After his father passed away, Elias Lopez finds comfort in flying a kite with his family to keep his memory alive.
My dad passed away a few weeks ago. He died suddenly after arriving at SFO with my mom. They had come to visit me, my wife and our sons in San Jose. We had just moved in November to the Bay Area, and I was excited to share our new life with him. In the days after he left us, while my family was still processing and grieving, my mom unpacked his suitcase. Inside, she found a neatly folded kite he got for my boys — a colorful macaw, or what we call in Venezuela a “guacamaya” — and a roll of twine.
The guacamaya has become an unofficial symbol of Caracas, my native city. They populate the skies, visiting balconies and terraces in search of snacks. We decided to fly the kite with my two sons in a nearby park on a clear, sunny day.
As soon as the guacamaya took off, I felt connected to him. Then my three-year-old son held the flying line, and the kite soared even higher. Since then, we’ve taken the kite to the park often. As it climbs upward, cutting through the wind, its colorful wings fluttering above, I lose myself in its graceful dance. My dad was an academic and a poet, and the kite’s sudden glides remind me so much of him — his elegance, his intensity.
Lately though, I’ve been worrying about the kite. I’m afraid my kids will damage it. I flinch every time it falls to the ground and they take off, dragging it behind them. But then, one recent afternoon, I remembered the twine. My dad had made a point of packing the roll — because, he told my mom, wanted something stronger that would let the kite fly higher and last longer. And so, I stopped worrying about the kite. What I need to treasure is what connects us to him. With a Perspective, I’m Elias Lopez.