Tata

All us kids called our abuelito “Tata,” I’m not sure where that name came from. Much like abuelita was “Mamiña” even though her name was Fresia. My grandfather’s full name was Humberto Antonio Silva-Lobos and he died on Friday morning from Parkinson’s with pneumonia.

When I was in Chile last year the family asked me to take a look at his medicines and there was also a copy of his EKG. After seeing how far the Parkinson’s had progressed, knowing he was already fighting pneumonia, and reading the electronic representation of his heart conduction, I hugged him goodbye feeling as though I may not see him again. I tried to say something in spanish about how long it would be until I could return, but I think it was just too complicated a thing to say, even if it were in my native english.

The best memory I have of my grandfather was when the whole family was out shopping in Viña del Mar when I was about 12. We were at an outdoor artists’ market/flea market where I had been admiring some matchsticks carved into figurines. Though we were about to leave, I wanted to run back and get one. To my surprise, Tata said he’d walk with me and buy it for me. He haggled with the vendor a bit before pulling out his wallet, letting me choose an encased match carved into two figures dancing.

As my brother and I live in the United States, whereas the rest of my cousins live in Chile, Tata and Mamiña were able to see them grow up but only meet us on few occasions throughout the years. It’s sad though, that when I go down for Christmas this year, both my grandparents won’t be there. I’ll have to go to the coast, rent a boat, and ride out into the Pacific to visit their scattered ashes. My cousin Sebastian read at the funeral how Tata was like an oak tree, always strong with branches representing the entire family. But since my grandmother died, how his tree has been wilting and getting sicker. In a dream before Tata died, he said he saw my grandmother. I’m glad they’re together again.