Remembering And Honoring My Father!
Today is the fourth anniversary of the death and homegoing of my father, Dr. Alberto Antonio Guillermo Cota Ducoing. He was one of the greatest men that I have known in my life. He was a brilliant man with a formidable mind who sincerely cared for other people. He loved his family, friends, dentistry, music and sports. As a bass baritone, if he wanted, he could have had an operatic career. He was also a member of a university football team that did not lose a game in five years!
I thought that best way to remember him today was to share some personal glimpses:
Let's go back in time to October, 1967. At the time, my brother Chris and I were living with my mother's family in the rural community of Virginia, Illinois. My grandmother Snow, Aunt Linda Snow, brother Chris and I traveled to Mexico City to see my father's family. In fact, I remember a mariachi band playing "La Negra" as we made our way through the airport in Mexico City. At our hotel's restaurant, I made the mistake of asking for enchiladas with a fire-breathing hot sauce. I probably drank my weight in water as my amused relatives watched. In 1966 I think, my father had married a wonderful woman named Mary Ellen. By the time of our visit, my half-brother Alberto Guillermo had joined them. In fact, I remember watching Beto while he was asleep in his crib. I was only in the second grade at the time.
One of the highlights of that trip was a night at the huge amusement park near Chapultepec Castle. By then, I had lost my Spanish and was speaking fluent English. My brother and I were riding the Octopus, and in no uncertain terms I wanted off. But, I couldn't communicate to the attendant running the ride. Finally, Dad saw my frantic movements and pulled my brother and me off of it. Many years later, I would take my son and daughter to the very same amusement park. From what I remember it hadn't changed much at all. Other highlights of that trip included a fabulous meal with all of the Cota's, my grandmother and aunt. It was the first time that I remembered eating fruit flavored tamales.
Fast forward to January, 1990. I took a Mexicana Airlines flight from Chicago to Mexico City, with a layover in Guadalajara. After the Boeing 727 finally touched down in the Mexican capital, I retrieved my my luggage from the carousel and went through customs. After I walked through the security gates that separated passengers from their excited family and friends waiting to greet them. As a young child, I remember how excited I was waiting at the airport in Phoenix to pick up our Grandpa Snow. He was spending a part of the Christmas holiday with us. Why of course we had a great time during his stay!
After the security gates closed behind me, I looked around for my father. I was just hoping that I would remember what he looked like after all these years. Well, I needn't have worried as I picked him out of the crowd right away. Dad had hardly changed from the way that I had remembered him! As a bonus, Mary Ellen and two aunts were also there to welcome me back to Mexico! In the 33 years since this memorable occasion, I have had many wonderful experiences with my father's family. But the truth is, I am blessed to have a great family on both sides of the border. Yes, I am as proud as a peacock of my Mexican American heritage! During our reunion, I also found out that my brother Alberto was joined by Guillermo and Victoria to round out their family.
Every time I visited my father from 1990 to 1997, I enjoyed getting together with the "Ruins of Mexico". 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 a few drinks and a cigar or two. 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 throughout the night.
From 1997 to 2001, I saw my father about two weeks a month. I started a business importing stannous fluoride products into Mexico from the United States. While we were getting the legal permissions from the Mexican version of the FDA, Dad, a few of his friends and I attended a lot of dental conventions throughout Mexico. During our meals together, most of their stories were quite memorable. In Aguascalientes, we attended a bullfight. It was the only one that I ever attended. The sport was so brutal that I remember secretly cheering for the bull! After the carnage was over, we went to one of the steakhouses that skillfully prepared the meat from the bullfight. While I usually liked eating beef, that night was an exception. The fear that the poor bull went through ruined the meat, in my opinion.
But after our meal, the alcohol-fueled evening of conversation turned to the topic of our 'first time'. As each of the dentists shared his story, I laughed at the audacity of their antics. In fact, all of the women that turned those boys into men were between the ages of 45 and 72! But, when it was my father's turn, he looked over at me. Choosing his words very carefully, he mentioned how he was pretty much a saint during his youth and young adulthood. That was a nice call on Dad's part because I followed suit and shared a similar story too!
Fortunately, over the past 10 years of his life, I spent a lot of 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
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During those amazing conversations, Dad and I discussed everything under the sun. This also included 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 progressive in his religious views. Even so, we did agree that we would see each other again when we moved into eternity.
When I was a boy, my maternal grandfather, Dr. Herbert Anderson Snow admonished me on different occasions 'to never get old'. Partially paralyzed on his left side by a stroke in the late 1960's, Grandpa barely slowed down afterwards. He was a dentist and a farmer and come hell or high water, he would continue to do both. In truth, he did just that — until the early 1980's! My grandpa was always larger than life in my eyes. A lot of Central Illinois folks thought the same thing, too. He was honored by the Saint Louis Post Dispatch for his career and great reputation in dentistry. Amazingly, he was also honored by the Drover's Journal for his farming. He gave his all and excelled in two careers.
But finally, old age did catch up with him in ways that are as unique as the individual. Grandpa spent his last years in a nursing home not even a block away from where he lived his adult life. Unfortunately, he could no longer care for himself like he always used to. Sadly, his daily needs were just too great for my grandmother (who was also very sick in the last years of her life) to tend to. My maternal grandparents died nine months apart back in 1985-6.
I mentioned that I saw my father often over the past 10 years of his life. Generally it had been in May for up to several months when Mary Ellen attended her annual yoga conference accompanied by her brother Dick. Dad and I were alone together sometimes for a week or longer. In the last couple of years, we joined by my brother Guillermo to add to the fun. It was also my opportunity to practice my 'top secret' culinary arts. It isn't that I don't know how to cook. it's more like I refuse to do it unless I have all the ingredients that I need and all the time in the world to do it in. Yes, everything must be 'just right'. It is part of the curse of being a perfectionist. So needless to say, we ate well. Besides the marathon conversations on the back porch, we also enjoyed cervesas and puros (beer and cigars). These sessions would go from 3 to 5 hours each night. Dad was chock full of life experience and there were still many lessons for me to learn.
But each time that I visited Dad, I was reminded of my grandfather's words admonishing me not to get old. The truth is that while there might be some things that we can do to postpone the effects of aging, there is absolutely nothing that we can do to stop it. Each time I visited Dad, he was a bit more frail. In fact, as 2019 unfolded, the frailty became a relentless downward slide as we headed toward September.
At the time, I was doing special projects for my friend Hammond Meredith. Thanks to his insistence and with his 'right hand' Hilary's help, I spent several weeks in Queretaro visiting my father after he had a terrible fall at the beginning of the month. 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. Since 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.
During the last week of Dad's life, my brothers Alberto (Beto), Guillermo (Memo) and sister Victoria (Vicky) figured this out. In fact, Memo and Vicky were in the clinic director's office on that Friday afternoon making arrangements to transport Dad home. Unfortunately, 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. Thankfully, God wipes away our tears Himself and in time, leaves a peace that surpasses even our frail understanding of life and death.
For a time, I felt guilty that Dad had died alone. But, through all of my research from a number of sources, I am convinced that family members that have already crossed into eternity were already near the clinic's bed where Dad died. It is not a stretch to believe that Dad possibly saw them with his earthly eyes as his body completed its responsibility to house and protect his great and wondrous soul. It is possible that his parents and three of his four sisters accompanied him on his journey to Heaven.
So, what do I think my Dad is doing now as I finish this remembrance? I think that he is meeting with the Heavenly Chapter of the Ruins of Mexico! I just hope that they do not leave Heaven in an irreversible shambles before it is my turn to join them!
I love you Dad!
Tony
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