Encompass Blog
Remembering Carlos Vargas (7 December 1966 - 22 July 2016)
I got the text while on holiday.
A tentative text;
“Pastor im sorry i know your busy
but if you can please call me
its very important again
im sorry i wouldn't disturb you
but its very important.”
Followed by one born out of grief and loss;
“I don't know how to tell you.
Carlos passed away
i just found out this morning
i hope its okay I gave Ray your #
he is who found carlos.”
I thanked her, Anna,
for letting me know and told her
that I'd see her at Jack in the Box
that following Tuesday.
It was a shocking note
that I filed away
until I could really hold it,
read it and let the shock of the news settle in.
The day before I was to meet with Anna
I noticed I'd received a note from a second person;
Carlos's daughter.
Carlos had come to me in April
expressing a desire to contact his daughter.
He'd not seen her for six or so years
and had not spoken with her for over two.
While the reasons are complicated
there are several factors
that make staying in contact
with loved ones much harder;
the very nature of houselessness.
His ex-wife, her mother,
had moved leaving no forwarding address.
His daughter as well, had moved.
Carlos had lost his phone and address book
and with them the phone number of his daughter.
I do not know if extended family could find her
but regardless, they'd not spoken for two years.
So he asked me to help.
After some work I found someone who seemed to be her
and sent a message; this was in May.
In June I resent the message per Carlos's request.
I never heard back, until a week after his death.
I opened the message and read the following;
“Hi there Jim. Unfortunately I just got this message.
Im sure you heard that he passed last week.
But thank for reaching out to me.
Unfortunately it was too late. ”
And then she posted the following tribute,
“I love you so much dad.
Although we had our ups and downs,
I know that I was your whole world.
Thank you for your wisdom,
your love, your silliness,
and your ability to always maintain strength
when it is needed most.
I'll always be your little monkey Rip.”
Ah, but for want of a message.
So bitter sweet.
She knew he'd tried to contact her,
but she didn't see the message until after his death.
Carlos's sisters, and Carlos,
intimated that childhood was rough.
He'd ended up taking care of his siblings
in middle grade school.
He told me a story of his mom asking him,
during a raid by the police,
to change his sisters diaper
and while doing that,
put the stash of heroin in the diaper
and then into the trash
so the police wouldn't find it;
he was maybe 9.
These events seemed to have set
the trajectory of his life.
He was, for a time, a good father and husband,
but for reasons beyond understanding in this world,
things began to slip.
The end came when,
as he and his wife fought,
his daughter tried to push them apart,
stating that it was her fault that they fought
and that she'd do better.
This was too much for him.
he knew it wasn't her fault,
he knew she'd take the blame,
as children often do,
and he stopped arguing, turned, and left.
He never explained why.
And it is this omission,
that he sought to speak to
when he asked me to contact his one and only child.
Carlos felt that his “time was short”
and he wanted to explain to his daughter
that it wasn't her fault;
so she'd grow up healthy and strong.
We tried. But he died.
There is a part of me that is bitter
that they did not get to speak one last time;
but maybe, in the wisdom of God, it is better.
Maybe the wounds are so deep that the visit
would have gone wrong,
maybe he would have balked,
maybe she'd not have meet him.
Maybe, in the end,
it was better that someone deliver the message to her,
for him.
Maybe one degree of separation was needed.
I will never know.
What I do know is that Carlos is a man of faith
and that I will see him again and it will be wonderful.
