In this family picture, author Leopoldo Gomez-Diaz is sitting front and center in the bottom row. He is a retired Engineer from Mexico City who studied and taught at the Mexican National Autonomous University (UNAM), and worked for 40 years for The Mexican Petroleum Institute. He enjoys writing essays, studying English, learning Metaphysics, reading novels, hearing music, playing soccer, and drinking early coffee.
What If My Father…
Since childhood, I have imagined countless fantasies—such as being a child with superpowers, possessing the ability to see not just straight ahead but in zigzags, flying like a bird, or becoming invisible. I even imagined playing with my father, who passed away when I was almost six.
I have often wondered how different my life might have been if circumstances had changed. What if my fantasies had evolved into more elaborate dreams, and those dreams had, in turn, become reality? What if events had unfolded differently with my father alive?
The memories I have of my father are few but vivid.
Author Polo Gomez-Diaz is pictured here with his father.
He was a tall, thin, strong man who always had a smile on his face. He worked tirelessly in his mechanical workshop, despite battling bone cancer. I remember him playing with us on the floor, lifting us high into the air and catching us as we fell. He often reminded us not to let anyone take advantage of us, perhaps sensing that we would soon have to face the world without him.
One morning, my mother took him to the hospital, as she had many times before, but that afternoon, she returned alone. My father passed away during surgery. I never saw him again. The next day, my younger siblings and I were not allowed to attend his funeral. I never understood why, but we didn’t go. Those are all the memories I have of him.
I was so confused. I couldn’t comprehend why he had left. We were a complete family, and we all wanted it to stay that way. Why did he have to go? I asked myself this question for years.
Eventually, I accepted that this was simply how things had to be. Destiny?
Perhaps. I’m not sure. But all of us had to grow up without a father. Over time, I got used to it, and perhaps as a form of self-protection, I avoided thinking about it—unless I was crafting a scenario in my imagination that made life a little easier.
I grew up wondering what my life would have been like if my father had lived longer. Surely, my mother wouldn’t have had to work so hard, and we wouldn’t have needed to help her in the small convenience store. Maybe I would have spent more time playing with my father at home and with my friends on the street instead of helping in the store or cooking. Perhaps my personality would have been different—though, whether for better or worse, I cannot say.
Since my father passed away in 1960, I have continuously imagined different alternate realities. Day after day, I played the “What If” game in my mind. Over time, I learned that every difficult or tragic situation also presents opportunities for growth.
I could choose to see myself as a victim or choose happiness. I usually chose happiness, which is why these imaginary scenarios were so useful to me. They allowed me to picture a life where my father and mother were both present, with more time for themselves and for us. My mother wouldn’t have had to work 12 hours a day, 365 days a year.
I often asked myself how my personality, intuition, and decision-making abilities might have been different if my father had lived longer. I don’t have a clear answer to what that version of myself would look like, but I am certain I would have been different.
If I had the opportunity to change something in my life, without a doubt, one of my choices would be to spend more years with my father—to play, learn, and share life with him. I have also imagined how different my mother’s life would have been if my father had remained by her side.
Another thing I would change if I had the chance is my understanding of my mother’s emotions. At the time, I neither noticed nor wanted to acknowledge them. Perhaps I was afraid. Maybe I refused to accept our reality—that my father was gone, even though to my young eyes, he had still seemed so strong. But sometimes, such is life.
Playing the “What If” game not only helped me maintain a positive outlook but also allowed me to share imagined moments with my loved ones—first with my father, and later with my mother, who lived much longer. This game also helped me navigate potential life situations with greater clarity. In the end, I realized that I had both a father and a mother, even if they were embodied in the same person. My mother played both roles wonderfully.
Ultimately, our happiness is shaped by our thoughts, and our inner peace comes from quieting them. When I imagine positive thoughts, I experience joy; when I have negative thoughts, I struggle to find peace. But when I free myself of all thoughts, I feel complete serenity. Despite the challenges and losses in my life, I believe that every painful circumstance offers an invaluable opportunity for personal growth and transformation.
Who Like You, Esperanza! A Tribute to My Mother
One hundred years after the birth of Esperanza (Hope), I dust off my memory to retrieve from the trunk of memories some of my emotions, feelings, and longings—to once again unpack certain images, pieces of advice, glances, tears, and those magical moments spent in her company.
One hundred years after the birth of Esperanza (Hope), I dust off my memory to retrieve from the trunk of memories some of my emotions, feelings, and longings—to once again unpack certain images, pieces of advice, glances, tears, and those magical moments spent in her company.
I’m certain she never truly left, and that’s why I would love to share with her, once more, many intimate and cherished moments: moments of work, of lessons learned (and others not), of laughter, of her wise advice, and, of course, her warm presence.
I remember her unwritten lessons in resilience—carried to the extreme through discretion and acceptance. When, without having time, she managed everything. When, without saying much, she taught everything. When having nothing, she had it all. When, without knowing everything, she somehow knew it all. Her mere presence brought peace to your soul.
I often ask myself: What would I be like today if she were still here? How much more would I have learned just by observing her behavior? Would I still be the same person? I don’t know for sure. But when I imagine possible scenarios by her side, I feel different: more alive, more lucid, more peaceful, more human.
I frequently dream of Esperanza in different settings and situations. Though the circumstances change, I always wake up as a different version of myself. I feel a deep connection to her energy, her spirit, and her soul. I feel that she calls me from her heart—a call I neither want nor can resist. It’s a constant reminder, an invitation to reconnect with my true self, with her, with the truth.
Not long ago, I dreamt she would call me and ask if I would visit her because it was New Year’s. I was working on an offshore oil platform, but I managed to get a flight to go see her. When she called me, I felt she did it with great affection, tenderness, and in a deeply loving way—just as she always was. It was a call from the heart, impossible to refuse.
Esperanza could easily inspire the scripts of many songs, movies, series, and plays. She could be the source of valuable stories for future generations. She could give voice to our emotions, triumphs, failures, and lessons—because she embodied the soul of Jalisco and Mexico City.
Because she saw with her heart beyond the senses. Because she continues to teach us. Because she is more alive than many of the living. Because she comforts. Because she accompanies. Because in dying, she lives. Because she redeems. Because there was no one, there was no one, and there would never be anyone who could replace her.
Today, I sing to her poise, elegance, melancholy, and joy. Like El Cid Campeador, she continues winning battles even after passing. Because she is still present. Because she is still alive in our hearts. Because “You Are All My Hope,” as my father Víctor Manuel, once wrote. May things go beautifully for you, wherever you may be. And you’re not gone… because I don’t want you to leave
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