There is no rising sun, or moon bright in the sky, no not for me. The beauty that I have been blessed to see is blinding and creates brightness all around me, yet there is a darkness that fights against it at every moment. No matter how much I try to look away from it, I am drawn to that dark place with its sad romantic melody, I am one with it.
I want so much to make something beautiful out of this dreadful sad story, something that would immortalize my sons in such a way that no one could ever deny their existence. My words fail me. I cannot articulate the emotion I felt when I saw them for the first time. I felt lucky, lucky to have been their mother, to have carried them and to have walked with them in my body, to have felt them live.
They may not have lived with their father and their sisters, but they lived within me. I knew their heart beats, I felt every graceful movement, every struggling turn.
I close my eyes and imagine smiles and laughter and words and love and hugs...I am suffocated by the memories of a life I never had,,,
It is an unfortunate lot to be surrounded by love, yet not have enough of it to heal the deepest part of my soul.
My loves, I wish to play you a song, yet I have no musical talent. I wish to erect a monument to you but I haven't the skill. I wish to create beauty just for you, but I don't know what could reach your heart. I wish you to know that I, your mother, love you infinitely and always, deeply and forever. I am with you although you may not be able to see me...my love extends beyond every dimension, and if there were a map to show me where you both are I would exhaust my strength to find you...
My heart will search for you always,..
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Letters to a dead love..
I wake to still hear your voice in a dream I have too often. I mourn my sons and you...No one had a funeral for (me) you, they didn't see my (your) dead body. I was the only witness to your death and although I have told them you are dead no one believes me. They say that it couldn't be possible, that they have seen you afterwards smiling and living. I think they have seen your ghost. I think sometimes I see you too, but I know who I see isn't real.
Even though you have not told me I have a feeling you are with our sons. I keep imagining you running with them, laughing and living somewhere in a place where pain cant touch you. I wish I could be with you because if I'm honest enough there's so much pain on this side and my body and soul drag wearily through each day dying just a bit more with every blow life deals to me. I have to say I'm tired in a way I do not think anyone can understand and the more I feel this tired the more bitter my heart is becoming. Its frustrating to realize that the evolution of humanity has not come up with remedies for this kind of sickness, this kind of brokenness.
I would bring you flowers but the unmarked grave is just that; unmarked. Know that I think of you often, and although no one else does I remember you and you are missed. Kiss the boys for me...Tell them my love for them transcends dimensions and time.
ILY
Even though you have not told me I have a feeling you are with our sons. I keep imagining you running with them, laughing and living somewhere in a place where pain cant touch you. I wish I could be with you because if I'm honest enough there's so much pain on this side and my body and soul drag wearily through each day dying just a bit more with every blow life deals to me. I have to say I'm tired in a way I do not think anyone can understand and the more I feel this tired the more bitter my heart is becoming. Its frustrating to realize that the evolution of humanity has not come up with remedies for this kind of sickness, this kind of brokenness.
I would bring you flowers but the unmarked grave is just that; unmarked. Know that I think of you often, and although no one else does I remember you and you are missed. Kiss the boys for me...Tell them my love for them transcends dimensions and time.
ILY
Saturday, May 31, 2014
I regret..
I can make many arguments intended to cause myself to never regret anything that has happened in my life that turned out to hurt me or others. I can say that for every sad and painful thing I have experienced, somewhere a blessing or a lesson has come. Knowing that I control only the way I perceive and understand life's lessons does cause me to feel so limited. I feel suffocated by the memory of the last moment I saw the two of you. I feel consumed with such regret. It overtakes me at times and I suddenly feel so lost, as if I have been plucked from this earth and placed in an alternate time and place where I exist alone with only the cry of my heart to convey that I am alive somehow after this tragedy. If I could rewind I would have held you forever. I would've brought down the whole world and no one could've pried you from my arms. No one. I replay the last glimpse of your faces. I could still feel your warmth, even now if I close my eyes tight enough, if I hold my breath and pause, I can see you and almost feel my lips touch your small faces. If I listen close enough I can hear your father weep for you and see the devastating tears streaming down his face. I could hear him declare his love for you. I could hear his heart shatter...and I can feel my own heart die.
I regret.
I regret.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Chubby, Curly, and ok With It.
When I remember my childhood, the first person that comes to mind is my beloved grandmother. My mama meant the world to me when I was a little girl. I can remember her scent, her voice and how loved I felt when I was with her. She was the first person that made me feel alive. She saw me and loved me. She kept me safe, and fed me. By fed me I really mean it. My mama was a chef, not the kind who gets paid and recognized in articles and reviews, the kind that you rarely find in my generation of Hispanic American women. I loved her cooking. Everything she made was wonderful from her arroz con leche, to her dumplings, bacalao con guanimos, her sancocho with the bolas de platanos, her cremita, I could go on and on. Her food was an experience, and I loved her for taking the time to feed me. With that said I know that my love of food, from a very young age, gave birth to a kid who just loved to eat.
Around nine years old is when I remember the comments; "Chellita estas gordita", I would shrug and continue on because I didn't understand that it wasn't viewed as a good thing that I was chubbier than my cousins, or even my older sister. As the years went on and life in my family became chaotic I found great comfort in food. I didn't gorge myself but I never missed a meal, and thanks to the guilt trips about other kids starving in other countries I ate whatever was put on my plate. One day I went with my mom to a doctor for a physical and that was the first time an outsider made comments to my mom that I was a bit overweight being that I was only in 3rd grade and already 80lbs. I had to be put on a diet. I remember my mom sending me to school with half of a PB&J sandwich and a fruit, and having to exercise at home. It didn't last long.
Fast forward to middle school. I remember that fifth grade introduced me to boys and all of these strange and new feelings about them and my own body. I became a "senorita" at ten years old and I was so humiliated when I had to tell my mother. I swore her to secrecy, but of course she told all my aunts who made sure they brought it up the next time they saw me. I became very self aware after that. My hair, too curly, my body too chubby. So came the relaxers, and the baggy clothes to hide what all the slimmer girls worked hard to show the boys. Tight jeans and tight tops flooded my fifth grade class. I hid my breasts because I was embarrassed I had them. I hid my legs because I was ashamed of them. I wore extra large shirts because I couldn't bare anyone making comments about the body I was taught to not like because it wasn't good enough. This continued for a long time. It caused a lot of self doubt and self hate throughout junior high and high school, and later on as an adult.
The suggested remedy was lose weight, not for health reasons, God forbid, but so I could be prettier, sexier, more attractive, to get attention. I needed to fry the life out of my hair to make it acceptable, to make it "normal" and slather my face with so much makeup I would not be able to rub my eye if a darn eye lash got into my eye because then I'd look like a raccoon (too much mascara anyone?) It was an exhausting ritual. And I felt lost, I didn't know who I was, who I wanted to be. So much time was wasted on thinking about my weight, my hair, how I looked. It took a lot of time and energy.
I am now 29 years old. Im finally at a place where I can love all of those things I once hated about myself, because after all I am me, and those superficial things don't define who I am inside, finally.
Around nine years old is when I remember the comments; "Chellita estas gordita", I would shrug and continue on because I didn't understand that it wasn't viewed as a good thing that I was chubbier than my cousins, or even my older sister. As the years went on and life in my family became chaotic I found great comfort in food. I didn't gorge myself but I never missed a meal, and thanks to the guilt trips about other kids starving in other countries I ate whatever was put on my plate. One day I went with my mom to a doctor for a physical and that was the first time an outsider made comments to my mom that I was a bit overweight being that I was only in 3rd grade and already 80lbs. I had to be put on a diet. I remember my mom sending me to school with half of a PB&J sandwich and a fruit, and having to exercise at home. It didn't last long.
Fast forward to middle school. I remember that fifth grade introduced me to boys and all of these strange and new feelings about them and my own body. I became a "senorita" at ten years old and I was so humiliated when I had to tell my mother. I swore her to secrecy, but of course she told all my aunts who made sure they brought it up the next time they saw me. I became very self aware after that. My hair, too curly, my body too chubby. So came the relaxers, and the baggy clothes to hide what all the slimmer girls worked hard to show the boys. Tight jeans and tight tops flooded my fifth grade class. I hid my breasts because I was embarrassed I had them. I hid my legs because I was ashamed of them. I wore extra large shirts because I couldn't bare anyone making comments about the body I was taught to not like because it wasn't good enough. This continued for a long time. It caused a lot of self doubt and self hate throughout junior high and high school, and later on as an adult.
The suggested remedy was lose weight, not for health reasons, God forbid, but so I could be prettier, sexier, more attractive, to get attention. I needed to fry the life out of my hair to make it acceptable, to make it "normal" and slather my face with so much makeup I would not be able to rub my eye if a darn eye lash got into my eye because then I'd look like a raccoon (too much mascara anyone?) It was an exhausting ritual. And I felt lost, I didn't know who I was, who I wanted to be. So much time was wasted on thinking about my weight, my hair, how I looked. It took a lot of time and energy.
I am now 29 years old. Im finally at a place where I can love all of those things I once hated about myself, because after all I am me, and those superficial things don't define who I am inside, finally.
Monday, January 27, 2014
I dont know you...Father.
When I was 9 years old I remember I prayed the sinners prayer in Love Gospel Assembly with a woman name Jamila. I remember it very vividly, downstairs by the book nook, standing on her right as she prayed over me and I repeated the sinners prayer after her. That was the day I asked God into my heart. The journey from that moment to today has been a long and hard one. I had always felt connected to God. Throughout my entire youth I recall feeling like it was always God and I. For a long time I truly felt I knew who God was, I felt that he and I were bonded together in such a way that I could trust and believe him for anything and everything, and then my sons died.....
Fast forward twenty years later and I find myself feeling so far from God. I no longer feel that bond that I once cherished, and I no longer feel like I know who God is. The things I used to firmly, without a doubt, believe about God, the many songs I would sing of those good things the bible says about him, now do not bring the comfort they once did. Instead those feelings are replaced with frustration and sadness. I can no longer sing those songs with conviction because I can't bring myself to believe what they are saying. Disappointment causes fear. It causes me to put a shield over my heart, and keep my arms outstretched to keep him at a distance because the truth is I'm afraid of him.
No one ever told me that God wouldn't allow bad things to happen to me. The bible doesn't say it either. That belief was based on a lie I believed because of how I understood Gods love. Turns out I set myself up for the situation I find myself in now; unable and sometimes unwilling to allow God into my heart and life. He was my safe place, the one who wasn't going to break my heart, the one who would hear a mothers prayer for her sons and answer because of his faithfulness and love. All those prayers all that faith did me no good as I held both of my still born sons, so beautiful, still warm. The greatest blow ever dealt to a mothers heart, one that even the universe could feel. The realization that my faith in his power, the cry of my heart and the belief that he would perform a miracle if I just believed were not good enough to bring them back to life. That moment is distinct. Because I know that the moment I knew that they were dead, I felt myself die too. Its something you cant describe or understand, unless you have been there.
I have woken up every day since that day feeling a hollowness in my heart that I wish could be filled. Not to say anyone or anything could fill the void their death has left. There are still so many obstacles. I feel entitled to a break somehow, as if the measurement of suffering and heartache I have experienced merit some sort of reprieve from life's hardships. Believing in that lie is detrimental and although I know its not realistic, a part of me will believe that no matter what anyone says. I still experience heartaches and disappointment having nothing to do with my sons, life just continues even though I wish it could just slow down so I could catch up somehow.
I'm afraid of you father. I just cant let you get close to my heart right now. I don't know if I will ever be completely ready. If there is a way, its up to you to make it clear.
Fast forward twenty years later and I find myself feeling so far from God. I no longer feel that bond that I once cherished, and I no longer feel like I know who God is. The things I used to firmly, without a doubt, believe about God, the many songs I would sing of those good things the bible says about him, now do not bring the comfort they once did. Instead those feelings are replaced with frustration and sadness. I can no longer sing those songs with conviction because I can't bring myself to believe what they are saying. Disappointment causes fear. It causes me to put a shield over my heart, and keep my arms outstretched to keep him at a distance because the truth is I'm afraid of him.
No one ever told me that God wouldn't allow bad things to happen to me. The bible doesn't say it either. That belief was based on a lie I believed because of how I understood Gods love. Turns out I set myself up for the situation I find myself in now; unable and sometimes unwilling to allow God into my heart and life. He was my safe place, the one who wasn't going to break my heart, the one who would hear a mothers prayer for her sons and answer because of his faithfulness and love. All those prayers all that faith did me no good as I held both of my still born sons, so beautiful, still warm. The greatest blow ever dealt to a mothers heart, one that even the universe could feel. The realization that my faith in his power, the cry of my heart and the belief that he would perform a miracle if I just believed were not good enough to bring them back to life. That moment is distinct. Because I know that the moment I knew that they were dead, I felt myself die too. Its something you cant describe or understand, unless you have been there.
I have woken up every day since that day feeling a hollowness in my heart that I wish could be filled. Not to say anyone or anything could fill the void their death has left. There are still so many obstacles. I feel entitled to a break somehow, as if the measurement of suffering and heartache I have experienced merit some sort of reprieve from life's hardships. Believing in that lie is detrimental and although I know its not realistic, a part of me will believe that no matter what anyone says. I still experience heartaches and disappointment having nothing to do with my sons, life just continues even though I wish it could just slow down so I could catch up somehow.
I'm afraid of you father. I just cant let you get close to my heart right now. I don't know if I will ever be completely ready. If there is a way, its up to you to make it clear.
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