It was the day of my college graduation and I was sitting in backed up traffic. There were so many emotions running through my body and I couldn't believe that this day was already here. While waiting for
traffic to move, I opened Facebook hoping that it would take my mind off of everything. As I was scrolling through my newsfeed, I saw a picture of
a familiar face that never failed to make me smile. I clicked on the post completely unprepared for what I was about to read. My smile quickly disappeared while my heart sank into my gut.
A few days before graduation while I was
celebrating my 22nd birthday, my sweet
friend Chalito passed away.
My eyes burned with tears and I felt like I was going to be sick. I was leaving the next Saturday for Guatemala where he was supposed to be, greeting me with his contagious smile.
I met
Chalito in 2013 on my first mission trip to Guatemala. When I first saw him, I figured
he was about 14 years old because he was so small. His legs and feet were curled
up close to his body and he could only lie down. He was able to move his hands
and head but relied on someone else to feed him. I soon learned that he suffered from a
condition known as cerebral palsy and was actually two years older than me.
The summer of 2014, I spent a month in Guatemala. Chalito was super smart and knew that I desperately needed some Spanish lessons. During the times when he wasn’t laughing and making fun of my awful Spanish, I was helping him learn more English. He already knew a little bit but was able to pick up and catch on to new words pretty fast.
Some of my
favorite memories of Guatemala are with Chalito. Whenever we went into the
village to get cucos (a frozen ice-cream dessert), we would sneak one back for
him. He loved them. He also loved soccer and whenever there was a game on, we would watch it on tv together. He would get so excited and yell, "GOOOOOOAL" every time his team scored.
Even though he was unable to do simple things like walk or run, he had the happiest soul. There was no possible way to be around him without smiling. One thing that he was physically able to do was throw a ball. I remember sitting there for what felt like
hours, tossing a hacky sack back and forth with him.
Chalito always
knew the day that I would be leaving to go back to the states. After breakfast I
would walk down to Kelly’s House, into his room and sadly utter, “Chalitooooo”. Since he knew I was leaving that night, he would make himself frown the saddest
frown I've ever seen and repeat, “noo". He would hold my hand until it was time for me to leave. I always reminded him that it wasn’t good-bye
forever and I would be back before he knew it.
It still
isn’t good-bye forever. As hard as it was returning to Guatemala without seeing Chalito’s smiling face, I know that he is in the
presence of the Lord and completely healed.
In loving memory of Chalito
