My Blah-Blah-Blah Blog: The Glory of Friendship

Jose Antonio Sanchez Araneda

February 10, 1959 - December 7, 2012

To be read at the services of mi amigo on December 16, 2012

There are no words to express the sorrow I feel with the passing of Jose Antonio. But in the midst of our shared grief, there is happiness today and I can smile, for Tony is home again with you. Of course, this is not how he envisioned it, to be surrounded by family and friends in this way; he wanted to return home healthy and ready to start again in the place that he loved. He longed to see his father, sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews. He hoped beyond all hope that he’d see his son again. But Tony realized days before his death that it wasn’t meant to be and that he wouldn’t be going home. He whispered to me that he wasn’t afraid, that this is just a part of life, and he had fought a good fight. He thanked me for taking care of him and with his sweet smile, he touched my cheek and told me very emphatically: “You are going to miss me sooo much.”

He was right: I miss him very much. My heart is broken as I grieve the loss of the most wonderful friend I’ve ever had. But I am also happy knowing that I did everything in my power to make his time here comfortable. I was no substitute for his family, but Tony was always appreciative and loving and he will always hold a place in my heart.

From the moment he arrived, he was my constant companion. I promised from the very start that I would help him in any way I could, and I would see him through until the end, no matter what the outcome. I wanted to do whatever it took to make his life easier and happier, to be sure that he was comfortable, felt loved and cared for, received the medical treatment he needed, and lived without worry and fear. I would have gone to the end of the earth to find a cure, make him better, and return him home safely to the family that he loved so much. There was never a moment with me that he lacked attention and love and support. I am confident that at the end of every day, Tony was able to sleep peacefully knowing that he was loved by everyone at home, and loved by my family and me.

No matter how bad a day it was, I did my best to end the night on a good note, with dinner out, or watching a movie or novela, or just listening to him talk about his family and friends. I tried to make every day different for Tony, if it meant going for a drive or watching the sunset at the beach or having coffee in front of a fire in a café. He enjoyed the distraction of being out of the house, of being in contact with other people, talking about life, and sharing stories of his home. We did anything he wanted and went everywhere he wanted to go. And sometimes we did things that I wanted, like taking flowers from the side of the road or cutting pieces of a cactus that he had planted years before in the parking lot of his apartment building. Those were the times that he’d tell me, “Hurry up, hurry up…” and try to look annoyed, but I always caught him smiling out the window as we made our escape! He insisted on voting in our November presidential election and although he was weak and had great difficulty moving, I dressed him and drove him to the election precinct, and he proudly voted. He was so happy that night, so proud of his citizenship, and so happy that the ‘good guy’ won!

He was never alone for a medical appointment, never alone for the reviewing of a test or scan, never alone for lab work…he was never alone with me. It seemed right, to do as much as I could for this man, this wonderful loving friend, who had done so much for me. He listened patiently to my own concerns and frustrations with life, and always gave his support, and his wonderful, loving advice. “Relax…” he’d tell me…and if he noticed my impatience with one of my children, he’d wink at me to quietly remind me that some things just weren’t important.

The most special times with Tony were the quiet moments we shared…the times that I would worry that he’d been too quiet and ask him, “Are you okay? Do you need anything? You’re so quiet…” and he’d tell me he was praying. He prayed for a cure, he prayed for the chance to return home, he prayed for his family and he prayed for strength.

We often visited the cemetery where my mother rests. I’ve always been faithful about visiting her, and Tony knew my mother years ago and insisted on going with me. Out of the blue, he’d tell me, “We need to get flowers and visit your mother…” and off we’d go. In the Spring, he was able to walk to her grave but when he was feeling weaker, I would help him from the car to his wheelchair and we’d make our way across the bumpy grass. He’d sit silently while I fixed my mother’s flowers and when I was finished, he’d ask me to leave him alone with her. I remember standing at my car, watching Tony with his head bowed and his eyes closed having a quiet conversation with my mother and thinking what an incredible thing it was for this man, my friend, to want to spend that time alone with her.

Tony was gracious and loving, kind and forgiving. He was the most appreciative, non-demanding, and easy to please man in the world. He never complained. Ever. That a person as beautiful and genuine as he was would entrust me with his life and turn his care over to me: it has been such an honor. I marvel sometimes how this all happened, how we ended up with this wonderful and amazing friendship. And Tony wondered the same. Some of our best conversations took place in the bathroom, as he was unable to shower safely on his own. He would sit in his shower chair wrapped in his towel and I would sit on the edge of the bathtub and we’d talk about his concerns and his hopes. After one particularly exhausting shower on a difficult day, Tony quietly asked me, “Why do you do this for me?” … I answered that this is what I learned from my mother, she would have done the same. I told him that he was often the easiest part of my day and that I would do this forever if he needed it. No matter what, he deserved respect and love and dignity.

What a divine world this is to have Jose Antonio from one part of the world, and me from another, meeting by chance and sharing this wonderful love and friendship. What a gift I’ve had with him in my life. What a gift to share him with my children, my family and my friends. He was a man of few words, but words wisely chosen. He was a man of gentleness and humility and grace, who made friends along the way and taught invaluable lessons of courage, strength, patience, perseverance and love.

Ours was a wonderful friendship, full of laughter and joy. There is such comfort in having shared this friendship, in having lived so honestly, and in having such loyalty. There is comfort in knowing that he was confident, and we were able to talk about anything and travel this difficult road hand in hand. There is comfort in knowing that he had happy times, and comfort in memories of the stories and laughs he shared with my family and me. There is comfort in knowing that his family was never far from his mind or heart, no matter how many miles away. There is comfort in the reminders of his life in my house, the funny phrases he would use, the routine of his day, the always burning Sacred Heart candles, and the lasting love he showed to my father, my children, and to me. There is comfort when every day, every place I go, somebody stops and asks me about my dear, sweet friend. I am so proud of him!

And now, like you, I face life without my Jose Antonio Sanchez Araneda. My days feel empty, but my heart is full. I am proud of my friend’s courage in very difficult times and I am so honored to have been a part of his life. Rest in Peace, my charming, loveable, handsome friend. My time with you was an absolute pleasure.

"The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, nor the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that that comes to one when he discovers that someone else believes in him and is willing to trust him with friendship."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson -