There are moments in life that break you open and yet fill you with gratitude all at once.

On Oct. 24, while I was back home in Puerto Rico on assignment to write about La Concha Resort, also the very hotel where my father Jose Rodríguez once worked and built part of his legacy, he passed away unexpectedly from gallbladder cancer.

The kindness that surrounded me was overwhelming. The team at La Concha, knowing the deep connection my father and I shared with the hotel, sent me the most beautiful flowers.

When they arrived, I cried. It was as if the walls of that resort, where he once walked, worked, and dreamed, were embracing me, whispering, “He’s still here.”

My mother, Maritza and my brother, Juan Edgardo, were very touched by the support we received from so many, and how many people adored him and care of us. We are talking about business owners, neighborhood besties, and yes, even a Political Mayor or two of the island’s cities.

That’s the type of legacy that he left us, and mark that he left on people to the point that they will always remember him with a deep fondness and a smile.

All of this was sudden, devastating, and surreal. The irony of being at La Concha Resort, celebrating a place that held his laughter and hard work, wasn’t lost on me. In a way, it felt like fate brought me home to him one last time.

My father was my world. Growing up in Puerto Rico, he made sure my brother and I had every opportunity possible. He worked tirelessly so that we could receive a great education, so that we never had to feel the struggles he quietly endured.

He was the definition of selfless and was a man who gave everything to make sure his family smiled. Though we sometimes butted heads (we were both strong-willed and so alike), he always treated me like his princess. He was proud of me, even when I didn’t see it. And I cherished him with every beat of my heart.

I can still hear his laugh, deep and contagious. I can still see his eyes light up when he’d tell a joke or tease us playfully. He had a way of turning ordinary days into adventures, of making the simplest moments feel like treasures.

I think back to our trips to Disney, where Magic Kingdom and Epcot were his playgrounds. There was something magical about watching him there, smiling like a little boy, waving at Mickey, or maybe even humming along to “It’s a Small World.”

In those moments, he reminded me that growing up doesn’t mean letting go of joy. He showed me that being an adult doesn’t mean you have to stop being a kid at heart. And that is exactly the mantra that I follow, even more now, every day.

That was his gift to me, the understanding that life is meant to be lived with laughter, wonder, and love. And that’s something that I’ll always do, and this is something that I promise to honor about him.

Our last conversation is something I’ll hold forever. He told me to keep that joyful, childlike spirit alive, to never lose the spark that made me who I am.

He wanted me, and all of us as a family, to know how deeply he loved us, that his presence would never fade, and that we should carry on knowing he’d always be there. And, even sick, I could hear his voice, the one that always laughed and looked at the positive side of life, even when life at times could be tough. Those words now echo in my mind like a soft, eternal lullaby.

When he passed, I wasn’t alone. My dear friends Russell and Kimber were by my side, as were Alicia and Selina, friends from my Puerto Rico high school days who knew how much he meant to me. My husband Sebastian also immediately flew in, and it was such a sigh of relief. I was also happy to be there for my mom, Maritza, and my brother and I surrounded her with love. He will always be with us.

Together, a few of us went to one of his favorite places, La Placita, an open-air plaza filled of bars, restaurants, music, laughter, and simply one where you can celebrate life.

We toasted to his memory, sharing stories, tears, and smiles. It was exactly the kind of place he loved. It’s vibrant, warm and full of the spirit of the island we adore.

This was the way he wanted to live, making new friends in so many places, and unafraid to strike up a conversation with strangers everywhere. He was unafraid to approach others.

I’ve made some of my closest friends the same way, and this is how he made some of his as well. Proving that we certainly will always be remembered as being quite alike. A true honor, honestly.

A life with terminal cancer, one where he could never be his lively self again, would have never made him happy. And this is a real reason why I feel like he’s now left our Planet Earth. But he’s still here for sure!

His spirit is always around us, and somewhere fun and peaceful for sure, having the time of his life, watching a horse races, playing and watching baseball games hoping the New York Yankees don’t mess up AGAIN, and hanging out with family and friends that are gone but now there with him. And making even more new friends and possibly buying them a beer or two. And still being himself, of course, which was his favorite way to be.

This weekend, on Día de los Muertos, my husband and I will celebrate his life at his two favorite theme parks, just as he would have wanted.

I’ll wear outfits in his honor, smile through the tears, and carry him with me through every moment of joy and laughter. Because he’s the reason I believe in magic, and in a love that never truly leaves us.

I’ll miss him every day. But I know he’s still with me, in every laugh that escapes my lips, in every Disney song that fills the air, and in every little moment that reminds me that magic never really dies.

Te amo siempre, Papi. You will always be my heart, my hero, the light that guides me home, and I’ll always be your Princess Aurora.