Returning to the Hospital

Returning to the Hospital - Edil Rentas Casiano

Yesterday your mom and I went to the hospital in Ocala where you spent so many weeks and months in the last two years of your life.

We went to visit a friend who was hospitalized, after an emergency surgery. The visit brought many memories to mind from your times there. The drive to the hospital felt way too familiar, and brought tears to my eyes. The news that the friend possibly had kidney failure, felt like a punch on the gut.

Walking in through the emergency room I could not help to think of you, and our many visits there. This visit revived many emotions covered over by the last year’s living.

Having said that I cannot believe that it has been almost a year of your unexpected departure. I cannot help to re-live that day in my mind often.

The call, the drive to your house, and Maureen’s look at me when I walked into the house. She sat on the living room floor as the paramedic sat on the table taking down information. Just a slow, negative nod from her gave me the news that you were gone my son.

Although Dr. Nicoletta had warned us that anything could happen unexpectedly, to be prepared, we lived every day “normally”. The night before you called me at 10:40 or so to talk about the next day appointment. You then went to sleep, without knowing it would be forever, at least in earth’s terms.

Having said that, I still remember our conversations about the afterlife. I know you were not afraid of death, and you had taken steps to prepare things just in case. I wonder if those moments in that morning at your house, if you were still there while everything happened after your departure.

To me, you were still there, and you know what? Although sad, I was glad you left that night, from home, while you slept, and not in the middle of the chaos of a hospital. You looked so peaceful, just like you slept, and that brings us a lot of comfort.

As I’m sure you know by now, Maureen opted for selling the farm as it was too much for her to manage, even with our help, so your mom and I decided to keep it. Everything we see there brings memories to our hearts, most often smiles, but also some tears from time to time.

To me, every time I’m going to do a chore or a project, I cannot help to say “thanks Ed”, when I find all the tools you had acquired with future plans in mind. They are definitely making my life easier now, I find myself thanking you almost daily.

As we prepare to make the final move to the farm here in Belleview, we will be beginning our life there almost a year to the date from your departure, and we are looking forward to it. It feels good and it feels right. Though you built your life here in Florida—the farm, the chickens, the dreams of walking again—you now rest where you began: in Ponce, the city of your birth, just miles from the Tallaboa where I grew up.

You spent your first years in Puerto Rico, then returned from 1994 to 1998, those years with your grandparents, and the farm that you loved so much, set your heart right. The truth is you carried the island in your heart, and that’s why Maureen suggested that you be buried in Ponce. That drove the idea of you being laid to rest beside your abuelo—because Puerto Rico claimed you too, not just as my son but as a Boricua in your own right. Born on the island, buried on the island, with a full Florida life lived in between.

Going back to the farm subject, I still remember your call when you found the property and your excitement at finding a place where you could do your favorite hobby, shooting. I remember when we went to see it, and you and Maureen’s decision of buying it. Little did you know that it would also become the battle ground for your war with the raccoons, hawks, bobcats, and every other animal that attacked your chickens. You fought them in every way possible and shot at them with almost every weapon you had. Sadly in the end they won.

The original chicken coop is still there, and the foundation for the chicken condominium you wanted to make, the blocks are still there. This memory by the way brings me to the beginning of the end. It was during the initial building stage of the super coop, the 12 X 24 chicken coop you envisioned, that the first lesion on your left foot appeared.

What we initially thought was just a lesion caused by the boots you were wearing, initiated the two year battle you had to endure, which resulted in the multiple amputations you ended up having.  Even throughout your recoveries, your endless dialysis sessions, you manage to maintain a positive outlook. Even at the end of 2024, when you received your second leg prosthesis, you were excited about soon being able to walk again.

Although sometimes I question why you had to go through everything you did, the failed kidneys, the amputations, the pain, the hospitalizations, I think that I now understand why. In a way you were put through a period that undoubtedly made you wonder as to why, but we know that only one person can provide an answer. I also know that we both questioned the reasoning behind everything, it was hard to accept then, just like it is still hard to accept today.

Even with all the ongoing issues and suffering you kept a positive outlook. I also think that everything happens for a reason, even when we don’t know what that is. One thing I am sure of is that whatever you went through, prepared you for what was next.

Needless to say, almost a year after your departure, the sadness and pain is still deep, but is getting better bit by bit. Writing this letter to you has been rather difficult not to continually cry.

These days as Christmas approaches your mom and I remember how much you loved the holidays. Then, while I thought about it made me realize that even though we are sad that we lost you, and that you’ll not be present this Christmas, we find comfort in the fact that we now have an angel watching over us. We love you son. Merry Christmas.