Death Right Before the Holidays Should Be Canceled

A letter to my Tío (uncle)

Dear Uncle Pingui,

When I got the call that you weren’t with us anymore, it hit me like a wave of shock and anger. Shocked at the way you passed away, alone in your apartment, and a bit frustrated because we never really had the chance to know each other well. I have clearer memories of you from my childhood than from my adult years.

I’ll admit, I should have visited more.

The family dynamic was always a bit strange growing up. I never had a fair relationship with your sister, my mother, until I became an adult. The arguments back then kept us distant, creating a gap in our connection that I regret.

I lived my life with Dad, occasionally seeing Mom when enough time passed where we missed each other, but still not the mother-daughter relationship I always craved. You know that already.

Because of that mess, we didn’t have a close-knit relationship, but I have heard immense stories about your wild youth — eye-opening and funny ones too.

I always thought you had a silly nickname; did I ever tell you that? “Pingui.”

But that’s what everyone’s been calling you since I’ve been alive. I honestly never knew your real name until today when I called Mom to console her, asked how she was doing, and talked about you some more.

I’m sorry for your departure happening during a time when the world is generally wrapped in festive cheer — well, for the most part.

Look, I know we were never super close, but I grew up knowing you. I know your face, and I always knew you had a big heart underneath that toughness. I’ve got pictures of us sharing smiles, and I recall your talent for being the ultimate jokester — always chatting away, leaving no room for anyone else to jump into the conversation.

I’ve caught snippets of your childhood struggles during those small conversations I eavesdropped on during my visits to Grandma’s. I was aware that you weren’t surrounded by the best of friends; they led you into trouble, and you hung out with the wrong crowd, making choices we all might regret at some point. But hey, we all have a past, right?

I know you regret that part of your life, and in the limited time I got to spend with you, I could sense the positive changes you’ve made.

I understand your childhood wasn’t the fairy tale the little boy inside you dreamed of. Yet, what matters is your mindfulness about your upbringing. It led you to a crucial decision — choosing not to have children, afraid to perpetuate neglect. Your insecurities about your own childhood made you hesitate to embark on your own journey of parenthood. It’s not selfish; it’s an expression of honesty and thoughtfulness.

I know about the concerns you carried about my grandparents — your parents — not being present in your life the way you desired. I can’t fathom what it was like being a little boy seeking attention and validation from them. However, it wasn’t your fault.

They did their best with the limited knowledge they had, and you, in turn, did your best in loving them despite the challenges.

Juggling six children in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Puerto Rico, working tirelessly every day, and barely having any support or time for quality moments — they faced an uphill battle. I know you grew up with resentment towards them, but as you matured, you found it in your heart to forgive and love them unconditionally.

Your laughter enriched our lives, and we’ll deeply miss those moments that brought joy to our hearts.

With love and sadness, Your Sobrina (niece) Darlene

Thank you for reading.

Follow me on Medium.

To access more of my stories and stay connected, please consider subscribing to my email list.