Aug 30, 2012

What would our lives be like without some sort of belief system, without faith? I have always thought that belief, faith, is an inescapable human trait. Even those people who claim to be atheists believe in something. Call it science, enlightenment, the power of the human spirit, will, whatever… it is still faith. The certainty that there is something else, if not greater. Something outside ourselves that can transcend our existence. Something that will live on after we’ve gone.

            For Lalo, the search for this faith became an essential part of his existence. His childhood was spent under the “wings” of the Catholic Church. He was even al altar boy at some point. And like every Catholic I’ve ever known, there came a moment when he doubted his faith and questioned his beliefs; especially during the difficult years of his adolescence.

            Later on, he dabbled with different eastern philosophies. I know he was into the Sufis for a while (remember Mushkil Gusha? Today, Thursday, is Mushkil Gusha Day), and then he started reading Gurdjieff and Ouspensky, which eventually led him full-circle back to Catholicism, through John Grepe and his group.

            I never really understood why Lalo became so fixated with Grepe. If I’m honest, I have to admit I disliked the man; there was something about him I distrusted instinctively. And yet, I neither heard nor saw anything but the purest of intentions from him; as far as I know, he never extorted money from his followers, he didn’t ask for “gifts”, he didn’t ask for “favors”. Still, I disliked him and couldn’t understand why Lalo followed him so blindly, so wholeheartedly. In part, I always thought Lalo had finally found an acceptable father-figure he could place his trust in. Grepe would never betray him like my father, unfortunately, did. And, for all intents and purposes, Grepe helped Lalo “get his act together”. He became more responsible, more centered. He even became a sort of “heir” to Grepe once he died. Lalo kept on with the group for some time and became one of the “teachers” for the newer generations. In any case, it was Grepe who “returned” Lalo’s faith to him and it was that faith that saw him through the darkness of his disease.

            The whole idea of the Acapulco Hilton Experience, of the original book Lalo had planned, was that it would serve as a tribute to Lalo’s faith, that it would show the power of Jesus Christ and of His Glory; especially if one considers that Lalo had supposedly been cured of his cancer. And there, as Shakespeare would say, is the rub.

            Make no mistake. Even though it wasn’t “complete”, if it wasn’t all that we wanted, what happened to Lalo was still a miracle. In spite of having Stage 4 pancreatic cancer with metastasis to the liver and lymph nodes, he survived almost two whole years, one of which was the absolute sum of perfection for him: he stopped the chemo, continued playing and composing his music, got married, set his world and his soul to rights. And yet… and yet…

            What’s the problem, you ask? What could possibly be your beef with the situation? The man had faith, the man believed his faith would cure him, the man survived a really, really, REALLY long time with a disease that inevitably kills all who suffer from it. Look at Michael Landon, look at Steve Jobs, for Pete’s sake! If STEVE JOBS himself couldn’t make it, with all his millions, with any and every doctor at his beck and call… what do you expect! IT WAS A MIRACLE!!!! PERIOD.

            And I agree. Absolutely. But what pains me, what kills me, is that I’m not sure he knew, in the end, that it was. I think he died scared and disappointed. That there was a point in which his unshakeable faith, his absolute belief in the power of God became something else.

            I remember my mother trying to keep him grounded even while hoping the miracle would last longer. She would tell him, “Honey, I don’t want you to be disappointed if this doesn’t happen.”  And he would get furious. I think he thought that if we didn’t all “pull together” behind the miracle, it wouldn’t happen. And that’s not faith… that’s superstition. It’s the equivalent of knocking on wood or throwing salt behind your left shoulder. Faith is what he had at the beginning, when they told him at the hospital after they tried to perform a surgical procedure on him that there hadn’t been a chance to complete it, that the cancer was too advanced. We all cried; we all felt like dying. He said, “Mother, I don’t want to die, but if God calls me, I’m ready!” And he meant it.

            I don’t mean to criticize him; I don’t mean to make less of his attitude. On the contrary. He is the bravest person I know. In the end, I saw him face his last agony with a dignity and strength that humble me and take my breath away. Even during the worst of his pain, he had something nice to say about everyone; even when he was half out of it with the morphine, he would ask if you were ok. If I ever get to be a fraction of what he was at that most difficult time of his life, during the darkest of his moments, I will consider myself blessed. And that is, perhaps, the gist of it. I wish I could have given him back some of what he gave us, of what he gave me. I wish I could have spoken more openly to him instead of being afraid of his anger, of his desperation at our lack of faith. I wish I could have told him, with absolute certainty, “This was the miracle. You were the miracle.” I wish I could have found a way to comfort him and let him know he didn’t have to be afraid anymore; that he was going home.

Susana Olivares Bari

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