Charlie and I went to Pedro’s memorial a couple of days ago, and it didn’t take but a few seconds to realize that everyone that was there truly WANTED to be there. You know how you sometimes go to funerals out of an obligation of sorts? Not here – the place was filled with people who wanted to spend just another minute in Pedro’s presence and who did not want to let him go.
Pedro’s story was told in the Fayetteville Observer last week – no need for me to rehash it. What sort of gets glossed over in the article is the difficult stuff – how being a Mexican in our southern town when he got started wasn’t easy, how his and Michelle’s relationship forty years ago wasn’t acceptable, and how Pedro made what I am assuming is a small empire not only from nothing, not only without skeletons, but being beloved by everyone who crossed his way.
A lady at the memorial (a tenant of Pedro’s) stood up and said: “Pedro talked to me, we had these talks; and I will miss him – he was my friend”. All of us in that chapel felt that way because he made us all feel important. He was a no-nonsense guy who did not sugarcoat anything, did not complain about anything and did not let anything stop him.
I could go on for quite a while about Pedro but somehow nothing seems enough – so I’ll just say this: he was my friend, and I will miss him….