Monthly Archives: November 2025

I made this simple video back in 2017 – this video will always hold a lifetime of precious memories …

Daddy is in the beginning stages of forgetfulness — I don’t like the word dementia. His short-term memory may be slipping, but he still recalls events from years ago with striking clarity. Those memories are forever embedded in the recesses of his mind. Daddy has always been a storyteller. Just visit my post, “I No Spic Inglish!” to get a glimpse of his charm.

During a recent visit, it dawned on me that I should record him. That day, he was recounting one of his many tales — this one about his first job. His mind was sharp, his personality vibrant. Whenever he veered off-topic, I gently steered him back. When we finished, I replayed the video for him.

As he watched himself on the computer, he became animated — eyebrows raised, laughing, even tearing up. It was as though he were reliving the story in real time. He pointed at the screen. Then he turned to me and said, “When your daddy is gone, you’ll always have this to remember, eh?”

Back home in Texas, I often play that video. Every time, it brings tears to my eyes. I know the day will come when Daddy’s memory fades even more, and that thought breaks my heart. I often think of Mama and our other elderly relatives. What if we recorded them too — their voices, their laughter, their stories? Maybe it would help them remember.

It’s like hearing a song you haven’t listened to in years — suddenly, you’re right back in that moment.

One thing I’ve learned is that correcting or scolding a loved one who forgets only causes frustration. If Daddy said something offbeat, and we ignored it or gently redirected him, peace would return. It’s a little like guiding a child — with patience and love.

His eyes still twinkle with mischief. The mirth in his thick Puerto Rican accent is magical. This is my daddy — animated, joyful, unforgettable. I will love and cherish him forever.

---

Fast-forward eight years.

The 2025 government shutdown caused massive airport delays and flight cancellations. My sister said Daddy wanted to see his family one last time. I was overwhelmed — emotionally and mentally — dreading the flight fiasco I’d have to make alone.

Then my dear husband said, “Mary, I’m driving you to Florida to see your dad.” Instantly, relief washed over me.

It’s about a fifteen-hour drive from Houston to Orlando. After stops and breaks, we arrived seventeen hours later that evening. After hugging my sister, brothers, and step-mother, I couldn’t wait to see him!

Now, Daddy mostly keeps his eyes closed. He still responds when spoken to, but he rarely initiates conversation. I said, “Daddy open your eyes. I want to see you seeing me!” For a moment, he opened his eyes and saw me! I cried. Sang to him. And prayed.

Yes, even in this quiet state, I know — deep down — that the man who filled our lives with laughter, stories, and music still lives on within him. And when I look at him, I see not just who he is today, but the decades of love, warmth, and resilience that shaped him.

Daddy, I love you.

Because love — like memory — never truly fades.

What a day that will be
When my Jesus I shall see
When I look upon His face
The one who saved me by His grace
When He takes me by the hand
And leads me through the Promised Land
What a day, glorious day that will be!