Chapter 61 2014
It took weeks before I was strong enough to read Profe’s letter.
Dearest Cielo,
If you are reading this, it means I have embarked on my next great adventure. I do hope it has caves to explore and music. And perhaps figure skating. Wouldn’t that be splendiferous?
I have made many mistakes in my life but staying to work for your mother so I could see you grow up and be your friend was not one of them. You are my greatest treasure and joy.
In this envelope is the watch my father gave me when I went off to university.
He told me, “I hope when you wear this it reminds you to appreciate time. It is limited, so make the most of it.” I am also leaving you Gato, my cat, who is staying with my neighbor until you come to get her. I know you two will get along.
Our greatness is also often our weakness. I worry your ability to love so completely, even an old fool like me, will be your undoing. Please don’t let that be the case. I leave this world a proud and happy man.
Until we meet again in the great beyond, goodbye to the greatest figure skater in the world.
Your friend,
Profe
I wish I could say I was strong enough to honor his wishes. But that simply wasn’t the case. Regrets don’t leave simply because you want them to or fade away like mosquito bites. They stay with you and itch forever, and I carry mine with me to this day.
Profe had been my best friend and teacher.
He’d provided sanity in a childhood full of bullies and a mother who had nervous breakdowns and was more devoted to God than she was to her daughter.
He taught me the value of curiosity and knowledge and how to appreciate everything the world had to offer from the small to the grand—from the magical fluorescence of a lightning bug to a startling sunset over the lake.
How to find the humor in almost anything and to hear the notes of a song.
Above all else, he taught me to believe in myself no matter what anyone else thought.
My whole life, he’d been my other half, and I wasn’t sure how to live in the world without him.
Those first weeks after his death, time passed in a hazy, grief-stricken blur.
In the mornings, Boodo would bring me breakfast and stay with me to be sure I ate it, and in the evenings, Tiny would sit on her bed in our room and read Somali poems aloud.
In the time between, Gato, Profe’s cat, would lie in the rays of light that shifted through the window, and I would watch him.
And at night, he would curl against my feet for warmth.
I think Profe knew what he was doing, leaving me that cat.