He's My Daddy


His name is Eduardo Carlos Mendoza. He was born in the summer of 1941 in Mexico. My dad came to the United States when he was in his mid 20's, leaving 3 sisters, his mom and his dad to start a new life for himself. He had ambition and was brave enough to chase that dream. I admire that.

For as far back as I can remember, my dad has always been brave, strong, and determined...especially now, battling stage 4 Colon cancer. My dad is sick, very sick. As I write this it still doesn't seem real. When I was a little girl my dad always seemed larger than life...indestructible. I didn't think anything or anyone could hurt him. But reality casts a black cloud over a little girls' innocence. I've watched as his strength has diminished, his color fade, and his eyes grow dim. His pain overtakes him causing him to lose his zest and laughter.

I feel torn with emotions I've never experienced before and I don't know how to sort them. I'm criticized by some for not wanting to watch him die, rather choosing to keep my distance, make my peace and speak my heart not letting anything go unsaid and hoping to miss his final breath. Is that wrong? I don't know.

The thing I do know is this... I love and adore my daddy. I'm thankful that God gave us this many years together even though I wish it were so much longer. I learned so much from my dad and in many ways I'm like him. We may not have always seen eye to eye, we've had our fights and painful times but all in all when it's all said and done I wouldn't trade him for nothing in the world.