To my father, with love

My heart rejoices with joy when I remember the good times with my father. Especially that last trip we made together to Nicaragua. A midnight flight, one of those that could kill anyone and leave everybody exhausted. We traveled exactly one month before the ominous virus arrived and left humanity astonished and isolated. 'Divine Providence always accompanies us!' you would have said now with your unwavering faith.

The cold and drizzle of that night failed to erase the magical smile that appeared on your hopeful face. You seemed like a little boy with a new toy, with your eyes lit up and happy. I close my eyes and miss you. I see you there, your last time in the airport, standing with your inseparable hat, your red suitcase, and your cane in hand. The endless line of passengers with their boxes, ropes, and packages surprised us as it escaped through the airport doors, zigzagging like a caterpillar of humans and disappearing into an endless sidewalk. Respectful of good manners as you were, we resignedly sought the end of the line. Impatiently, we watched for any abandoned wheelchairs in that sea of travelers. Even with your old pains that you stoically endured, you were happy, and your joy infected us all. Taking selfies and making jokes, we finally obeyed the call of the beautiful land that saw you born one morning of May.

Nothing stopped your march, not even the endless international terminal of an airport under construction. Reaching the coveted boarding gate on an infinite path of arrows, twists, and corridors was quite a challenge, and you achieved it without complaining, full of excitement. We almost missed the plane because at customs check, among so many people, someone lost a shoe, and the line didn't move. Among mishaps and unforeseen events, we soared through the skies and shortened distances on that memorable night filled with unusual anecdotes.

From the bottom of your heart, you wished to bathe again in the blue sea of your childhood and to trace, once more, the ancient steps of youth. You said goodbye to your precious city, your dear León. You saw for the last time your lakes and volcanoes with an open heart, with lungs full of homeland air, with the fine gray sand slipping through your tired feet, and loving unconditionally those who loved you. Your last desires were fulfilled, my dear old man, my dad, I am a happy witness to that.