To Lalo:
Friend, you've left me and you're with me still.
You took an unexpected shortcut.
You walk away at a different pace, you forge ahead.
Taking wing over the paths.
Do not think your violin is hushed,
The taut bow-hairs quiver even now.
I don't believe that where you are, you cannot play your old and ardent blues.
The body sheds its leaves, a lifeless tree.
Mystery of life,inescapable flight in serenity, your fruit is in the orchard.
You know of pain, you have become an expert.
But you leave behind a fragrance of something kind and you know that love is always true.
Your old friend, Jorge
*********************
Jorge Ritter has been Lalo’s friend since forever. I know that, for Lalo, Jorge was much more than a friend, he was his brother. From the moment that Jorge

and his wife, Estela, asked Lalo to stand as Godfather to their children, Lalo never again referred to them as “my friends”. That fact formalized what was already a reality in Lalo’s life. Becoming Jorge and Estela’s “compadre”* gave him an official title, an evident way of expressing what couldn’t otherwise be said without sounding superficial or trite.

            “Lalo and Jorge” became a term of common usage which was later substituted by “the compadres”, with exactly the same meaning. The unity of two singular people connected by a wealth of experiences, adventures, sorrows, tears, work, music and laughter; lots and lots of laughter.

            One night in August of 2011, Lalo approached death for the first time. It seemed his life would end in those small hours. Lying in bed, his eyes wide open, he began to hear music and see things from the invisible world.

            “Hear that?” His head was tilted and he was smiling from ear to ear. “My compadre knows that one!”

                        *Compadres, in Mexico and most Spanish-speaking countries, literally means “co-parents”, not just “friend” or “pal” as some dictionaries explain. In Mexico, at least, it signifies a relationship as close as any family tie.