As I lay on a blanket next to Judson’s plot of grass at the memorial park today, an elderly couple, that I met soon after Judson died, was sitting nearby in lawn chairs next to the gravesite of their 40 year old daughter Victoria.  Though they speak Spanish, I have engaged a few brief conversations with them (in my broken Spanish and their broken English) when I have periodically seen them there.  Victoria was their youngest of 8 children and they visit her gravesite every day.

So while lying there deep in thought, I noticed they were getting up to leave, folding their lawn chairs with one hand while holding onto their walkers with the other; I lifted my head and said goodbye.  They returned the pleasantries and I put my head back down, retreating into my own world again.

A few moments later I heard the gentleman quietly say, “Goodbye little chico, see you tomorrow.”  And as I looked up out of the corner of my eye, I noticed he was blowing a kiss in the direction of Judson’s gravestone.

My heart swelled.  He was talking to my little boy, my little chico.

Then he bent down with all the strength he could muster and kissed the granite stone engraved with the name of his baby daughter and in beautiful Spanglish whispered, “Te quiero mija, keep waiting por mi.”

Unable to hold it together, I burst into tears as the dear couple hobbled away, touched by their tenderness toward Jud and moved by their anticipation of reunion with their beloved daughter.

Later, about to leave, I leaned over to kiss Judson’s sweet porcelain photo as I always do, then whispered with intense emotion, “I love you my little chico, keep waiting for me.”