I’m going home.

I’m turning 98 in May this year. It’s been a good ride. I can’t complain.

I was born in a little town in Mexico and it seems I’m going to pass away in a little town in the state of New York. Dorchester, to be specific. English is not even my first language but after living so many years on this side of the border it comes totally natural to me.

My wife, Ellie, was born here in Dorchester. We met while I was working in Manhattan. Her office was on the same building as mine. We bumped a few times at Starbucks until I finally asked her out.

After the first child, and with the second one coming, we decided to move away from the city. I left my job as an investment banker and took a teaching job at a local high school. Life was awesome. I got to spend my free time with the kids, the dog and Ellie.

Ellie left us last year, she was 94 and I have missed her dearly every day. We had 4 kids, and 12 grandsons. I grew old here in Dorchester. Speaking English and having waffles for breakfast.

Sometimes I wonder how did I end up here when basically the first part of my life was spent in a whole different place, physically and mentally.

It’s been so long since I left Mexico. I don’t speak Spanish anymore. My close Family in Mexico passed away so long ago but I still remember them clearly. I remember the voice of my dad and i still savour my mom’s food, even if I will never eat it again. Or maybe I will.

No one knows what happens when you die, no one has ever come back to tell us.

I’m ready to go now. I have enjoyed a prosperous, long, joyful life. My kids have kids of their own and I like to think Ellie and me raised them properly.

It’s a Tuesday morning at about 8 am. I am alone at home. It doesn’t feel bad. I don’t feel scared or anxious.

I close my eyes and I start to see … my childhood room. It comes to me first as glances of the window that overlooked our backyard. Then I hear my dad shout that breakfast is ready. I can smell mom cooking one floor down.

I am going home. I am home.

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