When we get the age of ‘older adult‘, one feels, and frequently resents the loss of a friendcontemporary regularly, or of some family member or people with whom, in one way or another, we have interacted over time, cultivating affections, empathysome relationship that brings us closer.
I am 76, just turned in March, and I feel in very good health, although with the normal ‘ailments’ of age and an ‘open heart’ surgery, which this April 26 will be three years after that first, and until today only, visit to the operating room.
Faced with these realities, every Saturday, for more than three decades, I share a seat at the table where a group of friends meet to talk about any and all topics that are common to us: politics, baseball, health, family, friends, wars, the weather and its turbulence, in a meeting in which we aim, every week, to compose or recompose the world.
This week opened, in addition to the tensions of the war and the effects of the rains – hailstorm included – with the sad news of the death of the great journalism professional, and best friend, Carlos Batista Matos.
I was his partner, his boss and I remain his friend, a condition that never ends.
I want, and prefer, to keep the best memories of Carlos, his affability, his positivism, his particular character: ‘the most expensive man’. That is why I close this space from the depths of my heart, singing verses of the emblematic song by Argentine Alberto Cortez: When a friend leaves / there is an empty space / that cannot be filled / the arrival of another friend…
