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Every year, this date reminds me not only of the celebration he would have had but also of everything he left unfinished in his life and in ours.
It has been thirty one years since he left and there are still days when I catch myself thinking of him as if he were still here. Thirty one years of silences, of memories that never age, of words left unspoken and of moments that never existed. Thirty one years of imagining all that could have been but wasn’t.
In the Gospel of John 14:1–12, Jesus says to his disciples:
“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God and believe also in Me. In My Father’s house there are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with Me, so that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.”
Christmas has a peculiar way of dwelling in the heart. It spreads like a soft light that caresses the wounds, like a whisper that resonates in the corners where we keep our dearest memories. It is a season made of contrasts, where the shine of the streetlights seems to confront the shadows we sometimes carry inside.
Pedro entered eternity,
leaving behind the silence of absence
and the radiance of his memory.
With his departure, we were deprived of the excellence of his philosophy of work,
of his artistic and cultural sensitivity,
of his demand for rigor and sustained effort,
of his open and spontaneous nature,
of his warmth, his understanding,
and of the simplicity that so brightly illuminated his life.
My father was a testimony that life is not only made up of what we see, but also of what we dream. And it is in those dreams where we find the deepest connections with those we love, even when they are no longer, physically, with us.
Life, in its most elemental form, rises as a sublime gift, a jewel whose brilliance we truly appreciate only when its light threatens to fade.
Life in its infinite wisdom, becomes our most selfless and, at times, most relentless mentor. Its guides us along winding paths, sowing challenges that test the crucible of our perceptions and transform us in every step we make.
There is a beautiful letter, attributed to St. Augustine of Hippo that says when referring to death:
“If you love me, do not weep. ¡If you only knew the gift of God and what Heaven is! ¡If only you could hear the Angels’ song from where you are and see me among them! ¡If you could only see before your eyes the eternal fields with their horizons and the new paths in which I walk! ¡If only you could contemplate for one moment the beauty that I see, beauty before which all others fail and fade!
In a few days we will have left 2022 behind us, a whole year in which life has surely brought a little bit of everything. New encounters, some farewells, moments of sadness compensated with moments of joy, control and fluidity… life in constant balance. It is time to thank this entire journey and also to each of the people who have accompanied us: partners, friends, family…
Pedro Martinez Cutillas was born with a love for Panama, long before landing on its shores. He arrived from Barcelona, Spain, one day of Easter week, in 1977, convinced that there were aspects of the colonial history of the Isthmus that were yet to be written, that there was a rich history to be divulged, and that was, at the same time a challenge, a debt that he assumed.



