Susana and her father Facundo Spain
Now I tell him quite frequently that I love him, and he tells me, too, constantly, and we give each other kisses and hugs. I think that now that he’s forgetting his words, we replace words with kisses. This didn’t happen before he became ill. Although we’ve always gotten along and we’ve always been close, my father was never that expressive, not with kisses and not with words. I wasn’t with him, either. Now it’s as if he were my son, my friend; and, my father all at the same time. He hasn’t lost the essence of who he is, I can feel this with certainty in my cells that are also his somehow.
I often ask him for advice, and even though the words hardly come out, he always answers, one way or another. Not so long ago, I asked him what he thinks is the secret to being happy in life. This is what he said: “Well, not thinking about it, just being it, this way, with this….”, and he placed his hand on his heart.