Father's last birthday
From that moment on, my father not only changed his diet, his daily routine, but also his way of seeing his surroundings. My mother accompanied him three days a week to the dialysis center and kept him on a diet according to his situation. Also, since my father was retired by that time, he dedicated himself to sharing with the family, especially with his grandchildren, whom he took for ice cream, to the movies or picked them up from school. For 12 years my father was an exemplary patient who kept his kidney disease under control and seemed to be calm, despite the situation he was going through. But it was in 2016 that the change began.
One day, my father gathered us all together and told us that he wanted to celebrate his birthday. That seemed strange to us because since he had been sick he had asked, demanded and ordered, that no parties or pictures be taken of him. We respected his decision, although sometimes his grandchildren took some pictures of him when he was not paying attention, but they were very few. Perhaps because of that and for fear that he would regret it, we did not ask him why he had changed his mind. It was January 2016 and his birthday was not long away, so from that very moment we started with the preparations.
The crisis was already starting in Venezuela, but we managed to do everything he wanted: piñatas, food, music, drinks and that he had all his family. I remember that I was in charge of the snacks and some drinks. Others were in charge of the cake, others of the decorations and the grandchildren were in charge of the entertainment. My father wanted all his friends to be there, who he had not been with for a long time, so we tried to find everyone and invite them.
The day of the party my father woke up happy, making jokes and while we were all busy with the celebration, he was happy answering calls to congratulate him and listening to music. I remember that while I was cooking, he would go and ask me to dance. After dancing with me for a while, he would take out another daughter or a granddaughter, and dance with them. That day he danced with all of them, without exception.
In the evening, when the guests began to arrive, my father greeted them with real affection and joy. The meeting with his friends was really very touching, because not only he had words of gratitude for them, but his friends arranged a song that they sang that day. Also the grandchildren dedicated poems to him and even one of them told him a story that moved us to our bones. We had some games and competitions, and each game had prizes. My father handed them out as if he were a naughty little boy or St. Nicholas at Christmas. The birthday was a roulette of emotions and feelings: joy, nostalgia, surprises, hope. We went from laughing to crying, from astonishment to triumph and the satisfaction that everything had turned out beautifully and my father was happy with his party.
In July of that year, my father underwent several operations due to the contamination of one of his arteriovenous fistulas. The great wall that was my father began to collapse. His spirits declined to the bottom rung of the subsoil and no one could do anything about it. Like a little bird, he stopped singing and became completely silent. One day he was taken to intensive care and never opened his eyes again. In 2016 my father turned 70 and it was his last birthday with us.
