Dear Papi,

Happy Father’s Day!  I wish I could tell you this in person…

I wish I could hug you one more time—kiss your cheeks, mess up your hair, even just hear your voice over the phone.

On this Father’s Day—this day to honor the men in our lives—all I can think about is having just one more day, hour, minute with you.

It’s been just over two-and-a-half months since you passed, and I have missed you every one of those days. There are even moments I forget you’re not here—I think of how you would react to news, and then realize I won’t see your reaction when I tell you about my yoga, my job, my latest soap making deal.

I thank God every day that mom was such a psycho with the camera and took a million pictures growing up, because now I can still see your face and your smile. I’ll never have to worry about forgetting the details of you. I will always remember how your eyes looked when you smiled, the exact shade of brown of your eyes and your pot belly.

Those pictures also remind me now of all the amazing moments I had forgotten. All the ordinary moments that just blur together and get lost in my memory. Like the pictures that show my brother and I getting entwined in your legs, fighting about who was going to lie on top of you to watch TV.

You always shared your Snickers bars with us, even before we could even bite down on them. You would let Adriano suck on one, filling it up with his baby saliva, but still happily eat the remainder of the bar!

I remember how you would give us little jobs whenever we wanted to be with you on the weekends. How you would let me “DJ” while you washed the car. How I would pick up rocks in the backyard to help you get the yard ready to plant our ridiculous garden.

You made it seem completely normal to grow corn in the middle of Queens, New York—showing me how to harvest vegetables and take the beans out of their pods, like it was something every city kid got to do.

I love how you called me a Yankees fan, even though I knew nothing of baseball. I love how you’d let me borrow your sandals, then get annoyed when I left them in a random room of the house. Still, you never said anything about it, because you hated when I’d walk around barefoot. Sorry to say, the walking around barefoot has gotten worse.

Thanks for never telling me that I couldn’t play with cars, balls, dirt, mud, bugs or anything else that wasn’t “girly.” Thank you for being so much wiser than most men of your generation and for not pushing me to be in the kitchen. Instead, you loved that I read so much—you loved that I was brave, and loud, and creative.

You loved me in dresses and bright colors. You loved my long hair, but begrudgingly accepted it when I cut it all off. You welcomed all of my friends and boyfriends in the house (even when you thought they were losers), and you’d still treat them well—letting them help you around the house and feeding them.

Thanks for teaching me to be a good hostess, how to barbecue and your secret marinade for churrasco. Thank you for showing me that men also shopped, changed diapers, cleaned the house and did laundry.

You have given me so much.

You’ve shown me what I want in a husband, for myself and in a father, for my children. You helped me grow into a strong and independent woman.

So on this Father’s Day, I want to say: Thank you!

Thank you for always being there—for telling me all of your stories, for never holding a grudge, for showing me how to be a good, kind person.

Thank you for being my dad. I love you.

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Relephant:

After Losing My Dad, I Set Myself Free. 

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Author: Ariana Rodriguez

Editor: Yoli Ramazzina

Photos: Author’s own.