The bells chime as we walk towards the old church. The building is very weathered and worn, like me, but primarily from the climate rather than its age.  The community it represents is rather young. I can't say when it was built exactly.  But I'd remember it was standing tall against the desert skies since I was a small child.  Now Milagros looks at it the same way I used to when I was her age.

“It really is pretty.”

“What is?”  I stop to look at Milagros.

“La iglesia.”

I shrug.  “Oh it’s just like any old church."

“Have you seen many, Papi?”

“Only when I traveled as a young man.”

“You’re not old.”  I try not to laugh.  I didn’t mean to sound old.  

“I look it AND I feel it,” I admit, more to myself than to my own daughter.  I’m sure my scars hide my age a bit.  Sometimes I think I look very used and worn because of them…my scars.  No one has admitted it to me, though.

“What was it like, Papi?”  Milagros continues, unfazed by her “genuine” comments.  “To travel so much and see so much?”

“The more you travel, the more you see but the more things are the same.”

“I don't understand.”

We continue our movement forward.  “I’ve visited establishments…towns in different places.  I've seen forests, plains, deserts, mountains and bays. The sky never changed though.  It was still big and blue.  And the people…the same type you see here.  Young, old, fat, thin, tall, short, boy, girl, poor, rich….mean ones and kind ones too.”

“Do you think we will ever leave…this place?”

“I really don't know.”  Honestly, I’ve never put much thought into the future.  Always living day by day, sometimes second by second.  “What would you like, nena?”

“I think I would like to see more and talk with people of different places.  I don't want to be stuck here.  But I want you to always be with me.”

“As long as I breathe, I'll be with you.  I’ll join you on any journey you wish me to take with you.”  I feel disingenuous with my false promise.  I don’t expect to live long.  Something in my gut tells me so.  I hug her tightly to ensure her though.  “You know I’m very proud of you.”

“For what?”

“For being you!”

“I love you Papi.”

“I love you too, so very much. Con todo mi corazón.”

I stare into her eyes with the only working eye I have left.  I blink away a tear.  Lord only knows why she looks so much like her mother to me. Normally I see boys look more like their mothers while girls look like their fathers. But with Milagros, the opposite is true. I don't have a problem with it. It allows me to see her beautiful mother everyday.

We stop by the church doors.  “Now that we are here, let us go attend a mass.”

“Papi, it is not Sunday.”  Even without looking at her face I can “hear” her frown.

“I don’t know.  I feel that we have a lot to be thankful for today.

Come on. It won't be long.”

Milagros obliges with my request.  We walk up the steps of the church and enter.

…