This was in 2013. I was living with my (Cuban) wife and her mother and her boyfriend while we tried to find a new place to live. The mom's BF was/is presumably still a Santero, a priest in a type of Santeria called Palo Mayombe. I'm not superstitious or religious, and couldn't stand the guy because he was quite obviously making a pretty good living defrauding people. People would come over who were having problems, and 100% of the time, it was because they had some curse on them, and they needed to pay him a bunch of money to perform a ceremony to get rid of the curse.

Anyway, I've had a bunch of beers, it's about 2 in the morning, and I'm smoking in the garage, where the altar is. I think it would be funny to piss on it. I do just that. I go to bed.

I wake up from a call telling me my father passed away in his sleep the night before from apparent heart failure.

This is the altar in question.

I still don't believe in the religion or anything else, but there will always probably be a nagging feeling inside me that I am responsible for my father's death.