It is both like it was yesterday and a time lost deeply in a fog. The past, two years ago today, was when I had to take Chuck to Johns Hopkins Hospital for Whipple surgery that removed a tumor what later was identified as Stage IIB Pancreatic Ductile Adenocarcinoma (PDAC).

My close circle remembers. I re-read the comments again on that tough post on this blog about Chuck’s surgery, and know how much I am loved. Thank you again; I still feel it. Your support and love means a lot to me.

Today, the present, I am a man transformed by trauma. This transformation is described in…

… a book by Michelle Neff Hernandez titled, Different After You: Rediscovering Yourself and Healing after Grief or Trauma. The trauma of caregiving during my beloved husband’s rough post-surgical recovery and his PTSD, dealing with a second cancerous scalp lesion, diet challenges, wasting weight loss, then that brutal and intolerable chemo. Then I had to do what Chuck asked, telling them to stop treatment when it was clear that he had no hope to recover, and transporting him to hospice to be with him until he died. This memory is burned deeply in my very soul.

I do not second-guess or regret my decisions, which were his decisions that we discussed and I honored. I am grateful we had updated Advance Medical Directives that clearly spelled out his wishes and enabled me to act with authority, when my heart wanted — so wanted — a different outcome.

After Chuck was torn from my heart, with the love and support of dear friends at home in March 2021, and in Puerto Rico on the one-year anniversary of his death (January 5), I honored Chuck’s last wishes by scattering some of his ashes in a garden at home and the remainder upon the Caribbean Sea, the only ocean he could swim in.

Remembering is part of managing grief. These days, most of my memories are of our happy, joyful, life-fulfilling times that we enjoyed throughout our 28 years of togetherness, and 8 years of a loving, supporting, and cherished marriage that was hard-won.

My present became service in honor of Chuck to my community. I worked to regain my full paramedic license such that I could serve in a meaningful and productive way. I had the support of my fire department, my Montgomery County home’s elected officials, and a local non-profit healthcare organization (SYB/LHI) that serves our Spanish-speaking community to enable me to serve creatively where there was the most need, right here in my ol’ stomping ground of Wheaton.

To date, I have administered over 85,300 vaccinations, mostly for Covid-19, but also for other preventable childhood and adult diseases. I do not regret taking a break for the summer this year, and look forward to returning to duty in the Fall where I will strive to meet my goal of 100,000 vaccinations by the end of the year. All in honor of Chuck.

Concurrently, as proud volunteer duty medic, I managed to save countless lives from drug overdoses and traumatic injuries, and deliver three babies. I also had to pronounce death in the field; damn hard considering my emotional sensitivity, but that’s the job of the “most senior” on-scene medic.

Recognition as the “most gentle vaccinator (vacunador más suave) of Montgomery County” was an honor that I never imagined two years ago would become my calling, especially because I was such a needlephobe. I credit treating Chuck at home for making me get over the fear of needles and become so gentle. Never would I want to cause more pain for my beloved.

Establishing a legacy at my alma mater, the University of Maryland, through scholarships for students on the teacher-training track and equal scholarships for student leaders, realized a dream. I am fortunate to be able to give back to what made me me.

I am also really happy that I completed some major renovations at my house that make it more livable and comfortable for me. Not only that, I got myself a new Harley and went on some awesome adventures! Life rolls on!

But now, what is the future?

The chapters of my life are still unfolding. Each day I turn a new page. What will life bring? How can I contribute to my community’s health and well-being? How can I have an impact as an old sage who’s kinda “been there/done that?” How can I get out of the way and mentor younger leaders to take on the mantle of public service? How can I have fun in the process? (all work and no play isn’t healthy).

Where shall I live? Happy at home in Maryland where my connections run deep, but — if the USA “goes stupid” in 2024 — I am keeping options open to abandon a country of which I was once proud and served. Since the devastation and destruction of human decency became an unfortunate “acceptable norm” led by the world’s #1 nutjob between 2017 – 2021, there is no way I can tolerate that again.

I long for just simple human courtesy, kindness, responsibility, and thoughtfulness.

That is what I find in Puerto Rico; I so love it there. The people, the culture, the life…. It is very different from the rat-race of the DC Metro and has other lifestyle manners that I have learned to understand and respect. Having good friends there take my hand and help me learn is something for which I am grateful. Puerto Rico has a good health care system, accepts Medicare, yet is far enough away from the mainland, in a way it would be like I was in a different country (recognizing many Puerto Ricans feel they are treated that way anyway.)

Canada offers kindness and courtesy as well; however, while I have a few friends there, they are more like acquaintances rather than true friends as I have in Puerto Rico. A major move to establish a new life in Canada would be hard because I don’t really know anyone as deeply as I do in PR. Also, I would have to remain within “commuting distance” to the U.S. so I can access U.S.-based health care, which as I grow older, I know will be a necessity. Plus, I’ve earned Medicare, so I want to use it!

As to “what do I do?” — I can’t serve as a volunteer paramedic forever. That is a much younger person’s job. The stress is manageable, but the physical work is challenging — especially when most other medics are half my age or younger.

Anyway, I am slowly turning pages of the chapters of my life. I lean on you, my friends and family, to guide me, educate me, and support me along the way.

Life is short: grow through trauma to “live forward.”