Today we placed Joe in his final resting place at Olivewood Memorial Park in Riverside. He was surrounded by his wife, children, and daughters-in-law. Rest well, beloved husband, father, Tata, brother, and friend. 

One time way back, my parents and I were at the drive-in theater. It happened that Joe and family were in the row of cars ahead of ours. Lydia came over to talk with us. She then returned to their car to get ready for the movie. Soon, here comes little Joey by himself. My parents asked him his name. He said "Joey Richard Aros". My mother said he was so cute in his  enthusiastic response. She went on to tell his response over and over again.

This is how I see my Joey, whenever I'm thinking of him. I see him as this skinny 14 year old sitting on the floor of the Plumber house with his legs entwined playing Solitaire. Tata was right, the nut doesn't fall far from the tree. They were both the kindest, gentlest of people. I am a little less without him.

I’m going to miss my baby brother, Joey.  I have been told for so long to take care of him that now I’m I feel a little lost. 

When he was born he was so sick that my mother returned home without him. He stayed at St. Mary’s Hospital until he was stronger. But he was a fighter and he came home where my parents told me I would have to take care of Joey because he was not strong. We were lucky and for a while he lived a healthy, normal life until one day when he was about four years old. As our mother was driving on a road that was considered rural then, but is now the center of Tucson, four year old Joey announced that he wanted to go to visit our father at his shop downtown. Mama said it was not yet time to pick up Daddy from work and we would go later. Joey announced he was going immediately and opened the back door of the car and stepped out. He was seriously injured and rushed to the hospital where I remember everyone worrying that he was going to die. He didn’t die then either. I remember being told once again that I needed to take care of Joey, he would need my help. He came home and because he was a fighter he returned to a near normal life.

Then one night, I think about eight years later, we were awakened by a terrible trembling throughout the house as Joey fell from his bed in an epileptic seizure. Our parents took him to the doctors and he started another fight for his life. But, the struggle was too much for our mother and she too was hospitalized. As the big sister I was left to care for Joey. Daddy had two jobs to pay for all the medical bills and simply told me to take care of Joey. Recently Joey told me what I said to him at the time--that I was very busy since I had a job, was at the University, and I needed to take care of the house, so because of a pressure that had formed on his brain that was causing epilepsy he would need to inform me immediately if he felt sick, thought he might have a fever, or even got angry so I could get him to the doctor’s or the pressure might move and kill him. I was amazed that I could be so harsh, but Joey never made me feel that I was too harsh. He always made me feel that I was caring and the authority on all things. He made me feel important and that what I did was significant. I never saw him angry and if/when he was sick I never knew it. I think he treated most people in that kind and gentle manner. I think he made people feel important. He was a fighter and I admired him as much as he made me feel he admired me. He got stronger and one day, he told me, he simply woke up and felt like the sun was shining and the fog that had been in his head was gone.

He graduated from college, went to work for the Riverside school district, had a family and was successful. He was blessed to have the career he wanted. Over the years that followed we lived so far apart we were not able to interact much, but when I returned to Tucson we were once again in great contact.

While our father was alive he visited Tucson at least twice a year and we enjoyed each other’s company. After our father died Joe still continued to come to Tucson to visit grave sites and me and my family. He always came to be the chef at my very large Day of the Dead party. 

With our spouses we traveled together to Branson, Nashville, Rosarito and around California. I always knew I could call on him for what I needed.

When he called to tell me he had cancer I thought, he’s a fighter--he’ll get through this. I remember telling him that he would get through this too. We laughed about the things we’d seen and experienced together. But, this time I couldn’t even go to the hospital to help take care of him. I have seen and felt the pain of watching people I love die slowly and painfully of cancer. I was relieved that at least he did not have to endure that. I was happy for him that he did not have to die alone but was surrounded by the children he loved and his wife, Sharon, who he adored. I wasn’t there to help take care of him this time, but he was well cared for and taken care of. He lived a life for which he fought and I guess he was now tired enough to go gracefully and with dignity.

He was a kind, generous, gentle and strong man. He will be missed.

Adios mi hermanito.

Your sister Cecilia