The last time I saw Jose was over seven years ago.
From the moment I got the call, I have come to miss him more with each snippet memory and image I manage to retrieve from the past. It’s all coming back to me now. And I must feel only a fraction of the loss of those with more recent memories, of those who expected to see Jose at the next soccer game or weekend jump.
I’ve found happiness in learning that others came to appreciate Jose in the same way I had. I will not be alone in missing his unique spirit - his dimpled charm, optimism and generosity. Yeah, cocky too. But one quickly acquired a taste for that buzz of self-confidence surrounding him. You could both admire it and tease him about it. He could be truly as suave and debonair as James Bond and as ridiculous as Austin Powers.
But people wanted Jose to take them on an adventure and show them his view of the world.
Jose and I played soccer together – the Mexican league, the Premier league, Sprockets and the Patriots. He was one of the best goalies I’ve ever seen and, actually, a great field player too. (Of course, you would never tell him that.) We also did things neither of us would have alone but for the other. He made me tow him at high speed on roller blades behind my mountain bike around Forest Park. I made him go to the Art Museum and read (maybe skim) Scientific American. Jose and I never skydived together but he often talked about wanting to try it. I am not surprised he fell in love with it.
Jose was the reason I met my wife, and as a consequence, the reason I moved to Boston those many years ago. My two sons know of Jose and the role he played in my life.
Through the many pictures and tributes to Jose, I can see that he continued to touch others and share his unique passion for life during those missed years. From what I can piece together, he was dearly loved by many and made many special friends and memories up to his last moments.
His legacy lives on. It’ll just be a little harder to play without Jose in the nets.
Peace, brother
