Hold on. Even When They Let Go.
- Gustavo Lira
- Jun 5
- 2 min read
Last night, I held a man who had lost his son.
We were just playing pool.
He wins every time—always has.
We throw a few quarters on each game, not for the money, just the rhythm.
A ritual, really.
But last night was different.
He told me, quietly:
“I lost my son.”
His eyes filled instantly.
And so I walked over and hugged him.
He hugged me back.
Then he let go—like he thought he needed to.
But I didn’t let go.
I just stood there, holding him.
At first, he resisted.
Then he just… softened.
No words. Just presencia.
A stillness where he could be in his pain.
⸻
We played a few more games.
I kept losing.
I handed over my usual handful of quarters.
Then I asked him:
“Do you want me to ask about your son?”
He said “Yeah.”
And started talking before I could.
He told me how it happened.
He cried.
Then cried again.
He said he and his wife have been closing off from the world.
Just surviving.
Encerrados.
Even though la gente—their community—has reached out with love.
He said he knows he needs to reconnect.
But when you’re hurting that much, even responder to a text feels too hard.
So I said:
“Feel free to text me. Just send one word.
‘Sad.’
‘Or hurting.’
It may be good just to put it out there and know someone is listening.
I’ll be listening.”
⸻
Driving home, I texted my son.
Told him I loved him.
Told him I hoped his day was good.
Then I texted my wife:
Let’s stay an extra week with him this summer.
Let’s do the Fourth of July out there.
Because la vida es preciosa.
And time with the people we love… no hay reemplazo.
⸻
Why am I sharing this?
Because sometimes we just need someone to hold on a little longer.
To be still with us.
To not flinch in the face of pain.
If you’re hurting, reach out. Even if it’s messy.
If someone near you is in pain, don’t rush the moment. Sit with it.
And maybe life is like pool.
You miss.
You break.
You reset.
But you keep playing.
Con alma. With heart.
For Hispanos Holding Others
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