I didn’t have a great childhood, but when I think of happy moments, they were at my grandparents.
Uncle still lived there, and he had a ton of games. Video games. Board games. Novelty versions of Monopoly and Clue. We didn’t have to beg him, if he said he’d play with us, he would. We’d play for hours and he didn’t complain. He’d let us win.

Sometimes, on snow days, he’d call off so we wouldn’t drive our grandpa crazy begging him to play a game with us or to go outside and help build a snowman. Uncle would do that. Once, I’d been really sick when we got snow. All I wanted to do was build a snowman. He built me one where I could see it from the window.

When my brother and I got older, he’d take us to the movies with him and his friends on the weekend. We’d go out to eat afterwards. The last movie I saw with him before I got married was The Muppets. I’d grown up with him sharing his love for the old Muppet show with me. He had all the movies. If he wasn’t going to the movies that weekend, he’d take us to the comic shop. He’d let us hang out in his room, reading comics and telling us the history of different characters. He always had trivia about comics or movies.

After I got married, I’d still hang out with him or he’d come over with a movie he thought my husband or I would like. A little toy of our favorite characters, later our kids’ favorite characters. Just like he did with me, Uncle would watch movies and play games with his two grand-nieces. They considered him their best friend. He was always willing to play with them or listen to them go on and on about stuff that’s important to little kids. Just like with me, it didn’t matter how tired he was. If he could make someone’s day better by being there, he did just that.

She had the countenance and voice of an angel. She loved her jewelry, but she didn’t need it. She sparkled on her own. Her subtle makeup made her warm smile even warmer. And every Sunday, she quietly made her way to the piano, her sparkling voice twinkled through the room, both humbly and comfortably leading those she loved in music, a passion unsurpassed by all but her family and her faith. A beautiful light, gone from this world, waiting to guide us into the next.

Our father, Manuel Antonio Juarez, passed away a year ago today, on April 29, 2021. He is survived by his wife, two daughters, a son, and seven grandchildren. He is truly missed.

He tried so hard to keep himself safe during the pandemic. But, he still went grocery shopping on his routine days.

Manuel Juarez survived many physical traumas, but he couldn’t survive the negative effects of COVID.

“Our dad is a warrior. He is now our brightest star in the sky and he will continue to shine bright in our hearts.”

We Love you, always,
Your daughters,
Lorena and Nora

Poem: Still Here

I woke up this morning and you were gone again.
I went for a walk, and you were still gone.
I drove away, and you were more gone.

You keep getting gone again and again.
Gone and gone again and again and again.
Do you ever stop being gone?

I laughed with friends and right in the middle of our laughter
You showed up and you were gone again.

It never stops. It never goes away.
You just keep going and going here.
So much gone.

“Your brother’s heart stopped. He’s gone.”
But it keeps stopping . . . not every day,
Sometimes when I least expect it.
When I’m doing the laundry or making dinner
Or in the middle of a conversation
Your heart stops again and again.

Your goneness never fades away or disappears.
It is my constant companion —
Sitting next to me on the edge of the bed.

My brother Joe relished his title of “uncle”.
He wore it like a crown.
It brought no power, no property, no money.
Only the pure and gentle love of a little girl.
He often referred to himself as Uncle Joe.
When he telephoned, he would say “Hi guys. It’s Uncle Joe calling to see how you are.”
“Uncle Joe is coming to visit next weekend.”
“Would you like to go to a museum in the city with Uncle Joe?”

Uncle Joe and Joanne were like two peas in a pod.
They were best friends from the start.
The first time they met was a few weeks after I returned from China.
Joe took the bus from New York to visit us.
I was sitting outside on the front lawn with Joanne and Lucky, my dog.
When Joe came walking up the front sidewalk,
he looked at Joanne and said, “She’s a doll”.
It was the beginning of the “mutual admiration society.”

Like the twin stars, Pollux and Castor, they were drawn to each other
with a constant and steady pull.
Their shared orbits witnessed numerous events in their lives …
birthdays, holidays, vacations, swim parties and dance recitals.
They read books together and they built doll houses together.
They attended Broadway shows together.
They visited art museums together.
Uncle Joe was present at Joanne’s Baptism, her First Communion, and her Confirmation.
He was going to walk her down the aisle when she married.

Joanne brought an abundance of light to Joe’s life.
She managed to push all his dark clouds away with her two tiny hands,
her sweet little kisses, her precious hugs, and her delicious giggles.
And Joe brought so much light to Joanne’s life.
He was her uncle, her playmate, her companion, her best friend.
She squealed with delight when Uncle Joe came to visit.
She watched for him by her bedroom window.
When she saw him walking down the driveway, she would scream,
“Uncle Joe’s here!” and run to greet him at the front door.

Their shared light cast a glow on the other.
They beamed so brightly in each other’s presence.
Uncle Joe will always be a part of Joanne’s star
and Joanne will always be a part of Joe’s.
These two stars whose orbits intersected with one another
will never drift apart.
Their light will shine on the other forever.
Their pull toward each other will never end.