Don Armando was kind. Polite. Grateful.
“But I feel useless, my dear.”
Little by little we settled in.
Don Armando would get up early. He would make his bed. He would wash his dishes. He would sweep what he could with his crutches.
“Don Armando, you don’t have to do that.”
“Honey, you’re giving me shelter and food. The least I can do is help.”
We started talking more. He told me about his life. About when he was young. About his wife. About his children when they were little.
“They were good kids. I don’t know what happened. They changed when they grew up.”
She also helped me with advice: “Honey, that leak needs to be fixed before it gets bigger.”
O: “Honey, the TV cable is loose. It could short circuit.”
It was like having a dad
My friends were still worried: “Cristina, how long is she going to be there?”
“I don’t know. As much time as I need.”
“What if it stays forever?”
“Well, he’s staying.”
Two months have passed. Don Armando is still living with me.
He’s gotten used to getting around with crutches. He can do more things on his own now.
She cooks (better than me). She cleans. She fixes things around the house that I didn’t know how to fix.
“Don Armando, how did you manage to fix the water tap?”
“Honey, I was a bricklayer for 50 years. I learned a thing or two.”
A week ago, her children finally answered. After three months.
“Dad, where are you?”
“With the nurse who took care of me in the hospital”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I called them 20 times. They never answered.”
His children wanted him to come back to them. But Don Armando told them no.
“I’ve bothered them for many years. Now I’m fine where I am.”
When he told me, I cried.
“Don Armando, if you want to leave with your children, you can.”
“No, my dear. They only came looking for me when they felt sorry for me. You helped me when no one else would. I want to stay here. If you’ll let me.”
“Of course I’ll let you, Don Armando. This is your home.”
Today, Don Armando still lives with me.
My friends have gotten used to it. Some even say, “Cristina, you’re so lucky. Don Armando fixes everything for you.”
My mom was worried at first. But when she met Don Armando, she changed her mind: “Honey, that man is an angel. Take care of him.”
Don Armando is happy. He has a place to live. Someone who appreciates him. Something to do.
I’m happy too. I no longer come home to an empty house. I have company. I have someone who cares about me.
Last night Don Armando told me: “My dear, thank you for everything.”
“Don’t thank me, Don Armando. I’m grateful too.”
“You? What about you?”
“Having him here. Not being alone. Having someone to teach me how to fix leaky roofs.”
We laughed.
I don’t know how much longer Don Armando will live. He’s 75 years old and has health problems.
But while he’s here, he’ll be well taken care of. He’ll have a home. He’ll have a family.
Because that’s what we are now: family.
Not by blood. But family.
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