A year ago this past April, one of my uncles was diagnosed with Cancer. He, like most of my uncles is what I consider from the old school of thought. Old timers that do not believe in going to the doctor when they feel ill. They just assume that things will disappear in time and get better. My uncle Felix, I found out later had been feeling sick for a while but kept it much to himself. I can only imagine how he was feeling that day when he called one of his brothers and asked to be taken to the doctor.

My uncle Felix was a kind, sweet man. He never got married, nor had children. He dedicated most of his life to taking care of his parents and his nieces and nephews. He was always there if we needed something; taking care of our cars, cleaning them, making sure us girls had our oil changed, you name it and you could count on him. When we were kids we saw him very often. Our family is very united and for the most part we have all lived close to each other. As the years passed and we kids became older, it seemed that we didn't see each other that much. My uncle came to our house about every other Sunday. A few brothers would get together at my parents house to have lunch and spend a few hours together. I always cherished those days; it was like being a kid again.

There is one memory of my uncle that I will forever have. Through the years he would always say that I was the most quiet of us kids, but that when I opened my mouth to speak that everyone should listen because what came out was gold. Those words always meant the world to me even when I was a child. Mostly because I grew up with very little self-confidence and always thought that what I said didn't matter much, but it always mattered to him and that made me feel Special. I never really got to tell him that those words meant that much to me, but now I am sure he knew.

In April 1998 when he was diagnosed it was a terrible thing that hit my family. He knew that he was ill. He was told about the colon cancer and he was aware that he would need surgery. We, on the other hand, pretty much knew that the situation was graver than that. We all choose not to tell him more than he already knew until it was confirmed because my uncle was deathly afraid of death. He feared it, he never spoke of it, and if the conversation was geared towards getting old or dying, he would turn away from it. He didn't want to hear it. He also feared staying alone in the hospital. This is when it was confirmed to me that my family, although it seemed to have separated to some degree during the years, was still united and that we would always be there for each other.

By this time, we all have our own families. Most of us are married, and a lot of us have kids or other responsibilities that occupy our time. Since my uncle feared staying alone at the hospital, we all took turns in being with him. At first it was a bit confusing, but then a schedule was done. Literally we had a written schedule. We gave the day shift to the older family members, his brother, the older cousins, etc. The younger crowd, myself included, we took the night shifts. We would stay with him at the hospital all night until someone from the day shift would show up in the morning. We would then, shower, change and head out to work. We did this for about three weeks; if I remember correctly. I am not going to tell you that it was easy, it wasn't. It was hard; it was difficult to see him like that. He was impossible to deal with at times; but we were all there for him and each other.

After his surgery the worse was confirmed. The cancer had spread to his liver and other parts of his body. It was too late, not caught in time, nothing else they could do. After the surgery he only lasted a little over a week. I thank God for that time and time again. He had better days and then he had worse days. He knew how bad it was and you could tell he was afraid. He even told one of his brothers, I will be the first to go.

Very early on July 4th, 1998 I got a phone call at home to tell me that my uncle had taken a turn for the worse. He was in pain and the doctor had ordered that he be put on morphine and he informed the family that it wouldn't be too much longer after that. As most of us did, we rushed to the hospital to be at his side. Little by little, everyone in their own way said their good-byes. Mostly to themselves without speaking it to him. I guess no one wanted him to know that the end was near because of his fear of death. I too said my good-bye in silence at first. But in my heart something kept nagging at me. Something kept telling me that I had to say something. I had heard that the last thing a person who is dying looses is his hearing so I knew that if I talked to him he would hear me. Sometime that morning I was alone with him in his room and I did talk to him. I told him that I loved him very much. I assured him that we all would be ok and that we would take care of his brother Elias. They lived together for many years and I knew he was concerned of what would happen to Elias when he was no longer here. I left the room in tears knowing that I had done the right thing by talking to him. We all sat around and made small talk and checked on him and time went by ever so slowly. I can't remember the exact time or how it was that the rest of the family was not in his room but my cousin Teresa and I. The two of us were sitting there just staring at him. I was concentrating on his breathing. Unconsciously I started counting the seconds in-between his breaths. Little by little I noticed that it was taking longer and longer and I knew. I looked over at Teresa and realized that we both were doing the same thing, we knew. We decided not to tell the others, they had all said their good-byes. It was judgement call and I do not regret it. When I realized that the end was almost near, with tears rolling down my face I got up and went to his side, held his hand and simply talked to him. I assured him that it was OK. That dying was not a bad thing. I believe I told him to let go. I told him that we all loved him and that I loved him. By this time my cousin Teresa had followed my lead and she stood at his other side holding his other hand. He simply stoppped breathing at this point. No struggling for air, no hassles, he stoppped breathing and to me he seemed at peace.

I had never been in the presence of someone's death. And to this day I do not know where I aquired the strength to talk to him until the end. I am sure that either God himself or through his Angels I was guided. Like myself I am sure that my family did not even remember that it was the 4th of July. There would be no fireworks, no BBQ's or going to the beach to see the stars that year. We gathered as family with tears in our eyes and we shed them. As the 4th of July approaches this year, I realize that this day will never mean the same to me. Yes it will always be Independence Day, and yes I may see fireworks and have some fun. But this day will forever in my heart be the day that I was blessed and given a chance to do something for someone I truly love. I guess one may even say that he was freed that day. Perhaps him passing on the 4th of July simply reassures the true meaning of freedom.