Mi Amor - Oscar 'Spooky' Diaz/On my block Story

38

Lydia's tiny voice broke through the quiet evening air. "Daddy, Mama! You're too slow! The sun is almost gone! Papá is waiting for us!"

She didn't wait for us. Her little legs, full of energy and impatience, carried her as fast as she could down the beach, heading straight for the water.

Antonio chuckled, his deep voice following her. "We can't let him wait then."

And just like that, the sound of their laughter mixed with the waves crashing nearby. I watched them, feeling the wind slap my face, the cold air a welcome contrast to the heaviness in my chest.

Five years.

Five years since Oscar's ashes were scattered here. Cesar had chosen this spot—our spot now—to say goodbye, and I hadn't thought it possible to stand here today without being crushed by grief.

I still missed him. Still loved him in a way that felt like an ache I couldn't shake. But somehow, I was still standing, breathing. The tears didn't fall as easily anymore. There were days, like today, when I could come to a place so full of memories of Oscar, and not feel like I was drowning in them. It was the strangest thing to realize. It had taken me five years to get here—to accept that he was gone. Gone forever. And yet, I needed to keep going. For Lydia. For myself. It was what he would have wanted. He would have hated seeing me like this, dragging myself through each day. He wouldn't have wanted me to stay stuck in sorrow. He would've wanted me to find joy again, to let Lydia know how much he loved her, even from where he was.

Antonio had been my anchor through all of it. He kept his word. Never once did he push me. He didn't ask for more than I could give. He stayed just as a friend, just as someone I could rely on, until the day I woke up and realized I wasn't just surviving anymore. I was living again.

One morning, I woke up and saw the time—10 o'clock. My heart leaped in my chest. Lydia never slept in like this. Panic hit me as I rushed to her room, but she wasn't there.

Then I heard her laugh. That beautiful, high-pitched giggle of a three-year-old, echoing up from downstairs.

I knew Antonio had been staying on our couch, as he had so many nights since Oscar died, and I could feel in my gut that he was with her. I went downstairs and found them in the kitchen, Antonio sitting at the table, Lydia perched on his lap. She was trying to feed him, holding a fork in her little hand, grinning up at him.

"Open, daddy!" she shouted.

My heart stumbled at the word. It was the first time she'd called him "daddy" in a way that felt so real, so right. She knew about Oscar. She knew who he was to her. But she also knew that Papá couldn't come back. Antonio was there for her when she needed him, not as a replacement, but as the father figure she'd come to rely on.

Antonio had never tried to be Oscar. He didn't need to. He gave us what we needed—comfort, stability, love, and the patience to wait until I was ready to love him back in a way that was my own.

And I did. I loved him. Not the same way I loved Oscar—how could I? But it was real. It was different. It was still beautiful.

I reached the water, where Antonio was waiting with Lydia in his arms. I whispered in Lydia's ear, trying to hold the tears back.

"Today, five years ago, God called papá home. It made all of us so sad. But he gave us this place to remember him. To remember how much he loved us and wanted to be with us."

We spent the rest of the evening on the beach, remembering Oscar. Telling funny stories, sharing moments that made us smile through the tears. I didn't want Lydia to feel sad—not today. I wanted her to feel loved by her papá, to feel his presence in every laugh and every memory.

When the chill of the evening crept in, we headed back up the hill toward our car. Lydia ran ahead, her voice ringing out as she waved at the water. "Goodbye, papá!"

I stopped for a moment, watching the waves, the sunset, the place where everything felt still and alive at the same time. And softly, to no one in particular, I whispered, "Goodbye, mi amor."

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And that's a wrap on this story. I really hope you enjoyed it, and a big thank you to everyone who stuck around until the end. Your support means so much!