The first time I met you you were up to your shoulders digging under the concrete in the back yard of our house, trying to fix a water line without breaking up the porch floor. And you did it because you were there, hanging out with Marc, and you could do it. You could do pretty much anything.
You helped Michael haul rocks from the Colorado river to decorate our front yard. You helped build a wooden walkway from pallets scavenged from local produce plants.
When we'd go to Chavoya family functions, Michael would always look for you, hoping to find you and swap a few stories.
You were unfailingly kind, always with a smile, always asking how I was, how Mary was, how Mike was.
And we'll miss you.
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