This Country is in Serious Need of a Hug

This morning I woke up with a heavy feeling in my heart. My body dragged with each movement and my mind felt clouded. Nothing new since the passing of my mom, and although most days I am able to brave my way through it, today felt off. Was it last night's too-short haircut? Or was it that email turning me down for the job I had poorly interviewed for? Whatever the case, I knew I had a day full of business so I got going.

I took the girls to school, came back home, took a long hot shower in hopes of jump starting my sluggish humanity, and headed back to the school to volunteer for an hour while Jo stayed at our friends' house.
Spent 60 minutes reading with six children in second grade. Checked on Tori to make sure that this morning's tummy ache was gone, kissed her goodbye, talked to her teacher for a minute, and left. This elementary school may not be the best in the country, but that place is a nice, happy place.

I got in the car and double-checked with my friend about her offer to keep Jo longer this time so I could finish my Christmas shopping. I turned on the radio and heard the news of the shooting in an elementary school in Connecticut. I froze. 20 children between the ages of 5 and 10, dead.

I had just spent an hour at our elementary school, and left my girls there not ever thinking that something could go so severely wrong.

Tears come rushing and roll freely down my face while my brain tries to wrap itself around what it's hearing. Sheer shock and sorrow. The reality of death has rudely shaken me again. But little children??!!! I found a parking spot and wept for several minutes.

Anger starts creeping in along with the sadness. I can't help but curse all the ideologies against gun control.

How many times does this have to happen? How many innocent people, how many children, will this country have to lose in acts of violence? How much damage is enough before it's enough? We condemn the violence that children face in Syria or Palestine. We gasp at the suffering of little girls whose genitals are mutilated. We shake our finger at history and it's proof of the abuse endured by slave children.
And what about the children right here?  What are the citizens of this world-leading country doing to protect their most vulnerable?

A fever is not an illness. The flu is. An infection is. Chicken pox is an illness. The fever that comes with it is merely a symptom that is not even always a good indicator of the severity of the illness itself.
A person is not sick because of the fever, but when the temperature is high enough, say 105°F or higher, it is a concern and doctors will try to bring it down and keep it controlled in order to avoid any other serious complications.

Some people say guns are not the problem: "guns don't kill people, people kill people". Well, guns are becoming a 180°F fever. And people who are ill are using them in sick ways and it is bringing devastating consequences. Fighting guns with guns is not a viable solution, so what is there to do?

There has got to be tighter gun control in order to protect ourselves while somehow we take care of the problem at the root of all this hurt. Let's control guns, heal our hearts and minds, and then see what other safer options lay in the future.

I cannot even pretend that I could somehow identify and explain the cause of all this violence, but at the same time I believe that the answer doesn't lie far from us.
There are people who have suffered tremendous losses. I am with them whole heartedly. My heart also aches for those who are so lost, so hopeless, so erratic, that they think unspeakable violence is an answer.

One of my chilean friends shared a post on facebook about today's news. It said: "Today I will hug my children tighter than ever, and I will be happy to live in an under-developed country, but at least less sick". He's right.

This country is a good country, but some things are going terribly wrong. This country is in serious need of a healing hug. Something that will make everyone feel that everything will be ok, so long as we keep our priorities straight and our hearts open. A hug far-reaching enough, that will let anyone who's unravelled so, to know that there is a better way out. A hug far-reaching enough that will let anyone who's suffering know that there is hope.

Chronicle of Lunchtime with a Toddler (at least my toddler)

This is the narrative of a real-life event. As in a real event in my real life. It's not a unique event, in fact, it happens often, but today it had me telling myself that I had to put it down in writing for some kind of proof and/or validation. So here it goes:

Date: Tuesday, November 27th
Location: At home.

12:40pm
Joanna has been back from preschool for a while and she is happily watching a newly discovered old cartoon show, so I delay lunch for a little bit.

1:00pm
I have delayed  long enough and feel like I should start moving on it before reaching the point of parental neglect.
I realize she has to pee so I ask her to please go to the bathroom before lunch. As usual, she denies any relation between her jittery movements and the need to evacuate her bladder; and as usual, I let her go on because if there is something I like to avoid, it is the screaming fights this girl can put on. I figure eventually she will have to give up the no-need-to-pee charade.

1:05pm
We approach the counter and as she sits on a stool I nuke some of last night's leftover spaghetti (aren't I a devoted mother?). To distract her from the fact that I am about to feed her old food, I give her  some of the brownies Sofia baked last night, which she starts eating before I get the spaghetti to her.

1:10pm
We halt the brownie eating and now there she is, swinging her legs as she sprinkles parmesan cheese on her noodles and takes a tiny bite.

1:15pm
I ask her to no avail to please keep eating. By now I have started working on my own lunch. She asks for a drink of water "in the penguin cup, please".

1:20pm
She notices a clementine orange on the counter and grabs it declaring at the same time that she does not want to eat it, just play with it for a long time. I sigh.

1:25pm
Jo remembers the little hang nail on her finger, so she asks for a bandage. I know she doesn't need it, it  really is a tiny thing and I am well aware of the fact that no matter how bad a wound is, a bandage does not stay on for longer than 3 minutes. Three minutes at the absolute most. But, like I said before, I have learned to avoid fights as much as possible, so I get her one; a big one that is, because she says that a small bandage won't do. I hand it to her still in the wrapping because I know from past experience that opening anything for her will send her into screeching mode. She opens it, peels the little paper thingies off, and as she tries to put it on, it folds in half and sticks to itself. It happens EVERY SINGLE TIME, so no surprise there. I watch her struggle with the sticky mess as I finish my salad and wait for her to whine for help.
She gives up, I fix it, and put it on her, although by now it has been handled so much it doesn't stick so well anymore. I try to ignore that and hope that she won't notice the loose end of the bandage. But it only took her two seconds to point it out. I get some scotch tape and wrap it around. It sticks, but it seems a little stiff.  "Never mind that, could you please eat your food" I tell her.

1:35pm
Joanna twirls the spaghetti with her fork and by now I am convinced that lunch is overrated.

1:36pm
She informs me that she is now removing the bandage. Of course.

1:40pm
Jo gets off the stool and hides under the dining table. I start my usual begging and negotiating: "Jo, please come back and eat your lunch, just three bites, that's all you need". To which she responds with a contradicting "but I don't want to eat three bites, I want to eat it aaaallllll" and starts belly-sliding on the floor, thus picking up every single particle of dirt with her dress.

1:50pm
Her bladder speaks to her, letting her know that holding it in is no longer a possibility. So off she goes in a hurry, asking for help. I walk with her to the bathroom and turn the light on. That's all the help she wants and let's me know that now she needs privacy. Good grief.

2:00pm
In the meantime I decide to start going through a document translation I have been asked to revise and Joanna comes find me. I drag her back into the bathroom so she can flush and wash her hands.  She asks for chocolate milk so I tell her to start eating as I make her some. I watch her walk back into the kitchen and then detour into the living room, taking notice of a small Christmas tree on the side table. "Mommy, is this a Christmas tree?", "Yes", I tell her, "Just like the big one". "So THIS is a Christmas tree, and THAT is a Christmas tree?", "Yes m'am, they both are. Aren't they pretty?". "Yes, but how come this one has these decorations?". That's it. I know when I am being played. I remind her of the chocolate milk and she drops the tree conversation and heads to the kitchen. I sigh. Again.

2:15pm
We are back in business. She reminds me that she still wants to eat it all. I don't believe her, but whatever.

2:25pm
Joanna has eaten as much as she will at this point and I declare lunch to be officially over. Stick me with a fork, I'm done.

An hour and a half, that's how long it took. This is the kind of lunch that makes me wonder whether I am an incredibly patient mother, or a complete push over. At least there was no yelling, screaming, or slamming of any door (oh yeah, she does that). Sigh. Don't know much, except that I love that girl. I truly, truly do, otherwise no one would have walked out of today's lunch in one piece . I am just glad it's over. We shall do this again tomorrow. No wait, we shall do it again tonight at dinner.

Cheers!

Literally

A pit in your stomach.
A hole in your chest.
A lump in the throat.
A burning sensation in the heart.

I have read/heard these phrases several times. People describing their sadness as if their bodies, not just their hearts, were broken.

Now, after three months and three days of my mother passing away, I go through my days, picking up life where I had left it off and going about my somewhat normal existence:  taking the girls to school, feeding the little one lunch, grocery shopping, finally getting back to the gym, volunteering at the school,  putting together celebrations such as birthdays, halloween, and the upcoming thanksgiving weekend.

I go through all of it not without a good amount of effort, ignoring my body's constant, gnawing call  to please go to bed and cover my head with the blankets. I have figured that if I stay busy enough, there is less time for melancholy or tears and at night I feel tired enough to avoid that scary gap between awake and asleep. Because if that gap catches me remembering things, there's no end to the night.

It all works until suddenly a single thought makes me feel that pit in my stomach. That hole in the chest. That burning lump in my throat. My heart being consumed. Quite literally. Real feelings that remind me that although life is back to normal, something is still seriously wrong.

I never knew those feelings to be so literal.

"Give it time" I tell myself as I take in a deep breath. "Give it time".

Good Grief

Monday,December 26th 2011 was the day my mom shared with us the news of her diagnosis. That was the day my grieving began.

Tuesday, June 4th 2012 found me in a tiny restaurant in downtown Santiago, having a chat with my ever-wise friend Paula who had met with me to talk about my experience with my mother's illness. I talked to her about my doubts, fears and how selfish I felt about some of my feelings. I felt like everything should be about my mom and nothing about me, but Paula helped me realize that although I wasn't at the epicenter of it all, it was MY mother who was dying. It was MY loss and each person lives through something like that in their own very personal (not selfish) way.

She also opened my eyes to the reality that of all the things in life, the most certain and universal is death, yet it is the one thing that our society is the least prepared for. I knew that was true for me, death did feel so foreign.

Saturday, August 11th my mother passed away, and now that I am grieving her loss I realize how unprepared we are to deal with the emotions and practicalities of death.

Here are a few of my newly acquired insights that I would like to share in case you ever wonder what to do when a friend or relative loses a loved one.. aren't you excited to read on...

#1. If someone you know/appreciate/love is diagnosed with an illness, listen first even if you are knowledgable in the topic, then offer to be of guidance if needed, stay close, and patiently wait to be asked for help.

#2. Consider the following before making a phone call to the family: you will be talking to somebody who is distraught and lacking sleep. Don't call expecting them to emotionally take care of you when it is they who need to be emotionally taken care of. Only call when you are able to offer support and uplift those who are already downtrodden.

#3. When approaching the family during the viewing or the funeral, it is more than safe to assume that they are sad at the very least, so don't ask how they are doing unless you are ready for a long conversation. Don't feel like you have to cheer them up, just tell them that you are sorry for their loss and that you are there to support. The most valued words for me to hear have been simply "I love you".

#4. When you see someone after they have lost a dear one, do address the issue, even if just briefly. Do not pretend nothing happened. If you are a close friend, be willing to listen for a while; talking things through really helps.

#5. Do not be afraid of your friend's crying. It is not your job to make it better, but to be there to hand the tissues. 

#6. Don't wait until things are better before talking to a grieving friend/relative. It makes as much sense as waiting for someone to pick him/herself up from a fall before attempting to help. Be there even if you feel like you don't have the right words. You are needed.

#7. Although my experience is still very fresh, I feel it is important that people remember that grieving has no definitive timeline. Don't rush it. Sadness and tears are normal even after things seem to be ok again. 

So here I am now, Monday September 4th, reflecting upon my experience with grief so far. It is not pretty, but I can say that at least in my case it is not hopeless either. 

The sting is there every time I see a picture of her, remember her smell, think to call her on the phone, or when I hear my 3 year old daughter still praying for her grandma to get better. I feel as if I were lost in space. The sting is there and will be forever, but with the help of family and thoughtful friends I have been able to face each day, one at a time, feeling that I am endowed with the strength to deal with my loss, no matter how messy it gets.

I know I will have a chance to see my mother again, to embrace her and tell her how much I have missed her. Until then, I just have to keep going on with life and make of it the best I can, finding a reason to smile every day. Because that is what she would like me to do.

As a final note, let me share with you one of my favorite cards I have received. It came from a friend whom I really enjoy. Not everything needs to be somber, a little humor when appropriate can go a long way, especially when paired with caring words. It makes me smile every time I look at it. Thanks friend! (notice how I left your name out ;-) )

About Those Who Care

These past weeks of my life have been incredibly difficult and I have experienced life at it's most raw state. But all things difficult come hand in hand with at least a little bit of good.

A friend  posted this on facebook several days ago and it made me think of all the people who had been so helpful to me/us lately.

 

Here's a list of some of them:

1. The manager in the bank who not only helped us with my mom's account, but took the time to talk to me about her and encouraged me to be brave and loving. 

2. The lady who does the cleaning in my parents' house and went above and beyond, making my mom feel loved and cared for and helping me feel at ease in a home that is my home, but not really.

3. My amazing friend Isabel who came to visit my mom while in the hospital and kept me company then and when she passed away. 

4. All the people who have helped take care of my girls back home. Also those who have provided meals for them.

5. Damon's cousin who has helped us get here and back with his airline passes.

6. Friends who send me encouraging messages that make me feel like I can actually face this music and live through it.

7. The ladies from church who provided us with meals and comfort food during those tough first days.

8. My cousin Paola who came from far away to rescue me.

9. My cousin Pedro who has taken me under his wing.

10. My aunts. Oh, my aunts. My mothers.

11. The CNA who was so tender with my mom when everything was still scary and confusing.

12. The pain management doctor. He truly cared for her well- being and each one of his words and suggestions showed it.

13. My friend Paula, who has managed to contact me right at the critical moments when I have needed her help ever since my mom was diagnosed.

The list is longer, but you get the idea.

I will forever remember these days for the hard trial that they have been, but also for the way in which God has manifested himself through these and many other people who have been a blessing, who have been a friend, who have been encouraging and have taken the time to care. People whose words have always been uplifting and full of healing.

I feel like there is a strength that is not mine, that has taken me by the hand and guided me through these days. There is a strength that is beyond me that has lifted me up, carried me and dried my tears.

Each one of us, every day, is given the chance to be a blessing to others. It is our choice to take the chance and use it up. I have been the recipient of such blessings brought on by others and hope to have learned to do the same to those who stand in need.

About Hard Times

If I ever thought I had gone through something hard, I was wrong. I had never gone through this before.
Watching my mom struggle during her last days has been heartbreaking. Her mind seems to be slipping and I don't always recognize her and she doesn't respond to bonding moments the way she used to.

I feel like she has already left me and a strange feeling of betrayal creeps in. But I left her first and I wonder if she belt betrayed by me when I did.

I dislike regret because it shows what could/should have been different when there is little or nothing left to be done about it. So in vain I try not to regret having built my life so far away from her. I know I missed out, I know my girls missed out, I know she missed out. I know now, but I didn't see it then. Damn regret.

I have been learning more about my mother than ever before, with her friends and sisters (what would I do without them right now) as my teachers. I doubt I will ever measure up to her, but I can learn from her courage when faced with a tough challenge and charity towards everyone. Oh, and that feistiness.

I have been living each minute of my days here certain that I will remember them forever. These days will mark the rest of my life with places, sounds, faces, voices, words and feelings that will carry a sting and the memory of these last days with my mother.
Things are hard right now and harder times are coming. Somehow I will celebrate the good and be brave for whatever may come, regrets and all.


I suppose this is a  great big Maña del Día post, so I shall end it with a Joy of the Day:
Music.
Listening to music is what has carried my mother through these days. It's what has carried me through these past months. Thank goodness for it.

Brotherly Love, Sisterly Love

I have two older brothers who are 10 and 8 years older than me. Yes, I was a surprise. A pleasant surprise, I like to suppose. We were brought up in different "batches" so my brothers and I were not so close growing up. Of course they still  found plenty of opportunitues to pester me and torture me like every good older brother should, but in general, I was more of an occassional afterthought in their busy teenage lives.

Our personalities are so very different from each other: there's the laidback one, the uptight one, and then me, the happy, practically-perfect-in-every-way sibling, who is a nice balance of both extremes ;-)

Most of my life I have been "the baby", but I found out that once you grow up and become an adult, you are automatically accepted into the "adult club" (why does that sound naughty?), where longevity makes very little difference. It's like once you have tasted the complexity of adult life and once you have been let in on the secret that most of the fun is over, you are allowed to be equal friends with all those people who just a few months ago still made you feel like a toddler in diapers. Now they may even care about your opinion.

I think that's what happened with my brothers and me, and although sometimes I still feel like an outsider because I'm the only girl, we are all pretty much in the same boat right now, so we can share the ride and talk about the experience. The problem is that with me in the States, one brother in the UK and the other one in Chile, sharing and talking doesn't always come easy and the link between us tends to fade a little.

But right now circumstances are different. The woman that brought us into this world and made us siblings in the first place is getting ready to leave now. Yes. Mom is sick. Mom is so sick.
Once she leaves, the world as I knew it will change forever, coming home will never be the same again, and I know I will feel adrift and lonely. So now more than ever I feel such a profound love for my brothers. Mushy? Yes, I surprise myself constantly. But that is the truth, I feel a strong pull towards them as I sense that they are the ones who will save me from getting too lost or too sad, who will remind me of my roots, of all the good things our mom taught us, and how lucky we have been to have her.
I admire them too. They are great dads, hard workers, fun loving, good-to-the-bone men that I know I could count on at the drop of a hat.
The images that my mind holds of them right now are of one gently caressing mom's hair as he tells her to think beautiful thoughts so she can fall asleep.The other one singing Beatles songs to me as he drives me to the airport, because he knows my heart breaks when I have to leave. 
They really are quite wonderful, and I have really been quite lucky.




My mom is the youngest in her family and has 4 sisters and 1 brother. The oldest sister and the brother passed away a long time ago, so for many years it has been about the 4 younger sisters, who have loved each other inmensely and  have stuck together through thick and thin.
These days that I have been able to spend at my mom's side I have witnessed the love between my mom and my aunts. I have witnessed sibling love in all it's glory and have learned that it is a marvelous thing when going through a rough spot.
When my mom is not feeling well, all it takes is for one of the sisters to comfort her and cheer her up with but a small gesture for her to light up. The way my aunts express themselves around her and about her exhudes rich, bountiful, everlasting love, care and longing for each other. They really are quite wonderful, they really are quite lucky.

It is a great consolation to think that I will be able to claim these 3 beautiful ladies as my surrogate mothers, guides and protectors.

Brotherly love, sisterly love.

I am raising 4 girls and it is my great hope that they will always feel that love for each other, especially once I am gone. I hope their minds will be filled with images of each other that comfort and inspire them. I hope that they will be able to save each other when they are adrift, or lonely, or fearful. I hope they will long for each other always and keep the link between them strong.

Feelings towards siblings are not always warm and cozy, I know. But I do believe that brothers and sisters are a gift to be treasured at least at some point in our lives. I am treasuring my gifts as I know my mom is treasuring hers. 

Brotherly love, sisterly love. How do you treasure yours?