Juanma at Christmas (Juanma en Navidad)

Some like to believe that Christmas is the ideal time to forgive and forget. I don’t believe my Dad was ever able to do either when these two actions had to do with my nephew Juan Manuel (Juanma). A tragic accident, a few minutes without adult supervision and a lifetime of regret. Dad was never able to forget, not for one day, the image of his youngest grandson playing football in the garage and then fighting for life in the emergency room after he had drowned. Dad could not forgive the family friend who was in charge of supervising the kids while they enjoyed a Sunday afternoon in their swimming pool. I remember him not saying what he felt for her, not with his words, but with the anger in his eyes and the frustration of a powerless grandfather.

Today, two days before Christmas, I dedicate this poem to anyone who has ever been hurt, asking for forgiveness to their offender.

From my Dad’s book The celebrated afternoon (La tarde festejada).

Juanma at Christmas (Juanma en Navidad)

You now live in us

in a forever that does not diminish.

On the roads of the ordinary life,

in the imagination, in reality,

in our memories and in utopia,

in sadness and in any joy

that escaped the stubborn sorrow,

in the melancholy

that invaded our existences,

in your old toys, in your books,

in the blots of your calligraphy

and in the circles

that your little right hand filled with colours,

in the large notebooks

that began to pierce your innocence,

in your empty shoes, in your deep voice,

in your warm laugh, in the speed

that you used to reach on your tricycle

today useless, in your eyes

filled with angelical mischief,

in the hustle and bustle of your classmates

and the sparklers, in the light, in the shade,

in the river of inedited tears,

that lives in us since.