I recently told someone that I had no regrets in life. I attributed it to always taking on the opportunities and challenges that presented themselves, largely due to my father’s advice.
“Life moves so fast,” he always said to me. “Never waste time.”
As a child I didn’t fully understand the meaning of those words, but as an adult I see them as a gift burned into my mind. Those few words helped me make choices to live life to the fullest.
But shortly after I made the comment, I realized I had something to regret – and it’s a big regret.
You know, for years I interviewed dozens of people 60 and older for my blog called Wiser With Age. I felt that older Americans were not as revered in the US as they were in other countries, and in fact I felt that they were almost forgotten and discarded. So I went on a mission to try to prove how impressive and worthy of attention they were, by interviewing one person aged 60 or older every week. I interviewed fascinating individuals – best-selling authors, a Sioux chief and a champion bodybuilder in his seventies, among many others.
Yet I never interviewed the person most dear to me, my father.
Fabián Puga emigrated from Quito, Ecuador to Queens, New York in 1973. He was 22 and a flight attendant for Iberia Airlines when he decided to visit his father, who was living and working in New York City at the time. My father told me that he fell in love with the US at first sight. He moved to New York, quickly learned English and later became a proud American citizen.
He never finished college, but he got a job he loved. He became a color matcher for a wallpaper company in Brooklyn, where he eventually became a manager and worked there for many years. He was extremely punctual and I remember him never calling in sick.
It was his dream that I would go to college and later get my master’s degree. I remember graduating from the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism as one of his proudest moments. I knew, because he had a big smile that day – and because he thoughtfully wore a blue tie, the exact blue shade of the Columbia colors. He wasn’t often verbally expressive, but he made those gestures and always, always showed up.
The second time I saw him so proud was years later, when I told him I had been offered a job at a national media outlet that required me to move to Miami. I went to his house after work to tell him the news. When I told him, he jumped off the couch to hug me. This is a man who usually reacts very calmly, so that was a nice surprise. I wasn’t sure what his reaction would be since we’ve never lived in different cities from each other before. The fact that he was so excited made the decision to go for me easy.
However, little did we know that the pandemic was about to break out. The day we said goodbye in my newly emptied apartment in Queens was the same day the restaurants in NYC closed. He had wanted to have a farewell dinner for me with the family, but instead he wore bright blue latex gloves and barely hugged me for fear of the lurking virus. I remember him telling me on the phone earlier that he was feeling stressed, which was very unlike him.
About an hour or two later, my younger brother called concerned that our father had fallen to the floor. He had had a massive heart attack. When we finally entered the hospital, which was quite an achievement due to the new Covid measures, I ran to him and said, “I’m here!” Seconds later, when my father was unresponsive, I noticed that he was not in white hospital sheets, but in a white body bag. Only his head was sticking out and I almost collapsed at the realization.
That couldn’t be so. My rock, who was always there for us – and never sick – was simply gone at the age of 68. Suddenly I felt that I was floating without a foundation.
I’m so sorry I was reluctant to ask him more specific questions about his life. I wonder: did my father regret anything? Did he always tell me that life moves so fast because there was something he wished he had accomplished but couldn’t?
I’m sure I’m not the only one who wishes they would ask a parent more questions.
I do know some things, though. He was a genuine and friendly family man who loved to wave to his New York City neighbors as he came and went. Every time he entered a room, he radiated a peaceful warmth and positivity, even when he said nothing.
I’ve never heard him say anything bad about anyone. He understood that everyone was different and only seemed to focus on the good in people. Everyone who knew him just loved him.
If I ever had a problem that I needed help with, my mother would often say, “Ask your father.” He always knows what to do.” And that was true: He always had incredible judgment and wisdom.
I do know that he was the best man I knew, an exemplary father who sacrificed whatever his own desires were to provide whatever we needed – even if that meant just being there. I never knew if he actually had other desires because I never heard him complain. He always seemed fulfilled and happy to be with us in this moment.
I also know he had a sense of adventure; after all, he decided to move to another country after a tourist trip. And I also know that his life went too fast.
More importantly, I know he loved me, and my brothers, dearly, and will always be loved and remembered by us. Happy Father’s Day, Papi.
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This article was originally published on NBCNews.com
