​From:

Mario's daughter, Monique Soria

 

Dear Papi,

I love you because you still smile at every stranger you pass and say hi, how are you.

I love you because you still like to sit at your desk or at the dining room table and organize things,

though now instead of drawing mountains, lakes, rivers and trees,

you color the flowers in a coloring book.

I love you because you sorted all the beautiful drawings you created by scratching colors

hidden underneath black paint and labeled the binder “paintings for sale, $10 each.”

I love you because you wanted to walk all the way to the top of Tumamoc, because you walked halfway

up the first hill, because you walked to the bench near the gate and moved your walker to sit in the sun

under the tree where you had a better view of the hill for your drawing.

I love you because you still straighten all the wrinkles in the sheets and make the bed as smooth as possible.

I love you because even though you don’t exactly know who I am, you are happy to see me and take my hand to your lips to kiss it.

I love you because you sing in the morning.

I love you because you still reach for your pocket to pay when we eat out.

I love you because you were so smart in providing for your family, and now you are able to pay for assisted living in a nice place.

This morning I took an hour to read the Sunday paper and watch “Sunday Morning” on TV, and I felt sorry that you were not at home.

I wondered again if it would be better to be at home, though it would mean round-the-clock help, and I thought of the attention you get from all the ladies where you live – the kind-hearted caregivers who give you kisses and tell you how handsome you are, who sing to you and read you stories and dance with you. I remind myself of how hard it was and of all the risks for you in this house, but still I’m sorry.

I love you because you always try to help people, because you like people and want to talk to them and get to know them.

I love you because you are always busy, rearranging my cupboards or fixing the roof to the ramada or wiring the stereo or putting together the new dining room set.

I love you because you loved to make breakfast for everyone – cheese omelets or pancakes on the griddle and always fresh-squeezed orange juice.

I love you because you knew the love of your life the minute you saw her.

I love you because family was always so important to you.

I love you because I know who you have been. Even people who only know you as you are now can tell that you were a very smart and interesting man. Those who speak to you in Spanish call you Don Mario.

Some days, you understand and can answer. You say you don’t want any more at lunchtime, or that you don’t want to go out.

You say yes when I say it’s a nice day, isn’t it? You look up at the sky when I point to the clouds and the mountains.

You tell me to turn right or to go and I say I have to wait till the light turns green, see the light?

I love you because you smiled and tapped your hand to the music at the Symphonic Winds concert on Veterans Day.

I love you because you smiled the whole time I brought your youngest great-grandchild with me to visit you. The two of you played xylophone together and took turns with the remote-controlled car. She gave you two hugs and kisses when we left.

I love you because you have loved me all my life – real love that cares for and thinks of and does for, that keeps on even when names

and relationships and memories have no meaning.