My dearest Papi,
The last memory I spoke to you is my favorite and saddest. You were lying in a coma (plus your longterm dementia) when I spoke to you about it. I will repeat it here.
You were fine. You were not sick. It was a horrible ice storm. We had no power. You picked up your guitar (now officially mine) and you played a little bit. Then you handed me the 'Esteban', the silly guitar you bought from an infomercial, and tried to teach me a few notes by the flashlight. I attempted to play a few notes with you, horribly. I wanted to please you.
Then, midnote, the lights were back on (after nearly 48 hours), Mami cheered. I cheered. I'll never forget the look on your face. You were...crushed. The Moment was gone. I selfishly retreated to my computer and other material things.
I'll never forget the look on your face.
I'm so sorry I never finished I never finished "House of the Rising Sun".
I love you so much.
10/10/1942 - 10/11/2010
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