Dad, I still canât believe youâre gone. It hasnât sunk in, or rather, I donât want it to. Itâs so hard to imagine that Iâll never see you again, that weâll never talk again. I know you were suffering and that this is for the best, but you left us too soon. We still had so much left to enjoy together.
You asked me so many times to play in one last World Cup, and just days before it started, that was when you got the worst. It was the first time you werenât going to be there for a tournament, but Mom kept telling me you were going to get better and that youâd be well enough to travel. I told you we were going to make it to the final so you could come.
We made it to the final, and you couldnât be there. I wanted to win it for you, to bring you another one and show it to you. I couldnât. My legs had nothing left in them. This time I tried to push past what my body was telling me, but I couldnât. I never felt right.
When I got home, you thought we had lost the final on penalties. We never got the chance to talk about any of what happened. You couldnât enjoy any of it. We didnât become champions, but you have no idea how much we enjoyed every single match. Once again, you were right: I had to be there and play it.
I donât know what Iâm going to do without you. I donât know how to keep going. I only ever played football, and now I have more and more doubts about whether Iâll keep doing it for much longer. You were by my side from the very beginning, and there was so little left until the end. Why couldnât you hold on just a little longer so we could finish it together?
Iâm going to miss you so much, but youâll always be with me, and especially in the way I raise my children, because Iâm teaching and raising them the way you and Mom raised me.
Rest in peace, and watch over us from up there like you always did here. Thank you for everything.
Te amo, pa.
