It was two years ago today that my father, Dr. Alberto Antonio Guillermo Cota Ducoing entered Heaven through the Pearly Gates.

At the time, I was doing special projects for my friend Hammond. Thanks to his insistence and with Hilary's help, I had spent several weeks in Queretaro visiting my father after he had a terrible fall. Even though his hip wasn't broken, it was bone on bone at the sockets. But later, surgery was ruled out because his health was too precarious. Because he couldn't remain in the hospital, Dad was moved to a private clinic in order to stabilize his health before returning home.

But another truth came into play in the final weeks of his life. As a dentist who had also been trained as a doctor, Dad knew that he didn't have much time left. He wanted to return home, not to live out his remaining years in a diminished state, but to die. Dad's body was worn out and he was ready to move on. I have read over the years that healthcare professionals understand this better than most people and do not go through hoops to artificially prolong their lives.

The last week of Dad's life, my brother Guillermo (Memo) and sister Victoria (Vicky) figured this out. In fact, they were in the clinic director's office on that Friday afternoon when a nurse informed them that Dad had just died peacefully in his sleep. A few minutes later, my sister called and shared the news with me. Only a few days earlier, I had returned to the Baja in order to prepare to fly back to Queretaro that October. We fully expected Dad to be transferred back home from the clinic and I wanted to help out as much as possible in that transition.

My Chihuahua and I had just finished a few transactions at CitiBanamex when my sister called. I was so shaken by the news that my faithful dog stared at me and didn't move a muscle. After making some phone calls to pass along the news to family members, I released Sikiboy from his harness, held him close, and cried.

Fortunately, over the past 10 years of his life, I spent a lot time with my father at his home in Juriquilla, Queretaro. In the evenings, we sat on his back patio and talked for hours. It is possible that we communicated more with each other in those concentrated sessions than some people share in an entire lifetime. That is what I tell myself anyway. During those amazing conversations, Dad and I discussed the afterlife and eternity at different times. We both agreed that death was not the end of our existence. In fact, it was a transition into a new direction in our unique adventure. While Dad was born, raised, and attended the Catholic church, he was also fairly progressive in his religious views, in my opinion. Even so, we did agree that we would see each other again when we moved on into eternity.

I am sure that after dad closed his eyes in this realm and opened them in the next, his parents and three sisters were there to greet him. One of Dad's sisters died when she was only three. The other, when she was only seventeen. I bet Dad was happy to see them again!

For many years when Dad lived in Mexico City, he got together every Friday night with some of his friends. Most of these were relationships going back well over 40 years. They ate at a fine restaurant and then spent hours sharing stories from their glory days. Generally, this was done accompanied by few drinks and a cigar or two. At least a dozen times, I was fortunate enough to join the "Ruins of Mexico" during their get-togethers. In those days, I didn't have a clue what they were saying because I had lost my mother tongue years ago. Thankfully, Dad would translate their discussion sometimes, leaving out any "juicy parts" of course!

It would not surprise me one bit if the heavenly chapter of the "Ruins of Mexico" has been meeting every Friday night since dad joined his old friends. I can't wait to meet up with them someday. This time around, I will know exactly what they are talking about!

Until we meet again, enjoy the best of Heaven, Dad!

Love,

Tony

Dr. Alberto Antonio Cota Ducoing January 17, 1931 — September 13, 2019)

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