For Mamá. 🖤

Watching my mother’s feet as she danced bachata in our living room.

One two three, one two three.

I was maybe 8 years old. All I wanted was to dance with her.

Unfortunately, I was a terrible dancer. I spent months looking down at her feet, trying to imitate her.

I guess that’s how I learned how to use my feet.

I had no concept of what a “footballer” was. I just played.

One day, I got a call from home.

There was a problem.

I didn’t really understand much at first. I just heard “cancer” and I was really scared, but my mom said not to worry.

Then some time in 2019, we got a break, and I took a bus home to Quinindé.

When I saw her this time, she was so thin.

That night, I slept next to her in the bed, like when I was a child. When she fell asleep, I cried all night in silence so she wouldn’t worry.

A few months later, my coach told me that I was going to make my debut for the first team. I immediately called my mom to tell her the news, and she didn’t pick up. This was normal. She never had her phone.

I remember that I played very well. We got a clean sheet. I couldn’t wait to FaceTime her.

As I was leaving the pitch, my coach grabbed me by the arm and took me into a little room next to the dressing room with the team psychologist. I thought that they were going to congratulate me and tell me to stay humble. When they opened the door, my father and my brother-in-law were waiting for me.

What is going on?!

They told me that my mother was gone.

She passed away that morning.

They knew all day. Everybody. My coach, my family……

They kept it from me so that I could fulfill my dream. They thought that’s what she would have wanted.

I cried out in pain, like I’ve never cried before.

The only therapy that worked for me was time and football.

After her death, a strange thing happened. I lost all my fear on the football pitch.

I just kept telling myself, “You can’t let this depression win. Do it for Mamá. She would not want to see you crying.”

Instead of playing in my fears, I played with hunger. I ate the world.

Willian Pacho – Mamá, This Is for You, The Players’ Tribune