So I guess it could go without saying that I miss you. But I will say it again, I miss you. Sometimes I wonder if I miss the idea of you or the actual you. So much time has passed I’m not sure I could discern between the reality of you and the idea of you I have in my mind. All that is real to me anymore is the feeling of missing you.

Sometimes when I’m really sad, I mentally cry out to you. A wordless expression of pain and sorrow that you are not here – you are physically unpresent in my life. Sometimes when I’m really happy, I mentally cry out to you. A wordless expression of regret and loss that you aren’t here to share in whatever is bringing me happiness. Sometimes when I have no feelings at all, even then I cry out to you. My mom. The person who is not in my life anymore.

I cannot even describe what the loss of you is like. There is not a comparison that is comprehensible, at least not to me. It is an aching massive void right in the center of what makes me who I am. This massive void is the legacy you’ve left me. Unintentional though it was, your final gift to me was this void. It follows me where ever I go, always present and always reminding me of what I don’t have. You.

Sometimes I just want my mom. I just want you here. Sometimes I get so mad that you aren’t here. That you left. Which is silly because it wasn’t as if you had a choice. But still, I blame you. And that makes me sad even more.

I wonder constantly what our relationship would be like. Would you know me, the real me? Or would I try to hide who I was in fear that you wouldn’t, couldn’t accept me for who I am, warts and all? Would I feel sadness at our inability to really see each other, to be present for each other? Would that sadness feel as significant and inconsolable as not having you here now?  Who were you really? Did anyone know you truly or were you like most people, hiding behind a facade of societal norms and polite etiquette?

I will never know the answers to these questions and yet they are another part of the legacy you left me. A lifetime of sadness filled with unanswerable questions. These are the thoughts I have on this Mother’s Day. Another one where I am left with just a handful of memories of Mother’s days past.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Love,

Your daughter

I can’t believe another year is gone.  It has been 24 years since you died and so much has happened that you’ve missed.

Since you’ve been gone, four of your grandchildren were born and grew up.  Your oldest, Nicholas, is now married and lives in Avon, CO.  He is a responsible and disciplined boy, quiet and reserved but with the same sweet smile that used to bring you both such joy.  His brother, Matthew, was born just a few months after the accident.  How you both were so looking forward to his arrival.  He doesn’t let you down either.  Matthew has the biggest heart of all the Medinas and I”m pretty sure if you were here, he’d be mowing your lawn as we speak.  Your niece, Miranda, is next in age and what a beauty she turned out to be.  Every time I see her picture I see you, mommy.  The last one to come around is JJ and he was raised a Medina and you can tell, oh yes you can.

Since you’ve been gone, the family scattered a little but then recently has gotten closer again.  The family now meets once a month for breakfast, and I keep hoping more people will join each month.  I won’t give up! because I know, if you were both here, this family would be there come hell or high water.

Since you’ve been gone, your oldest son, Richard, passed away.  The many years before his passing were sad ones, and he was pretty much all alone because of the choices he made in his life.  But I can proudly report to you that he left this world at peace with the past and with the love and support of his brother and sister.  We all did right by him in the end and I think you’d be proud of our ability to mend old rifts.

Your other son, Joe, has divorced and is moving on with his life.  He’s a bit of a workaholic – the family doesn’t see him much.  He raised some fine children though.  His legacy will carry on.  Not only in their genes but also in the love these children have for their father.

Mom, your brothers and sisters remain close and think of you often.  All of them still live relatively close to each other.  They’ve kept the family home in Costilla.  Every year your brothers visit the home town and pay respect to you and dad on Memorial day.  Unlce Louie keeps your grave clean.

Their kids have also married and had children.  I keep close contact with Uncle Frank’s kids, since we are so close in age and grew up practically as brothers and sister.  Chris, or Kiko as we still call him, is married to a beautiful and firey red-head, Mandie, who is just perfect for him.   Together they have one girl, Madison, a lovely little girl.  Adam, Kiko’s brother, is all growed up and the college graduate of the family and a lawyer to boot.  Mom, dad if you know the trouble this boy caused as teenager!  And now he’s a lawyer.  He has two children of his own, Lauren and AJ.  And Keithy-boy, well he married the greatest woman ever (shout out to Hillary) and is the luckiest son of a gun for it.  Keith is also our heart of this family, though he is pretty quiet about it.

And then there is me.  I’m a good egg, mommy and daddy.  I work hard, pay my taxes, follow the rules (mostly) and I love as hard as I work.  I met a good man who makes an excellent partner, and we’ve carved out a life together that brings me such joy and happiness.  I love my family and friends and I’m truly happy.  Not all the time, but then who is… what I learned about life is you take the good with the bad, the hard times with the fun times.  It is what you make it and I intend to make it the best.  I miss you both so much but I’m blessed.  Know that much about me.

So much you’ve missed and so much we’ve missed without you.  I couldn’t let another year go by without letting you know.

With love and respect,

your daughter, Mon-Mon

Tonight, my cousin, K, called me to get my opinion on a gift that his wife thought of and that my family wants to carry out. They would like to get a “In Memory Of” dedication sign with my parents’ names placed at the scene of the accident.

I am moved to tears – and it takes a lot to make me cry. But these are tears of joy, not pain. It means a lot to me that my mother and father meant so much to my mom’s side of the family that they would consider this gift. I can’t think of a better way to honor my parents.

Thank you, K and H and the rest of the family for such a thoughtful gift. Thank you for remembering two wonderful people.

As Jeff swung the car around to head back towards my niece’s house, we drove past a little shop called Suzy.  A big smile crossed my fact and I said to Jeff, “Hey look at that shop!  My mom went by the name Suzie at times.” 

The smile slowly faded from my face and my heart ached just a little as I thought of the names my mom used in her life.  And I thought of how I never got to use those name with her.  How much I missed out on because she died when I was so young. And I once again I thought of all she never got to know about my beautiful, grown-up, living-with-her-boyfriend niece. 

My eyes grew hot as unshed tears shined from behind them.  I was struck at how odd it was that something so inconsequential as the name of a tiny store in the border town of Calexico could bring home the reminder that my parents are gone forever.  How it could remind me so sharply of all that I lost and all that was lost to those in my family.

I also thought of how far I’d come in dealing with my grief and how none of that mattered when something like this happened.  How much I was still that little orphan girl who was left behind in the aftermath of a deadly accident.  I keep trying to leave that little orphan behind, to move on, to not hurt. But sometimes we just can’t turn our backs on our hurts.  Instead we have to turn around and embrace them.  Even for just a moment.

As we drive past the store called Suzy, I hug myself tightly and close my eyes.  In my mind, I am hugging my little orphan self.  And we drive back to my niece to say goodbye.

So what have I learned this year… hmmm…

1. From the Mexico trip: Partying 7 days in a row can be detrimental to your health so take a break in between if ya can (this may be related to getting older)
2. From school: You can get perfect scores on every homework assignment and not do well on the tests… what?
3. From work: If you want money to live, you have to go to work.
4. From my kitties: Kitties can get asthma… did you know this?
5. From my love life: You can feel happy when your lover is interested in someone else – poly folk call it compersion or frubble. I call it cool when it works.
6. From my love life: Having more than one love partner is exciting… fun… comforting… wonderful.
7. From traveling: First class is cool but business class on a huge plane is effen awesome.
8. From the past: I still think my ex is an awful person.
9. From the past: I can be an awful person too. They say the things you don’t like in a person are the things you don’t like in yourself. Wise words.
10. From my brother: Or maybe because of my brother – Forgiveness is better than holding on to past transgressions… especially if the person is remorseful. Holding onto bitterness out of some sense of being wronged is childish and petty.
11. From my past: Forgiveness is easy to give but moving on with the person you forgave is harder… most people can’t or won’t do it.
12. From life: When you get the true meaning of forgiveness and moving on, it heals so many other parts of your heart.
13. From life: Number 13 isn’t really unlucky.

I think the biggest thing I learned this year is #12. My parents died in a tragic accident when I was just 13 and for many, many years it defined who I was in many ways. Not just in how others viewed me but in how I viewed myself. And then I had this fight going on with my eldest brother that was a big part of my life even though we didn’t talk and I thought I was “over it.” Until I confronted my past with him and dealt with all of the issues between us, I couldn’t really heal from losing my parents. I couldn’t deal with the pain that brought because I wouldn’t deal with the issues between my brother and me. We couldn’t heal together (and with my other brother) because we couldn’t deal with what was between us.

I remember the anniversary of my parent’s death this year and what I remember most is how hard it wasn’t. Every year prior on that date, I was a mess – internally mostly but the pain and grief was so deep and still felt so new. But this year, while I missed them and felt the pain of their absence, it wasn’t crippling like it had been in the past. I attribute that to the mending of the riff between my brother and me. Long needed, long overdue, but just in time. A gift I gave to him, to myself, to my parents – to everyone in my life. I have an inner peace I think was missing for so long… probably tied into feelings of abandonment and loss I didn’t even know were present.

So that’s my biggest lesson of 2008 – how the sins of our past and our ability and willingness to deal with them directly and forgive those who trespass against us unintentionally, well that’s a better way to live – truly forgive not just give lip service until the next time that someone lets you down so you can use it against them in a moment of superiority conveniently forgetting all the wrongs you’ve done in your life. Better than wallowing decades long in anger, bitterness and regret. I’m 36 and I hope that lesson stays with me in the future.

Happy New Year everyone! I hope you have a great last night of 2008 and I’ll see you in 2009!

I often see petite, Hispanic women in their 60′s and wonder what my mother would’ve looked like.  I imagine she would’ve been quite adorable, all tiny and cute.  I wonder if she would’ve talked to me in that Spanglish (half English-half Spanish) language my older relatives use with me at times.  Sometimes I close my eyes and just remember her laugh – something I still can hear in my head even 22 years later.  I hope I can always remember that sound, even if I can’t remember exactly what it felt like to hug her.

This day every year used to be the hardest day for me because I miss my mother so much.  Not just having a mother, but missing my mommy.  I think we would’ve been close.  She seemed like such a good woman based on those who idolize her now.  She was an extremely well loved and respected woman.  I can’t imagine not appreciating that about her.

I tend to hold women I know now in that same respect.  There are several women whom I hold close to my heart now because of who they were for me when I was younger and lacking in a mother figure.  One of them is an old friend’s mother.  She was and is such a strong woman, and she was the first person who taught me that respecting myself was of the utmost importance.  I feel my stronge sense of self-worth is due to this woman.  She isn’t perfect; heck, who is?  Her daughters haven’t always seen what an amazing woman she is because they are blinded by the fact she is their mother.  But I have the opportunity of being outside that dynamic, and I see a truly amazing woman who is strong, loving, and wonderful.

Another amazing woman in my life is my brother’s ex-wife, someone who will eternally be my sister-in-law.   She taught me about the beauty of opening your heart and life to people less fortunate than yourself even when you don’t have a lot yourself.  I always maintained that if she hadn’t been around after my parents passed, I’m not sure I would be here today.  I don’t even think she realizes how much she saved me when my life seemed worthless.  Plus, she is the mother of my niece and nephews; I will always be grateful to her for having those wonderful children.  We haven’t always seen eye to eye, we’ve both made some terrible mistakes, and yet what I remember most about this woman is how she has always been there to remember my folks with me.  Never a year has passed that she hasn’t emailed me or called me on anniversaries just to remember who my parents were to her and to me.

So today I will remember my mother, but I will also stop to remember the women in my life who were like surrogate mothers to me. I think my mom would want that… to know her little girl had good maternal influences in her life, to know that she was loved.

Today is your birthday.

But what is really interesting about this day is that it was almost 11 am before I remembered that today was your birthday.

When I did remember, I paused for a moment. I’ve not forgotten this day in 21 years. For one silent moment, I was completely astounded.

Then I smiled.

I turned to my friend/coworker, Angela, and said, “Hey, today is my mom’s birthday.”

“Oh really,” she smiled.

“Yes. She would’ve been 65 today.”

Angela’s smiled brightened and the warmth spread through to her voice, “And you just shared that story with me about the childhood memory of your mom. That’s so great that you have those memories and that today was the day you shared one with me.”

I smiled back at her. Because it was great. I may not have remembered today was your birthday. But I remembered you.

I remember you.

Happy birthday, Mommy.

Love,

Mon-Mon

I know it is because of Miranda. So much like my mommy. I am worried about her. She is gone and no one knows exactly where she took herself to. We just know it’s not here in Colorado.

Is it wrong that part of me admires her? It takes courage and strength of your convictions to walk away and not look back. If I’m honest, I admit the thought has crossed my mind in my life, both past and present, what if I were to just leave?

But just as quickly, I know I could never do what she’s done. Because it seems so cruel. To walk away without a word to those who love you and who you profess to love. Not even a goodbye. I just don’t have it in me to be deliberately cruel.

But I still love her. And I’m scared for her. I worry that she is safe. I worry about who she is with. She called her parents last night – at least we know she is alive. So many unanswered questions, and yet, all I personally can be thankful for is that she is alive.

Beneath the admiration and behind the gratitude is pain. Take care of yourself, sweetie. And don’t forget we love you, no matter what.

Since I had a few hours before local government shut down for the day, I decided to take advantage of my time and apply for my passport. First, I filled out the electronic form online. I was shocked by some of the questions they ask – like my ex-husband’s birthday (I don’t effen remember! I try to block what I remember about him as much as possible!) and my parent’s full names… but I happily fill in the blanks, print it out, and then run up the street to deliver it to the County Clerk.

My family is Catholic on my mother’s side, I’m sure I’ve mentioned. You know that Catholics make their kids go to catechism for umpteen years (okay I don’t really know how long) and when they’ve successfuly completed catechism, they get another name. That’s right, your gift from God is another name. Yeah, I don’t get it either. So my mother’s full name was Maria Azucena Dolores (last name would be right her if I wanted to share.)

I suppose having all those names would really confuse a person. I know for a fact my mother went by every name you could possibly ever imagine given all those names. Her family called her Nena, her friends called her Susie, legally she was Maria, and at work she was Susan (English for Azucena.) And on my birth certificate she went by Susan Dolores.

But I did not know this when I filled out the damn electronic copy of the form required to get a passport. I used her legal name – Maria Azucena. This caused a problem at the office and could result in a letter being sent to me about the discrepancy. Honestly. Why do they need to know my parents’ names anyway? What they hell does that prove… except I think my parents created the “family curse” by changing their names to suit their mood on a regular basis.

But I blame the Catholics. It makes me feel better.

Would I even have that type of relationship with her were she alive? Maybe we wouldn’t be close, maybe I wouldn’t share with her all my thoughts, all my troubles, all my hurts. Maybe we would be like other mother/daughters I know who struggle to know each other even a little bit in this big, mean world.

Would she understand me? Would she approve? Would her heart be big enough to accept? Is my heart big enough?

So many questions… it seems that’s all I have. And the dried tears on my fingertips as I type these words. I ache to know, I ache with want, I ache… for so much and it seems I will never have it.