If I had one super power...

When I was a little girl, probably about 8, I awoke to pounding on our front door. I ran out of my bedroom and stood by the little hallway watching my dad as he stood in a crouching position pointing at invisible dangers just outside the door yelling for my mom to get the kids together because we had to leave or we would all die. He was drunk. Not just regular drunk where you slur your words and keep toppling but the blind stinking kind of drunk where you start hallucinating.

My mom was doing her best to calm him down and trying to pull him inside but he was adamant we were all in danger. She was finally able to convince him she would get our things while he rested and he wound up passing out to wake up the next day with no memory of the night before.

This was the beginning of my vigils. I found myself unable to sleep nights after that because I thought something might happen while we slept and nobody would be there to protect us or sound the alarm. The twisted mind of kid, right?

Thursday night, as I was heading back to bed after getting up from bed to use the bathroom, I heard pounding at my front door and I woke Andy up before I went to open it. As I was walking to the front of the house, I heard my mom say “it’s Rick, he probably forgot his key”. This made me angry because for weeks I’ve been telling him to take his keys with him. I opened the door, ready to chew him out but… the next image will be burned into my brain until the day I die.

There stood this kid, looking shocked and afraid, slumped forward with one hand extended towards me dripping with blood. If that image wasn’t bad enough his gut wrenching words shattered my heart. He simply said“Bee, help me.”

I pulled him inside and he rambled on incoherently about how something fell and hit his head but he was going to be okay. I sat him down and noticed he had been hit over the head multiple times as he had lacerations from the top of his head to just above the nape of his neck.

My first animal instinct was to get in my car (what? haven’t you seen animals driving before?) and retrace his steps to see if I could find whoever did this to him and beat them within an inch of their pig fucking lives. I would show no mercy. That was the first thing I wanted to do because I didn’t know how to fix it or make him feel better. They hurt the little boy I practically raised as my own. The same little boy who sat at the edge of his seat biting his nails one Christmas waiting his turn to open his gifts for he was sure his big sister had gotten him the Super Nintendo he wanted. And he was right.

I came back to my senses when I realized we needed to do something about his injury. He refused to go to the hospital and my mom, she was in shock too I think, assessed the situation and decided to monitor him and if we noticed any changes in him or if he continued bleeding we would forcefully take him to the ER that is only 5 minutes from my house.

We walked him up the stairs and tended to his head as best we could. At one point I looked over and noticed my mom staring vacantly at the wall as his girlfriend Maria cried softly. They may have caused him physical harm but the emotional distress they inflicted on my mother... the urge to go looking for those assholes was near irresistible.

I couldn’t sleep after that. I lay awake running through scenarios in my head feeling helpless and useless. I was angry at him for putting himself in such danger. I was angry at my father for being an alcoholic who abandoned his children. The majority of us were able to push ourselves and ignore he was never around but Rick is the one it seemed to affect the most. This was evident that night as he kept calling himself a fuck up and then kept asking for his "old man", a writer friend of his who he calls his father.

I thought and thought about the best way to proceed with what happened. File a police report definitely even if it was against his will. I slowly pieced together what may have happened so we could give the police a somewhat clear record instead of incoherent ramblings since he hs no memory of what happened.

He and Maria had stopped at bar for a few beers after getting off the Metra train after work. When it became late, my mom called to see where they were so Maria decided to leave and tried talking Rick into coming home too but he said no. Inebriated people can be obstinate. She walked home alone. Thank God nothing happened to her!

At around 1:30, Rick called my mom and said he was heading home and my mom said she still heard bar noise. At 1:45 he called her again and said he was now walking home and this time there was no background noise. Rick tends to be very emotional when he’s been drinking and he feels the need to tell people how much he loves them so at 1:50 my mom’s phone rang again but just once and then stopped. This is the time we think he was attacked from behind.

From the injuries on his head, it looks like he was hit once right at the top of his head and when he didn’t go down, they went to hit him again. He raised his left arm defensively and was hit on the arm because he has a deep wound on his mid-arm. They tried hitting him 2 more times and as he was stumbling to the left they wound up hitting him in a total of 3 different spots on the back of his head. He still did not fall because he is as stubborn as they day is long and I'm sure even though he wasn't in complete control of his senses, his instinct was to make them work for it. And plus, it takes more than that to take one of us down. I’m assuming a car came by or something startled them into not finishing the job because he made his way home with no further incident and arrived at 2:05. I remember looking at the time when I heard the first knock.

I believe someone followed him from the bar and thought him an easy mark for robbing. The fucking bastard(s) almost killed my little brother for, get this, ZERO dollars. Since they couldn't bring down the obstinate bull, they didn't go through his pockets or take his messenger bag.


I've never been of the 'turn the other cheek' philosophy. I'm more of the 'do on to me and I'll flatten your ass' or as they would say in olden times 'eye for an eye' so may they experience the same fucking thing we did with one of their loved ones.

Our life… sometimes I wish I had nothing to write about.

Same shit different day

I keep wanting to change the post I have here because I’m no longer immersed in darkness but then something new happens that sends me spiraling down again.

Life is life so we should be happy to be HERE even when we're struggling with our demons.

I know I'm fortunate to have the support system I do since there are too many people out there who do not have someone who'll listen.

Thanks to everybody who commented on my previous post. :o)

Life is a victory in itself.

Landmines

Today I’m living in my head. It was bad yesterday but today it hurts to breathe.

It sometimes amazes me how I can go the whole day without anybody realizing I’m having an off day. Well, the people who are closest to me know. Andy, my sister. I think they can tell just by talking to me on the phone. No need to see me in person to know it’s a bad day.

What causes this feeling of sad/angry desperation? Who knows. I’ve I had episodes like these ever since I can remember. They’re easier to control now. Not like when I was a child and unable to close my eyes at night for fear something apocalyptic might happen if I wasn’t on guard duty. I know it sounds insane since I was just a little girl and unable to do more than scream if something bad happened. I knew that it wasn’t normal for me to feel that way but there was nothing I could do to stop myself.

I sometimes wonder if being a Jehovah’s Witness when I was younger did some of the damage. They have this obsession about spreading gloom and doom everywhere they go with the promise of paradise after it’s all over. I’m not sure how scaring the shit out of children benefits anybody.

Being catholic didn’t help much either. To me there were more questions than answers with responses of “it’s just the way it is, to doubt is blasphemous” yeah, that helped my spiritual self evolve! Thanks for that one!

When I feel this bleak, I usually think about all the great things in my life. My husband, my family, my friends, my doggies, my home, my garden… I’m thankful for everything I have but then the dark side of it is thinking about losing them. I’m unable to sleep but when I do, I usually wake up tired feeling like I cried all night.

Therapy is out. There is nobody in this world that knows my head better than I do. I don’t like taking advice from anybody so it seems like listening to a stranger tell me why I have this black hole in my head is something I wouldn’t mock. “What’s that you say? I have daddy issues? No fucking way! Are you serious? Great! Now I can go about my everyday normal life without any fear!”

There are people out there that have a sunny outlook to life so when they’re faced with someone with more dark clouds than sunshine, they tend to react like this “Oh, at least you’re not one of those people who are homeless after the recent floods.” (Glynda)
Really? I’m better off than they are? You know what? You’re right! Why didn’t I think of that before? Having 2 legs is better than one and being able to see is better than… not being able to see.

I think I have the right to have a couple of “whoa is me” moments without needed to clarify I’m lucky to be who I am. I would never dismiss somebody’s mood. I’m not in their head feeling what they feel. Who am I to say they are over dramatizing their fears or pain?

That saying “until you’ve walked a mile in my shoes…” rings true for me. I can’t picture any of the women I work with having to live in an unheated basement apartment in the winter. Unheated also meant no hot water IN THE CHICAGO WINTER. Would they have been able to deal? Maybe. You never know until you’ve been there but don’t assume everybody had a happy road to adulthood.

Don’t assume everybody got to grow up without having to worry about your next paycheck covering the rent, food, buss pass when your 20, 16, 15. About having to worry about your 10 year old little brother who is terrified about gangs and walking somewhere without getting jumped or shot. About having to find a new place to live since the place you’re currently renting has almost gone up in flames due to an electrical fire or faulty furnace. And the recent one, the flood that ruined the mattresses left on the floor. All this while your mom is trying to sell everything your family owns so she can come join you. While your father is washing his hands of you saying things like “I can’t move. My friends all live around here.” Your father who is 45.

So you move without him. You talk to an old man who has doubts about renting his house to CHILDREN. You plead with him, telling him your father has abandoned you but you’re all very responsible. I’m sure God had something to do with him agreeing to be our landlord.

Then you struggle for months to keep your head above water. One day you open the door to find your father with his baggage (both literally and figuratively) standing outside your door. Not because he was feeling a sense of responsibility but because he couldn’t keep paying the rent of his apartment by himself. Still a father in name only.

Then the glorious day comes when your mom finally is able to join you. Even though you’re still working your ass off to help support the family, at least you are all together.

These are all little scars that have healed but every once in a while something makes you look at them.

I saw my father for father's day. He looked older but somehow the same. Maybe a little sadder. I know I shouldn't feel this gut wrenching guilt for the way we have drifted apart. It's not like we were close even when living under the same roof. I dreaded coming home to find him drunk. Not because he was abusive in any way but he seemed to want to pin his misery on us.

It was his choice to distance himself from us. Now I think he regrets not having more contact but he never makes the first move. We've told him our doors are always open but he always has an excuse.

It's sad when the last person you think to call after a a new baby is born is your father. And you call him weeks later.

So, yeah, sometimes I need a little time to put my head back on straight. Sometimes I want to take a second and feel sorry for those kids who had to be adults before their time.

No fuckin' sunshine today.

Mi corazoncito!

5 years ago today, we were blessed with this little cutie:

Now she looks like this:
Happy Birthday my Shoogie Boogie!

My Tia Luz Elena

Milton’s brother-in-law died a week ago today. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer on Valentine’s Day and they gave him 2 years to live. He died 35 days later at the age of 44.

This tragedy has put me in a strange role. Milton keeps telling me how she’s trying to find the positive in his death.

She’s told me that she wished he hadn’t died the first day of spring, right before Easter. She said it was a sadness she did not want to remember every year during the Holiday season.

Believe it or not, I have some compassion in me so I’ve been sharing my most treasured of memories with her. These are memories that have guided my life at the most difficult of times.

I will now tell you the story of my Aunt Luz Elena. It's a long story, unfortunately, not as long as we would have liked her story to be.

I could tell you one million stories about her but none more memorable than the ones leading up to the day of her death.

Luz means light in Spanish. She was indeed the light of my mom’s family. She had an infectious laughter and never had anything bad to say about anybody. She was 7 years younger than my mom and was diagnosed with colon cancer at a young age.

She'd been battling the disease for years. I remember going with her day the doctor told her she was "cured" She walked out of the doctor's office practically dancing. I think her desire to have another baby, she already had a son, was such that she might have lied a little to the people that loved her and told us she was given the green light to have another baby.
She got home, told my grandparents and danced a little jig. That was my Tia Luz Elena, somewhat of a nut. :o)

Now, as an oldie, I have my doubts whether a doctor would have said it was okay for her to become pregnant so soon. I believe they would have asked her to wait a couple of years to make sure the cancer was in remission.

She became pregnant and her physical appearance started deteriorating. Her beautiful round face became gaunt and she began to lose allot of weight. But, when you'd ask her how she felt... she'd give you a big smile and tell you she felt GLORIOUS!

After her beautiful baby was born, they discovered a tumor that had grown alongside of the baby. She still looked 8 months pregnant, that's how big the tumor had gotten.

December 16th. (Her Birthday)

We usually visted our family in Mexico every summer, spring break and Christmas Holiday. The whole family was there to celebrate her birthday. My grandparents had six daughters and six sons, some of them had their own families and others were still single and living at home. This makes every family gathering into a boisterous party.

Since my aunt was so sick, she had moved back in to her parents house and they had set up a bed for her in the living room. This way she could take part in everyday life while still being able to rest.

That day, she asked to speak to one of her single older sisters (Eva) and her husband Luis. Being the curious nosy body that I was (am), I peeked in and saw both my aunt Eva and uncle Luis crying. I couldn't hear what she was saying but everything became clear a few months later.

December 31st, 1987.

Another family party. We had music, laughter, dancing. When midnight came we all toasted (apple cider for the kids) and the room got quiet when good health was wished around the room. My Tia Luz Elena quickly shouted to not be wet blankets since she knew God would be with her in the New Year.

We all went and gave her her New Years hug and when it came to my turn I mumbled something stupid which I can't even REMEMBER but her response to me was a tight hug and a "Everything is going to be okay"

That's how amazing she was. SHE was the one suffering, God knows what, and she was comforting US!

January 1st 1988.

Everybody had gone to bed late due to the celebration. I woke up to the sound of my Aunt Lucia (a year younger than I am, weird I know) calling out my mom’s name.
“Ime! There’s something wrong with Luz Elena!”

Whenever we visited, we’d stay in an apartment upstairs from where my grandparents lived. We ran downstairs, saw one of my uncles giving her CPR. Everybody was crowding the living room, crying. Praying.

The ambulance finally got there and we saw the paramedics give each other a look and shake their head. My uncle would have none of it! He told them to get his sister to the hospital NOW!
They did but she had already passed on to her Heaven. She was TWENTY-EIGHT.



Tragedies like these can bring out the best in some people but in others, it accentuates the weakness in their character. I know that sounds bad but I learned allot about my mother’s brothers and sisters that day.

It couldn’t have been more than 20 minutes when my mom’s older brother walked in and confirmed our worst fears.

“Luz Elena is dead. Tell my mom. I can’t do it.” He told me 15 and my aunt Lucia 14 then left. Her body couldn't take it anymore and she died of a heart attack.

My grandmother walked into the room and Lucia gave her the horrible news. She was inconsolable. One of my mom’s other sisters Patricia, walked in and started yelling at my grandmother to stop crying.

She then started barking orders at us. To my aunt Lucia, “Don’t stand there crying! Help me get ready for the wake!” I can’t remember what she was telling me to do, probably because my focus was my grandmother.
I convinced her to go lie down while everybody else got the house ready for visitors. I don’t know how I was able to persuade her but she seemed almost childlike as I took her to the back bedrooms.

In the meantime, I thought there was something wrong with me for not being able to cry. I loved her so much, it seemed inappropriate for me to be unable to express how sad I was that she was no longer Physically with us.

At that age I had so many questions about God with the only experience of me asking about my doubts resulting in them bringing in a sort of exorcist, story for another day, so I had nobody to turn to.

I walked out of the house and went to the church we visited on Sundays. I couldn’t find a priest so I went to their house, which was just around the corner from the temple. I waited until one of them came out so that I could ask him if he knew what was wrong with me. Now, 20 years later, I can see there was nothing wrong with my reaction but at that time it was important for me to find an answer.

The priest was kind and didn’t act at all shocked to find a teenager waiting to have a spiritual discussion outside of his home.
I wish I could tell you he assuaged my fears and I found the peace I was looking for.

He explained God’s greater plan but I’d heard all this before. He told me she would no longer be suffering but I wanted to know why she had to suffer in the first place. He told me that God had chosen her as his angel on Earth but it was her time to go back to sit by his side. I agreed with part of this statement. The part that she was an angel on Earth but she had a 2 and a half year old son and a 6 month old daughter so that seemed very selfish of God to me.

Like I said, my opinions were too strong for anybody to listen. The priest excused himself saying he had to prepare for mass. I went home, in a rain storm, to find my grandmother sitting on a tree stump my grandfather had at the entrance of their house.
The door wasn’t like the doors in the US where they’re made out of wood or whatever material. Their door was a tall gate railing that resembled prison bars. You could see in and out. Upon entering, there was a long anrrow hallway leading to all the other rooms of the house.

I asked her how she was, she sadly shook her head. At that moment my grandfather walked in. He had gone to buy livestock at nearby farms as was his daily routine.
Every morning, he’d wake up before sunrise, get in his pick up and return in time for lunch. On this day he had a little bag of fresh strawberries. He walked in saying “Where’s my Lucha? I brought her the strawberries she was craving” Lucha was their nickname for my aunt.
My grandmother hugged him and quietly said “She’s left us.”

Out of all the sad moments I've witnessed and have been a part of, this is the one that shatters every little piece of my heart every single time I remember it.

To see my grandparents holding each other, my tiny grandmother, my bigger than life grandfather, looking helpless and weeping softly... I gave them their privacy since their pain was too intimate for me to stand there and intrude.

Every minute that went by without me crying made me feel worse.

I honestly don't know where my mother was, or my sister and brothers. I have no idea. I think everybody went their separate ways in order to deal with their grief as best they could.

So far it's been a sad story, right? Here is where I tell you how much she helped us all.

The day she spoke to her sister and husband, she was asking them to marry each other once she was gone.
She wanted her children to have someone who loved them as much as she did and with the same family bonds.

My aunt Eva became their mommy and my uncle never forgot my aunt Luz Elena but he leads a happy life with his second wife. They have one son together.

Every year, the whole family goes to the town she lived, where she's buried, and prays at her gravesite. They remember her for the great person she was and talk about her endless shenanigans. Her son is now in his 2os her daughter is gorgeous and with her mom's personality.

The lessons we learned from her are that no matter what life has in store for you, you have to be strong enough to live it as best you can. She knew what she would be leaving but her sense of peace never faltered IN OUR PRESENCE.

We learned that celebrating the life and memories of someone whose kindness is unmatched TO THIS DAY, makes us feel peaceful and happy.

January first is a reminder each year of not her death but the life she lived. To remember her with sadness would be to dishonor her legacy.


January 1st 2008.

Dreaming of my nightmares

I had another nightmare. I say ANOTHER because they have tortured me ever since I can remember.

This morning, because they happen in between sleep and consciousness, I dreamt I had been burned alive by lava.

I know you have a desire to laugh at this moment but remember that my nightmares are BETWEEN sleep and consciousness. This means that while I’m going thru a horrifying event, I’m still aware of my surroundings. I can hear the dogs barking, someone dragging their garbage can towards the front of the driveway, I can hear the radio.

I’ve never been trapped in a coffin, while awake, but I think that’s the only way I can describe how I feel when I’m in the middle of a nightmare.
I feel a sense of desperation because I know I can’t wake up until I die in my dream.

This morning’s started strange.
Andy and I were fighting and he was violently throwing things around the house. I kept getting in his face and yelling at him when he finally shoved me aside and said “Get the hell out of the way or you’re going to die!”
My response was creepier “What if I WANT to die?”

The next thing I know, I’m in Hawaii but it’s not the idyllic Island Paradise I’ve always pictured.

We, someone else was with me but I don’t know who, were walking down a designated path with a canal in the middle. You could see people walking on the other side and we were about 12 feet higher than the bottom of the canal. It seemed to glow but every time I looked down, it appeared to be empty. I remember looking at my watch thinking it was too dark to be 3 o’clock. I was sweating and my hair kept sticking to my neck and the side of my face.

Then we saw it.
Lava.
It was getting closer and closer no matter how fast we walked. The natives kept saying we would be okay as long as we didn’t stray from the path.
I looked back to see a huge wave coming towards us.
I knew we would die.

In that instant something extraordinary happened. Everybody started signing.
This song filled me with a sense of peace and acceptance I can’t describe. Even though this was the first time I’d heard that song, I instinctively knew the lyrics and started singing along. I accepted my fate. I walked calmly until there was nowhere else to go and faced the wave head on.
My last thought was “I can’t even feel the heat.”

I woke up.

Somebody somewhere sometime, told me that if you talk about your dreams, they won’t come true. I can’t help but believe this and to not do it would be too much for me to bear alone.

I wish I could remember the lyrics to that song that filled my spirit with such peace.

I have added a video sent to me by my SIL Esmeralda. It's powerful and says everything I tried to say. Please watch it, you won't disappointed.