Last night I learned my great Tío* Nacho passed on. He was the last of my grandmother’s family (my dad’s mama). He was also the last of my father’s family period. My father as well as his parents, his brothers, and sisters and all of his aunts and uncles are gone. We, the children are the oldest of this side of the family. My Tio was also the last of that generation (the greats) on both sides of my mother’s and father’s family. Tio was quite a character - they all were really. He had a great memory and was a great story teller (as was my grandmother and their other brother). I however did not inherent these traits, my younger sister did though and she remembers things and will tell stories from our childhood to our kids. All the while I’m thinking, really?! Are you sure it happened that way?
My tio Nacho (Nacho is the nickname for Ignacio) loved, LOVED to read and I’m told (by my sister who remembers everything) that he even had a large collection of books – a library in his home. This is a very RARE thing in the boonies of Mexico. I had never seen such a thing in this town where our parents are from, but it would explain my love of reading and why I hoard books. I can’t bear to get rid of any and although I no longer have the time I used to for reading, I will still buy a book I fancy for the day I do have the time to read it – like when I retire. I have a pretty good library too.
Tio Nacho also didn’t like people touching his things and I’m told when he would read if he had to go do something else and laid his book down, no one was to touch it. Just leave it where he left it (the room with the library of books) so that when he came back he could pick up his reading where he left off. I can be that way too. My husband’s family learned this on my first visit to their home. They live out in the boonies of Mexico too. We had gone to the city and I had bought a couple of magazines to pass the time. When we got back to the house, my husband’s younger brothers and sisters helped us unload our packages from the car. I went to our bedroom and looked for the magazines so I could relax before dinner. Not a one to be found, they had all taken them for themselves. Let’s say I wasn’t a happy camper.
I’m not sure of his age but he had to have been between 80-90 years old. He did not suffer and knew exactly when it was his time to go – he had been feeling poorly, not uncommon for his age. Tío had his wife call his children together, asked for a shot of tequila, said goodbye to everyone and then quietly passed away.
It was a no-nonsense ending for a no-nonsense man. Descanse en paz Tío.
*Tio is the Spanish word for uncle.
