I grew up very close to Uncle Louis and Aunt Cheko – I lived just a few blocks from them from when I was five until I was about 14. In addition to my mother and Cheko being sisters, the couples were best friends, and Louis and my father were part of a cohort of men that played dominoes and cards, golfed, and bowled together. I called all my other aunts and uncles by their first names, but Louis was always "Tio", and Cheko was always "Tia". Cheko and Louis even shared a dog with us: Jip, our collie, regularly traipsed back and forth between our houses eating and socializing at both places, as if on a schedule.
When Julie came along, that bound us all even closer together. Cheko and Julie were the great blessings of Louis's life. He loved them both dearly, and had to endure the slow and painful decline of each. He kept Cheko at home, caring for her lovingly and faithfully until the very end. He could do nothing for Julie, and he grieved mightily for her.
Louis was very social, and he had lots of stories. Some were embellished, some were outright fabrications told as jokes. He loved to talk and laugh, and his joy was contagious. He was a man of great energy and enthusiasm, a sharp mind, and variety of interests, including jazz, classic movies, sports (especially the Yankees), puzzles, and Cuban food. He came to all the family gatherings, frequently came to my mom's house to play Rummy, and – until he could no longer drive – frequented his favorite bowling alley.
Before the pandemic lockdown, Uncle Louis kept a weekly schedule that included three trips to the McFarland Park Senior Center to work out at the gym there, as well as trips to Publix (thanks to cousin David) and/or Cacciatore’s. He also loved going to Arco Iris for breakfast whenever he could get a ride.
He is greatly missed by all of us who knew and loved him.