Fuente
De vez en cuando traía juguetes como los que se colocan dentro de una piñata, se sentaba a descubrirlos con mi hermano y conmigo solo por 15 minutos, con el tiempo me enteré que eran obsequios de un amigo de él quincallero… era complejo… su relación con mi madre era desajustada, desproporcionada, no tenían nada en común, creo que nunca debieron casarse, ella trabajaba mientras él estudiaba o al menos eso parecía, la duración de la carrera fue extrema, pero al fin lo logró yo tenía 5 años, fuimos a su acto de grado vestido con toga y birrete ,allí me legó el poder de la constancia, se nos había ofrecido la idea que con esa graduación todo cambiaría o al menos así pensaba mi madre.
Efectivamente materiales de mayor valor y también de mayor distancia, hacia guardias, ejercía fuera de Maracaibo (ciudad donde habitamos) hubo cambios, de los juguetes de piñata pasamos a bicicletas, muñecas que caminaban, comenzó a colocar objetos materiales, de manera que acentuó su ausencia física y la lejanía emocional llegó al clímax. Tres años difíciles después del esperado “titulo” con el cual justificaba todo, se fue de casa o mejor escrito mi mamá le abrió las puertas…y se marchó.
La relación terrible, la familia disfuncional se hizo realidad un día de navidad, yo no quería que se fuese, me agarré fuertemente a su pierna, tanto que tuvo que caminar conmigo allí agarrada como un naufrago a una tabla de salvación… lo amaba, los pocos ratos que ponía su atención sobre mi eran especiales…pero mi padre teniendo 8 años abandonaba el hogar y extrañamente llegó la paz, no mas enfrentamientos de pareja, ni llantos de mi madre, ni esperas mirando en la ventana a ver si llegaba…si la guardia del hospital terminaba.
Siempre nos visitaba, regularmente nos buscaba y llevaba de paseo, pero aun así era ausente, creo que no estaba preparado ni quería estarlo para la paternidad. Económicamente no hubo apatía, cubría los gastos de ley…año a año se fue desdibujando, se casó de nuevo y tuvo otros hijos…
Yo tenía 30 años de edad cuando le hice frente a mi dolor guardado, vi a lo lejos a mi papá con una niña en brazos, mi hermana, la cargaba, la consentía, la peinaba y descubrí en mi interior un sentimiento que en ese momento no precisé...pero creo que era envidia mezclado con impotencia, lloré largamente…lo amaba, así como el ensueño que siempre fue, con la presencia tan desvencijada, con la nubosidad de su mirar eternamente perdida, con sus pocas palabras…me alegró ver que el tiempo le había enseñado a ser padre desde el alma…es difícil contarlo, pero con su partida de nuestra casa llegó la paz y mucho aprendizaje. En su memoria, honro lo vivido a su lado…la resilencia como legado que eso dejó en mi…lo amaba, lo amo y lo amaré.
He was never present, even physically present, he was someone always busy studying, he was studying medicine and spent long hours sitting in front of his books, without stopping to see his children growing up... I watched him closely as if waiting for him to come out of his self-absorbed treatise on Anatomy or Physiology and lay his eyes on me or invite me to play, to do something together... it never happened... I called him Daddy until the moment he left this earthly world and this complex relationship that we had to live.
Source
From time to time he brought toys like those placed inside a piñata, he would sit down to discover them with my brother and me for just 15 minutes, over time I found out that they were gifts from a friend of his who was a hardware store owner... it was complex... his relationship with my mother was unbalanced, disproportionate, they had nothing in common, I think they should never have gotten married, she worked while he studied or at least that's what it seemed, the duration of the career was extreme, but he finally made it when I was 5 years old, we went to his graduation ceremony dressed in a cap and gown, there he bequeathed to me the power of perseverance, we had been offered the idea that with that graduation everything would change or at least that's what my mother thought.
Indeed, he worked as a guard outside Maracaibo (there were changes, from piñata toys to bicycles and walking dolls; he began placing objects in the city where we live), thus accentuating his physical absence and reaching a climax with the emotional distance. Three difficult years after the long-awaited "degree" with which he justified everything, he left home, or rather, my mother opened the doors for him...and he left.
The terrible relationship, the dysfunctional family became a reality one Christmas day, I didn't want him to go, I held on to his leg so tightly that he had to walk with me there clinging like a castaway to a lifeline... I loved him, the few moments he paid attention to me were special... but my father left home when I was 8 years old and strangely peace came, no more arguments between partners, no more crying from my mother, no more waiting, looking out the window to see if he would arrive... if the hospital shift would end.
He always visited us, regularly picked us up and took us out, but he was still absent. I think he wasn't ready, nor did he want to be, for fatherhood. Financially, there was no apathy; he covered the legal expenses... year after year, he faded away, remarried, and had other children...
I was 30 years old when I faced my hidden pain. I saw my dad in the distance holding a little girl in his arms, my sister. He was carrying her, pampering her, combing her hair, and I discovered a feeling inside me that I didn't fully understand at the time...but I think it was envy mixed with helplessness. I cried a long time...I loved him, like the dream he always was, with his withered presence, with the cloudiness of his eternally lost gaze, with his few words...I was glad to see that time had taught him to be a father from the soul...it's hard to tell, but with his departure from our home came peace and much learning. In his memory, I honor what I lived by his side...the resilience as a legacy that he left in me...I loved him, I love him, and I will love him.