Tita

The foto is eight years old, the building now almost decayed to nothing.  One side housed a kitchen in campo, the other a dwelling with a mostly dirt floor.  It was not clean, not sanitary by any stretch of the imagination.  An old bachelor who’s mother and close sisters have long passed, who’s care for him went with them.  It was what it was, and Tita was ok with that.  He continued on a little more slovenly than while they lived.  Bachelor. Yes, he missed them dearly.  You miss those you love when they go.  When they take their love & laughter with them.  And those women were special indeed.

Tita was a painter with a steady hand good at his craft. A tiny little man that zoomed. He was always happy to see me and I him. He was my fave and like all of them, I wish I had spent more time with. Always more time.

He had been sick off and on for a while. He smoked too much and didn’t eat right. The other day he fell, from how high I don’t know. Yesterday they rushed him to the clinic for pain. They gave him a shot and sent him home. Today, he died. I hope he didn’t die alone.

We don’t know why. Injury? Cancer? Heart? Covid-19? He’s always had lung problems. No tests will be run, that’s just not done here. My husband has gone out to the family. Maybe will have answers. Eight profound deaths in seven years, I feel … empty.

Tita, you were my fave of the boys. You were hard headed with spunk. I loved you a lot. I had dreams of building you a teeny house with good roof, walls, and floors. We were so close to getting that. But now, you fly with the angels my friend, my brother-in-law, my brother. That’s a better house.

Descansa en paz. Teamo.

Listen to the palms …

~Loca Gringa
© Loca Gringa and https://locagringa.wordpress.com

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