Nineteen years ago, I remember being taken to my “Titi Gladys” house for some unexpected play time. I don’t remember the worried look in my parents’ eyes or the tears hidden in everyone’s faces, because when you are four years old you don’t notice the bad things that much.
My mother’s brother, my dearest uncle, passed away 19 years ago in a car accident. Hard to say how much a four-year-old girl can remember, it makes me even a little angry that memories rely so much on age. I wish I had more memories with him, but I’m left with bits and pieces of an unfinished puzzle, a little girl too young to mourn.
Then just like that, I see myself quietly opening his bedroom door and jumping playfully to wake him up.
Rest in peace tío, I love you.