My dad and his friend

I waited days before calling my aunt to check on the status of a godfather. The week prior her email updates were almost daily, with hopeful and optimistic news. But after the fourth day of no update, I decided it was time to call.

"The cancer has spread, the chemo will shrink it, but it won't be cured."

It was all I heard. I thought of the last phone conversation before the news of the cancer, when I told him I would be in Austin and stopping for a visit during my trip. His response "we will have to make some food, its going to be a big day". And then I thought of the very last conversation with him, the day before his surgery, when he told my dad "I hope you make it down here."

It was a sad and confusing moment after finishing the call with my aunt. I went to my parents and broke the news to my dad. Borrowing my sensitivity from him, I knew he would have tears streaming before I finished my sentence.

"I can't see him like this, its not how I want to remember him."

I thought of my childhood and my first impression of my father and godfather. Two strong Mexican men, beers and smiles in hand. Nights of music, dancing, maybe even a serenade projected by the one to the other. I thought of the wedding in Mexico, when my father, in a state of inebriation, bought my godfather roses and mariachi serenade in the plaza as we headed back to the hotel. I can still feel the soreness on my sides from the laughter at the site of their macho Mexican bromance.

They were great friends, they were young, they were men.

Is this the the happy ending we are all hoping for? No, because someone I care about is going to die sooner than I would like. But what will hurt the most, is the anguish and sadness that will come from my dad. I wont be able to fix it, I can't take it away.