Goodbye, Brother

I first met him in 1986. Without even being introduced, he caught me by surprise by sneaking up on me from behind and wrapping his arms around my chest. He greeted me in his signature baritone voice. He was drunk, and I soon learned that this was not an uncommon state for him. The next day, Felipe sobered up and we met again. He was a completely different person--a gentleman. This visit was my first to Guatemala, and Felipe became an excellent tour guide for me as we wandered through his home town of Antigua. He knew a lot about the city, even the little-known facts.


His story is a sad one, though. He began drinking as a young boy. As an alcohol-addicted adult, there were no career highlights for Felipe; it was hard for him to hold a job. He had a family, but had no family life. And it's a miracle that he lived as long as he did. He would at times return home from a night of hard drinking, battered, broken and bruised.


Eventually, Felipe needed extra care as his lifestyle became too much for his aging parents to handle. As a consequence, much of Felipe's life as an adult was spent in and out of group homes. It was locked up in these homes that ironically, Felipe was free, at least free from the alcohol that consumed him. But this was an uneasy freedom. He wasn't happy. Family members paid regular visits to him, but it was no life.


I'm not writing this to document the disease that consumed my brother-in-law, or to portray him as a drunk. I'm writing to honor the man who he was. He was a good man--"un caballero." He was a brother to nine siblings; he was an uncle and a cousin. He was related to a whole bunch of us in-laws who loved him, too. He was a son. And and he was a father.


Just a month ago, Felipe visited with his daughter. From the photos I saw, that visit made him happy. He deserved it. At the time, he was in extreme pain. The cancers that invaded his vulnerable body were making their final advances. In my last phone call to him, he sounded upbeat, saying how he'd been feeling much better. In reality he was failing fast.

On Tuesday, June 22, Felipe Leonel Piñon Bonilla went to heaven. We know he did; he was a believer. He's free now, and we'll remember him for the man he was: a true "caballero."


Adiós, Hermano. Que descanses en paz.