Macabre Moments

Happy Birthday, Chuy. 32 years old, bro, damn. I always felt closer to you in between our birthdays; it made it seem like we were only one year apart for some months.

I would have loved to watch your face get smashed into cake by Sofia or Migz or my dad.

I’ve read a lot of things since you’ve passed. One thing I encounter a lot is people saying you need to celebrate the lives of the person you’ve lost.

I don’t think I’m there yet. I don’t want to think about everything you accomplished, all the things you had as a result from your hard work. I don’t want to celebrate your life because that just means you’re really, really not coming back.

I still cry for you and it seems like it’s every day. When I don’t cry for a day or two, I do on the third day; I cry so much it hurts.

I can give you an oasis with the tears I’ve cried.

But it’s your birthday, bro. The best way I could celebrate you is to remember you.

I remember birthdays from our childhood—they’re not entirely shrouded in vagueness, but the one thing I will never forget is how loud you always were. If it wasn’t your laugh, it was your smile. And I say that because your smile alone was loud; a full-cheeked up, deep-dimpled smile. The old picture albums are proof, man. That smile never really changed your whole life, it was always there front and center. It was distinct. It was you.

I’ll never forget it. I don’t need pictures or videos to remind me how big and beautiful your smile was—it’s ingrained in my heart forever.

The smile never changed because you were always a kid at heart. And when I think of you, I see the little kid who followed me and Manuel around. If we weren’t sharing your GameBoy to play your Pokémon Silver, we’d be looking at our cards. If we weren’t running around the park, we’d be inside taking turns on the Nintendo 64. If we weren’t kicking around a ball, we found our way into some trouble.

Seeing those pictures of when we were kids have always been my favorite, especially the birthday ones. Those were the happiest moments of our childhood; our upbringing was filled with so much love for each other, there really aren’t any words to describe our sibling bond.

As an older brother to four, I was always happy during birthdays. We had our favorite home cooked dinner, my mom’s enchiladas with a mountain of toppings stacked on top. We’d always end the night with cake and song, and possibly a face getting smashed in. And the laughs, man, the laughs filled the room.

There was a time we started hitting each other the amount of times we’d be old that year. Just for a time, though, and the last hit was always a “lucky” one.

I recently found out that you used to call me “Tito” because you couldn’t say my name properly. I wish I could remember that, bro.

Truly, I think it’s okay I don’t. I have a lifetime of memories with you.

Today is your birthday. I just wanted to tell you life doesn’t feel the same without you. I miss you. You will forever be more than any words could possibly describe, even those of a big brother who deeply loves you.

Te quiero mucho carnal.

Happy Birthday—to your eternity.