That night in August we arrived at Lalo’s house with the certainty that it would be his last, although he would surprise us with a comeback. Around 2 o’clock in the

morning, Lalo’s condition worsened and it seemed he would let himself go into another sphere of reality. I woke Estela, who slept restlessly, and she immediately ran to his side. She lay at the foot of his bed and stroked his feet, those fine, slender feet so like a marble statue. I stayed in the doorway, not daring to go in lest I disturb the scene. Susana and Patricia stood a few steps from the door, next to his bed, and Myrna lay beside him. It was one of those moments in which I would have liked to be El Greco or one of the Flemish painters in order to capture the instant. The golden half-light of the lamps. The shadows that insinuated themselves behind the curtains. The attentive eyes, the ears ready to hear his last words. It’s true that when we are about to die, our minds are filled with all the memories of our lives, but it is also true that when someone is at death’s door, the memories of the moments lived with that person are awakened within the mind of the spectators. Well, at least that is what happened to me.

            I remembered the first times I met Lalo. The time when, at his mother’s house, Jorge, Estela, Lalo, Susana and I watched The Sound of Music on cable. The laughs at Jorge’s comments about the commercials. The theory was that the ads on Cablevision revolved exclusively around two concepts: sex and violence, and with each commercial Jorge announced, “See? Sex. Violence. Sex, sex, violence.” Then he transferred the same idea to the movie. While Julie Andrews traipsed around the Alps or the nuns sang wise counsels, Jorge would say, “Sex. Violence. Violence, violence, sex, sex…” I don’t think I’ve ever laughed harder. I also remembered all the family meals. The times Lalo would give me a look across the table to see if I’d second opening another bottle of wine. I never declined. I loved to share wine with Lalo. I enjoyed the conversations, the moments when he would tell us about the last article he’d read in Time magazine (after all, he was “Time Dude”), how he would freak out if anyone mentioned psychology (which, I think, he considered “hogwash”).

            I also recalled our good-byes at the airport when Lalo travelled to Medjugorje. That was a very important trip in his life. And the time he composed music for Tina Nina or whatever her name was. The premiere of “Acapulco en la Azotea” (“Acapulco on the Roof”) and his Tropical Minimalism. The hike we took in the little woods behind his house in San Pedro, Pictures and more pictures in my mind, together with those mental notes one makes: Lalo at Christmas, advising and comforting my mother; Lalo, Susana, Patricia and I at our house, waiting for the chickens to cook in the oven so we could eat. Lalo at Sanborn’s, angry because I criticized the Pope and then both of us apologizing for our respective outbursts. Lalo, Julieta, Susana and I the night their father passed away.

            Shortly before he died, he invited us all to his house. He did it expressly to reunite his two sisters, Elisa and Susana, and to say good-bye to his friends the way he liked; with laughter and good conversation and music. Personally, he gave me the gift of being able to see each other across the table again to share a glass (or many) of wine. I think that, as he himself said it when he quoted Henry James, “Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. And the third is to be kind.” Although it’s impossible to reduce someone’s life to a single sentence, in this case it does reflect much of what Lalo aspired to be: kind, generous, good. There is no greater success in life tan to reach the type of personal goal in which the mind and spirit are reflected in one’s actions. And that, amongst many other things, is what Lalo has achieved. And I speak in the present because Lalo IS. Not only in our memories, but also as an example to follow. The constant effort to be better, to be good. A purpose which perhaps others will think small compared to other, “more brilliant” successes. That achievement attracted towards him the greatest love and devotion one can attain. He tried to defeat his personal demons, which were many, and, if you ask me, he succeeded, and with honors.

Gloria Padilla