My father died when I was 7-years old. He was only 47-years old when died from complications associated with his muscular dystrophy. It was a cold and rainy Wednesday morning in mid-August; it’s winter in the Southern Hemisphere. I had gone to school that morning as usual. Suddenly, a priest came and told me that I had a phone call from my mother. She told me to come home as my father had died. It was certainly not unexpected for her; and I didn’t have a clue as to what death meant. Our next-door neighbor, the doctor, came to pick me up, and took me home.
My father died at 9:00 o’clock in the morning. Mom told me that his last words to her were about me: “Don’t tie him to your apron; don’t put him under your skirt.” He had wanted to be a naval officer, as he admired the Royal Navy, and the Chilean Navy is patterned after the Royal Navy. He was the only male of four children, and the youngest. My grandmother prayed to Saint Gerardo (Gerard) for a son; and she would name him Gerardo. My father’s name was Gerardo. My grandmother loved and protected him with an all-enveloping love. When he told her that he wanted to go into the Navy, she almost died. She basically gave him a small fortune for him not to join.
He studied law at the University of Chile; and his theses “La Crisis de la Neutralidad” (Crisis of Neutrality) is available in hard copy at Harvard, University of Virginia and UCLA. He worked as a corporate lawyer for Armand Hammer’s Occidental Petroleum but because of his dystrophy he was not able to practice for very long.
After he died, they tied a handkerchief around my father’s head to keep his mouth closed. My mom told me to kiss him good-bye. I kissed him on the forehead and it was the last time I saw his face; he was smiling. The neighbors were really nice to us. They called my sisters and me over and gave us some soda and cookies—while my mother was dealing with the funeral arrangements. Though my father’s death did not affect me much at the time as I was too young when it happened; it did affect me greatly later.
I was luckier than my sisters because I got to spend some time with him. My younger sister didn’t remember his face at all. I was not until My Girl got hold some old pictures of my father and mother and had them reprinted into glossy 8 x 10s, that my sister finally saw him; she cried.
I have an itemized list compiled by the coroner of his belongings at death: bedding, suits, ties, .38 Smith & Wesson revolver, pillow… it was sad.
Plans. After my father died, my mother began to look for a house to buy. One day she came home from work and told us kids that we were buying a house in a place called Alcantara, an upscale neighborhood in the Santiago Metropolitan Region. Us kids got really excited though of course we had no idea of what this meant but it must be good because Mom told us. We visited the home which was in the process of being built; Great! We expected to move in December—again being summertime in the Southern Hemisphere.
By: Homeless With a Laptop, That is My Name
Бездомные с ноутбуком, это мое имя
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