can swear that spiritually we accompany you in every act of your life..." I had never felt Dad so tender and close, I could hear his voice while reading his words, I can still hear him mentally after so many years.
That experience helped me to adopt the idea that my father was a sensitive and vulnerable human being, and that contrary to what I believed, we loved each other. That Dad had his own particular way of loving me and that I had to build my own way of loving him. I matured that idea as I grew up, and by the time Dad died my relationship with him had grown and matured so much that his absence still hurts me.
In '88 things happened that made me reconcile with him, imagining his absence, feeling his mortality helped me connect with him. Seventeen years after that experience, the nightmare came true and Dad left us. Yesterday on the anniversary of his departure, with his letter in my hand, I allowed myself to remember his beautiful life, because in the end this is what these dates are for, to remind us that the people we love were alive at some point, that they existed and filled our existence with theirs.
In the letter daddy said goodbye saying "He bids farewell to your sugar and chocolate father, who loves you with the greatest and best pure love" I treasure those words and I think that's the same way he said goodbye to me when he left this life.
Original content by the author.
Resources: Tablet ZTE E10Q
Own photos
Translated with Deepl.com
All Rights Reserved || @jetta.amaya// 2022
Mi padre, un hombre de azúcar y chocolate (Ingles/Español)
Un saludo amoroso para todos mis amigos de Hive, es un placer escribir nuevamente para esta bella comunidad The Ink Well sobre todo en su espacio de creative nonfiction initiative en esta ocasión quiero compartir con ustedes una historia muy especial para mí, es bastante personal, pero escribir sobre estas cosas me ayudan cada día a reconciliarme con cada una de mis etapas.
Ayer fue 19 de enero, en esa misma fecha pero en el año 2005 a las cuatro de la mañana mi padre falleció en una cama del Hospital Militar en la ciudad de San Cristóbal. En el dieciochoavo aniversario de su muerte me encontré entre mis cosas viejas una carta suya, vi en el remitente su nombre garabateada, su presencia en ese momento fue innegable.
La carta es del año 1988, en ese momento yo tenía 16 años, lo he dicho en otras ocasiones, crecí en una familia con tres hermanos varones, yo era la única mujer y la menor de todos. Mi madre era ama de casa, con los privilegios propios de la clase media, mi padre militar, su rol en la casa era de proveedor y autoridad, como en cualquier familia patriarcal. Desde muy niña empecé a verlo como un hombre poderoso, rodeado de muros que yo no podía atravesar.
Él mismo se encargaba de mantener esa imagen de Todopoderoso, no era su culpa, desde muy joven se quedó sin padres y tuvo que escoger la vida militar como medida de supervivencia. Aquella vida de jerarquías, poder, autoridad y disciplina lo endureció bastante; y en ocasiones se dejaba embriagar por el poder que su rango le concedía. Todo esto se expresaba en el ámbito familiar a través de una terrible relación con sus hijos, era poco cercano conmigo y mis hermanos, su medio de comunicación era mi madre, que servía de intermediaria entre él y nosotros. Durante mucho tiempo pensé que él no me quería, y por consecuencia yo no le quería a él. Aquel año, gracias a una serie de circunstancias, descubrí varias cosas sobre ambos.
Mi mejor amiga en ese momento se llamaba Mirny, ella me invito a un retiro para jóvenes en El páramo del Zumbador, este es un lugar maravilloso ubicado en la carretera trasandina, en los suburbios de la ciudad. El retiro tenia algunas connotaciones religiosas, pues la madre de mi amiga estaba involucrada con varios grupos de la iglesia católica. Eso no fue muy importante para mí, mi objetivo era disfrutar con mi amiga y respirar un aire diferente al de mi casa. El encuentro duro tres días y lo disfrute plenamente, no imagine que aprendería tantas cosas que aún en la actualidad práctico, ya mucho más maduras con los años.
El último día del retiro la dinámica fue muy particular. Los organizadores del encuentro le habían pedido a nuestros padres que nos escribieran una carta, la cual nos hicieron llegar hasta el lugar donde estábamos. Poco antes de entregarnos la carta de nuestros padres, nos hicieron una visualización guiada con la que nos condujeron a imaginar que nuestros padres habían muerto en un accidente. Aquella idea fue muy dolorosa para mí, a pesar de que mi madre también moría imaginariamente, concentre todo mi dolor en mi padre, supongo que porque tenía muy buena relación con mamá, en cambio con mi papá experimente una sensación de culpa, de miedo y la impotencia de no haberle dicho lo que sentía, de no haber hecho con él lo que deseaba hacer.
En el instante en el que nos encontrábamos reflexionando sobre la idea de perder a nuestros padres, los organizadores nos entregaron sus cartas. Recuerdo que llore mucho leyendo la carta de papá, sus tiernas palabras “…No te imaginas negra como te hemos echado de menos, aunque seguro estoy que tú has sentido lo mismo… solo anhelamos que estos días pasen veloces para tenerte nuevamente entre nosotros, aunque te puedo jurar que espiritualmente te acompañamos en cada acto de tu vida…” nunca había sentido a papá tan tierno y cercano, podía escuchar su voz mientras leía sus palabras, aun lo escucho mentalmente después de tanto años.
Esa experiencia me ayudo a adoptar la idea de que, mi padre era un ser humano sensible y vulnera, y que contrario a lo que creía si nos queríamos mutuamente. Que papá tenía su forma particular de amarme y que yo debía construir mi propia forma de amarle a él. Fui madurando esa idea conforme fui creciendo, para cuando papá murió mi relación con él había crecido y madurado tanto que su ausencia todavía me duele.
En el 88 pasaron cosas que me hicieron reconciliarme con él, imaginarme su ausencia, palpar su mortalidad me ayudo a conectarme con él. Diecisiete años después de aquella experiencia, la pesadilla se hizo realidad y papá nos dejó. Ayer en el aniversario de su partida, con su carta en mi mano, me permití recordar su hermosa vida, porque al final estas fechas sirven para esto, para recordarnos que las personas que amamos estuvieron vivas en algún momento, que existieron y llenaron nuestra existencia con la suya.
En la carta papá se despidió diciendo “Se despide tu padre de azúcar y chocolate, que te ama con el mayor y mejor amor puro” atesoro esas palabras y pienso que así mismo se despidió de mi cuando dejo esta vida.
Contenido original del autor.
Recursos: Tableta ZTE E10Q
Fotos propias
Traducido con Deepl.com
Todos los derechos reservados || @jetta.amaya// 2022
This is trully touching and inspiring. I myself had difficult relationship with my father when I was younger, but now it's been better. I'm happy that you and your father became closer before it was too late. This is a reminder to everybody to make the effort of showing our love to people that matter the most in our life before we are robbed of the chance.
What I experienced in that retreat made me reflect and manifest my love towards my father, it was very dry but I understood him, I saw him with different eyes. And you are right, we have this life to value our loved ones and show all the love, and when they are not physically there is no use?
Thanks for visiting my post. Best regards.
Hello @jetta.amaya, a beautiful and touching story of your late dad. We believe that letter might be one of your most valuable possessions, and rightly so. It's great that you have fond and distinctive memories of your dad while reading the letter. It's great that you were able to reconcile your feelings with him, and realised that his distant approach might have had a lot to do with his military stance.
Thank you so much for sharing your story with us, and we would appreciate any feedback and engagement from you to other young aspiring authors on their stories in the community.
Have a lovely weekend:)
I am grateful to this beautiful community that allows me to share my little treasures, and to commemorate with you this day so important to me. My father was an exemplary being and now that I am an adult I value his inheritance in values, which for me is more precious than any wealth.
It is a pleasure and an enormous responsibility to comment to other writers in this community which I do with great pleasure.
I wish you a happy weekend.
This is a very touching story. I am happy that your father sent that letter. It was the turning point in your relationship. Now you have a keepsake and something to treasure along with the memories. Thanks for sharing your heart warming story of your sugar and chocolate dad.
Yes, this letter marked a before and after in our relationship, it is one of my greatest treasures. Thank you for visiting my post. Best regards.