Like many other people, I have a fear. The fear of losing one again, the fear of feeling the way I felt that day, and the fear of death. Long ago, I lost a dear friend. He was a precious person, and above all, my father. He was the most beautiful man, the bravest and strongest. I’ll never forget my hero.
It was early 2005 right after March, our birthday month. My father and I went to our neighborhood park to have some time together. My mom and dad got a divorce when I was two years old, but he was over every day to see my brother and me. During our trip we had had a lot of amusement just by relaxing on the warm, soft, green grass. I loved his hugs; it just made me feel so safe in his arms. At the age of eight I never thought that fairy tales were true, unless I was with my only super hero.
When it was time to leave, Daddy and I went over the ice cream cart and asked for our favorite kind! No one really liked mango, so we would call it, “our kind.” I took two licks and realized the strange movements around us. Cars with loud music approached and that’s when “Him”, my dad worst enemy got out of a nice BMW with a gun. A gun!? My dad had helped put the guy in jail to make a better world for us. It didn’t take me long to realize that the gun was the gun that would killed my hero. That gun took all my dream and hopes away; that gun belonged to “Him.”
I will never forget the image of my father with seven holes on his chest, with slimy deep, red blood coming out, taking over his body and the side of the street. I was laying there with my daddy with my small bloody hands trying to comfort him. No one seemed to hear my loud cries even though tons of people were around us. Someone picked me up taking me away from my daddy.”Who’s this person? Where is Daddy? Why are they doing this to him?” Those were the only questions I asked myself. That was the last time I saw him.
After his death, my mother and I decided to immigrate to the United States to start a new life in a new place. It’s has never easy to forget about my past when my dreams are filled every night with the man that left me so soon. I don’t know if there is a God somewhere, but I pray for him to take me to my father, so I could have the “life” he wanted to show me. Other times, I’m scared there won’t be any life after death, so I fear to be next. I fear to face a gun. I fear to face life.