I get home and the note said this:
Mi hijita Loida:
Aqui estuve y te espere como 2 horas y me fui porque nadie vino.
P.S. Me fui para la casa. No me pude mover porque llovio mucho.
I read it and I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. It makes me laugh, but it makes me frustrated, because he comes to my house (walking from the bus stop) without calling first and then he waits for TWO hours without calling me. I pay for his cell for a reason.
He's getting older and there's nothing else to it. The man is EIGHTY-FIVE now. Whenever I say or write his age these days I feel like the capitalizing for emphasis. Very few people live to that age I realize. Of course Rey's grandparents are around that old too. And they still stay up all hours of the night and party, and in Vegas too. Yes, they are the exception too.
But my dad is old and he's more of a home-body. He's a lot older than most people. And he's getting older every day and forgetful. I love my daddy.
When I was a kid he always left notes everywhere.
Dry the walls of the shower when you're done. daddy
Shake the handle of the toilet when you finish flushing so it won't stick. daddy
These are fan belts in case yours gets busted. (in a box in the trunk of my car) daddy
And so on. I always knew I could find an entertaining note from my dad somewhere growing up. He is a note writer and he always signs them simply, daddy. Not even a capital "D." That's my daddy.
The day I received that phone call last year that he had been beat by that lunatic my heart stopped. I thought of all the worse things that could happen. When you have a dad that has lived as long as mine you never expect to receive a call that he died in that way. I always think that hopefully it will happen quietly, peacefully, in his sleep, and never in a violent way like that. I couldn't believe that this horrible thing had happened to him.
After I couldn't find him at either hospital my husband suggested that I call his cell phone and maybe the same sheriff who called my sister still had his phone. Imagine my joy when my father answered his own phone and he was able to talk to me. I felt hope that it wasn't as bad as I had imagined it to be. Yes, the lunatic did break his leg, but thank goodness that was the worse of it and thank GOD that my father was strong enough to endure the surgery. He's walking around great now.
So well that he can walk to my house from the corner bus stop and he can wait around for TWO hours. A que daddy!