- 71 years old
- Date of birth: Nov 1, 1942
- Place of birth:
Quito, Pichincha, Ecuador
- Date of passing: Jun 5, 2014
- Place of passing:
Cuenca, Azuay, Ecuador
|Let the memory of Fernando be with us forever|
"“There is going to be a resurrection......” (Acts 24:15) The pain, the grief, and the feelings of helplessness can seem unbearable. May Jehovah the God of all comfort comfort the Paez family and friends.You are in my prayers."
"My Father was a lovely man. No, he was not perfect, and we had our disagreements towards the end of his life. But no one is perfect, and when one is forced to look back and see the big picture, one must admit that he was a lovely person. Charming, kind, caring, and helpful. He was the kind of man who would give up his seat for a lady. He didn't mind running to the store to pick up a forgotten or essential item without a second thought. He would give me his parking spot and park blocks away so I didn't have to walk far late at night. He would clean his plate rather than let you think he didn't like your cooking. He could be fiercely loyal to the point of self-sacrifice, whether it was right or wrong.
He was always there to bail me out of a bind, without reproach, whether it be to jump start my car, give me a ride home from a party, or pick me and my friends up from an ill-advised trip across the State Line to Lake Havasu. <3 <3 He had a bad habit of overextending himself trying to keep everyone happy, because he just couldn't say no.
My Dad was a lover of music, food, and knowledge, all of which he thankfully passed on to me.
I remember spending hours in the car when my parents were in sales listening to Johnny Mathis, Frank Sinatra, and the like, and I'll never forget sitting at parties watching my parents dance cumbia, vallenato, salsa with skill and ease (something I somehow did NOT inherit).
And food. My Dad loved nothing more than a fresh loaf of bread, still warm from the oven, but he was also a great cook, especially of Italian food, from his Chicken Cacciatore, Spaghetti Carbonara, to his delicious Lasagna, and uniquely delicious Chicken-Mushroom Manicotti. He also made a killer Apple Pie, and could be persuaded to make me a vegetarian version of his delicious Ecuadorian Tamales.
He was handy around the house, and in my childhood, had a vast collection of how-to books, along with his vast collection of history and anthropology books. His music collection, which included a vinyl copy of The Beatles Downtown Abbey, was quite large.
He seemed to love to drive, and knew his way around the nooks and crannies of the Greater Los Angeles area like nobody's business, a talent I acquired, half genetic-instinct and half from frequently calling him when approaching a jam at rush hour to find out what the best detour might be.
He was friendly, charming, and a great conversationalist, but at the same time, very private and hesitant to talk about his feelings.
It's still hard for me to believe he's not out there somewhere. I still fight the urge to find a flight to Cuenca, where he lived the last couple of years of his life, to go see the life he made there, as I had planned to do before he became ill and passed away. Even though I had hoped he would come back and patch up a few loose ends, I was somehow proud of him for embarking on this last adventure, and I hope he really was as happy as we were told.
I'm sometimes taken off guard by the urge to call and invite him to visit me and share the new life I've created for myself, and the idea that he won't be there in case I should need someone to walk me down the aisle or meet my still-theoretical children is almost too much to wrap my head around, still.
I will carry him in my heart always, and remember him this, and every Father's Day, birthday, and likely, every day, as well."
"FInally, a place to leave you flowers..."
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