Teachers of Tango

Corcovada, Anasco, PR

No matter what my or your circumstances are when the day unravels, nighttime is sure to come around!

If God forbid we haven't finished what we set our minds on doing during a specific time frame we dread the moment when we welcome the night.  Nevertheless, the day will come to an end and that's when this fantastic dance takes place.  Day and night meet at dawn mingling with each other, dancing a tango, embracing and separating, hugging and distancing themselves until they part and meet once more at sunrise.  Where once again they engage in this marvelous ritual.


Rejoice and learn from nature.  Once in a while it feels great just to be alive!

Arizona's Borders: The New Heartbreak Island

"The country does not realize the menace of immigration."

Sen.  Albert Johnson (1924)

About a week in a half ago I read a blog post written by Jeb Bush  where he talks about the reasons we need comprehensive immigration reform.  I'm not really going into the perks of his post because if you want to read it, feel free just to click on him name and it will take you directly to The Huffington Post where you can have that pleasure.  My point here isn't Jeb Bush or any other politic that wants to come into the picture to discuss immigration just it puts them under the spotlight (free publicity), but about what people think about the reform through their comments.

It amazes me how people can be so obtuse when they talk about immigration.


I obviously wanted to voice my opinion as well as two hundred and eighty seven other  people.  Yet, some of the them were just darn mean, no empathy, no compassion whatsoever.  All of them had one thing in common, hatred.  Many would openly say they were immigrants from other parts of the World, but they had entered the United States legally.  How can a person that is coming from Easter Europe compare himself with an immigrant coming from Mexico?  Well if he had lived in the 1920's certainly he would have had it rough, not so in 2000's.  The Gang of Eight would have been reduced to the Gang of Three (Henry Cabot Lodge, Albert Johnson and David Reed).  Who were all basically racists and  authors of  the Immigration Act of 1924. (If you think what's happening now is bad go back in time and you'll witness how horrible Ellis Island became.)

All this situation is bad enough, but what makes it even worse is some of the people who are part responsible for coming up with this reform.  I'm talking specifically of Marco Rubio.

How can this man son of two Cuban immigrants (Cuba is a different story to tell anyhow, thank you Fidel),  grandson of an illegal alien (Rubio grandfather was undocumented from 1959 - 1966), can possible join forces with Lindsey Graham (his pal from the Grand Old Party) and agree with his point of "they can't stay until they learn our language" kind of bull.

Why can't we not only have one, or two or even three languages, in which we're proficient?

You think Rubio's parents (a carpenter and a seamstress) knew the ropes of our language back then?

Have you ever seen the movie Ever After ?  If you have you'll remember the scene of the ball, where Cinderella is discovered pretending something she is not.  As I thought about Rubio an his proposed immigration reform I pictured him in my mind as the Senate's Cinderella!  Who's going to uncover him?  Probably nobody because all the information I've shared with you is absolutely public.  Nevertheless, doesn't it make you think? 

Well, I'll tell you what I think the talk about immigration reform is just about dirty old politics.  Nobody is really going to do anything about it and probably just like back then in the 1920's both parties will gang up together and approve anything they decide is in the best interest of and for "the people".

Back then Ellis Island became known as the Island of Tears or Heartbreak Island, today it's the same situation, but this time around its Arizona's borders.

What do you think America The Great?   


 





 

Have A Great Day Dad!

One of my earliest memories during my childhood was probably during kinder.  It's not about the teacher (which was a great teacher by the way) or about the little red wagon that would be taken by a student or two to the lunchroom to pick up our milk and cookies, or about the new friends I had made, or about anything more or less normal, but about my dad's absence.  I remember clearly the day he moved out as it was yesterday. It was so bad, he took some money my mom had on top of our refrigerator that was for milk. That's the sort of dad I had. 

That was the starting point of a series of episodes where my dad would be in and out of our lives.  His absence would be sometimes for shorter periods and other times for longer ones.  During my early years my dad was a figure that wasn't always around and when he was it wasn't a good thing.

That made Father's Day even more difficult to bear with.  I remember watching all those glossy commercials on television, where always a beautiful little girl handed her dad a great present (obviously bought by the mommy that adored the daddy) and he would swing her around.  Both dressed perfectly!  My dad wasn't always around, I wasn't the typical beauty and my mommy surely wasn't going to buy A THING for my dad, and  I wouldn't be swung around with my dress mingling with the wind.

Basically because my dad struggled with alcoholism.

Probably right this second you're thinking, "Well that ought of explain what a crappy father you had!"

Nevertheless, I actually never saw him like that.  I didn't understand him that's for sure (neither did my brother), but I knew he loved us.  What was crystal clear was that he didn't know how to manage or express his love, but we knew it was there.  Probably because he always would be coming back, even if Mom would shout on the top of her lungs, that he wasn't welcome.

They never divorced if you're asking yourself what happened to their marriage along the way.  Up to today,  they are still married (God knows why.).  My brother and me glued their fate, and I'm not even sure if this is good or bad.   Yet, as they approach their mid seventies I'm happy they make each other company, they are more civilized these days (but that's another story to tell).

Coming back to me and my dad, I had an issue with giving him a father's day card.  I could never find the right card for him as I grew up and up to the day I still can't.  What card can you give a father that never gave his own child a birthday card (at least not until I became a grown woman), or her first bike, or waited for her after school to buy ice cream, or given her some sort of advice on dating or marriage (except a lousy example), or drove her to the movies or where ever it was she was going, and I could probably go on for a while more,   but I have to stop at some point. 

That's when I came up with the brilliant idea of making him his card.  I would always write the same thing, that I loved him and would  wish him a great day. Today I don't bother, I just hug, kiss, and give him a nice present (which he is always expecting with great joy). 

Our relationship has evolved, no longer does he battle against alcoholism, and he still has a hard time expressing his feelings, but one thing still remains,  the love we share. I gave him an opportunity and let him be an active part of my children's lives. He has been a better grandfather than a father, and that's okay with me because I've always loved him and I can only feel blessed he's gotten to experience how it feels to be a father, even if  it has been a little late in life. 

Father's Day 2012 (He's modeling the clothes I bought for him.)

I look back at my own childhood and sometimes feel a stab of pain, but then I look at him (now 72) and only feel grateful we've made it up to here and as the autumn of his life comes around we still share our constant denominator, love.

Life isn't perfect and some of us simply aren't going to get a picture perfect family, but that doesn't mean we can't find our own common denominator.  We've come a long way and today as I see the love he has learned to express to his grandchildren,  I can only feel peace with myself, my mom and with him. 

I love you Dad, have a great day!

"Siempre llueve sobre lo mojado"

Sometimes my husband likes to say,  “siempre llueve sobre lo mojado.”  Which literally means it always rains over what is  already wet.  This is a way of saying that whatever is bad per se is always bound to turn worse.

When whatever is bad turns to awful, it's more than sure it will get on your nerves like it does on mine!

via morgueFile

We’ve lived through a couple of rain storms and have survived, but sometimes like my husband says you kind of get tired of always running into more trouble.  

One of the storms I just mentioned occurred shortly after coming back from New York (a couple of weeks after moving back into our home) the measles came to give us a visit.  My daughter was in Kinder and my two boys, who were than preschoolers, were at home with me. 

One day she came home from school with a single dot on her forehead, my mom assured me that she thought that Stephy had measles.  You know I had to rely on her expertise because I really didn’t know much about measles (until that moment, I would become an expert fairly soon).

To move fast forward quickly, all my three children got the measles.  One just a couple around their little bodies and others all over the place (Caladryl became a household name in my home!). Nevertheless, it really didn’t worry me because all of us get measles during our childhoods and it was a milestone my own children had to go through.  To my surprise, my mother in law commented "lightly" that my husband had never had measles.   Yikes!  This is when it began raining over the already wet ground.

I wasn't surprised at all when my husband got the measles as well. 

Here we had to deal with a completely different situation. I phoned his doctor right away and he briefed me on the things I needed to be aware of (which I barely remember), and what to do if they happened.  The worst cases scenario was that we would need to request some special medication from The Red Cross (which I’m not sure if it was a medication or some plasma).  Blame my long-term memory loss to menopause!  Don't ask me for details because I'm afraid I can’t give them to you. The thing is that we were in a bad situation that was heading to get much worse in a couple of days. 

So, what did happen after all? 

Well, to our surprise (since all of you know our great record on scoring bad things) nothing happened.  Measles came and went and he survived them.  Our dear Lord decided to stop the rain and sent us instead a beautiful rainbow.  

via morgueFile

I opened my front door, waved the measles goodbye and told them to take the rain with them, and welcomed in a nice bright rainbow and pretty much enjoyed the break life gave us even if was only for a brief moment. 

Lo que sera, sera (What Will Be, Will Be)

My first visit to this tropical island  in the Caribbean Sea was around 1975.  I always remember the drive from the San Juan airport because of the distance we covered.   It took him about four hours to get us to where he lived.  It seemed we were never going to get to my grandfather's house, we could have been asking over and over, "Are we there yet?", but we didn't because that would have been seen as disrespectful. I've always thought that the moment I set eyes on these amazing mountains I fell spell bound in love for the rest of my life. I knew I would never leave if it would have been up to me.  The narrow and steep roads it took to get here were more than worth it! 

my mountain

Sometimes life becomes a little like this.  The road gets rough, but when you finally arrive where you want to be it's worthwhile.   The challenge of dealing with the  pot holes, narrow and steep roads you've  endured become milestones in your journey fulfilling your purpose in life.

It's very easy to stop and make a u-turn and simply give up!  No matter what you want, this premise will remain the same along the way.  You will endure less pain, but also less satisfaction if you stop trying.  It can be that you need to get a medical treatment  or any other thing, that seem will never happen, so instead of pushing harder you simply say, -"Okay, this is it, or as we like to say "lo que sera, sera.",.   Which means,  what will be, will be.  I am a strong believer that accepting fate is being a coward! I know from experience that life can and always will be able to overwhelm you,  and some days we are going to get up in the morning only to be punched in the face (from debt collectors to just bad news), but that doesn't mean we can give up.  We just need to push forward harder, and if we can't do it on our own, than we need to get help. There's nothing much more to it.

a view from my backyard...

 
 How many times in life do we confront situations like this!

Taking the rough road has its price because everything in life comes with one, but I've always thought that sometimes you just need to risk it.  Stay strong while the going gets tough!  It's not going to be easy, and that's when you need friends, family, and anybody who can contribute with a positive thought or a good wish.

These people will become your collaborators, they will fuel up your motor, and pave your road making the ride much smoother.  These are the people who will hold you while the winds are blowing hard and strong.  They will lift your shoulders and push you forward, so when you finally get there (where ever it may be) you can raise your arm and touch the sky and feel that you've arrived to your destination (like I did)!  What about you, where's your destination? 



  

When Hates Pull Us Under

Yesterday,  as I was enjoying some pics that  +Nicholas Lawrence so kindly shared with me and many others, I stumbled across a quote from Martin Luther King, Jr. where he says that "Let no man pull you low enough  to hate him.".  Even though I reflected upon the quote, I really couldn't nail it to anything particular until this morning.

+Mark Koenig wrote yesterday in his blog Along the Graybeard Trail about a crime that was committed twenty-three years ago, not any crime but one against a ten year old girl, Christine McGowen.  Twenty-three years ago, my own daughter +Stephanie Quintana was only just one year old, I usually avoid reading or listening to news related to assaults, rapes and murder of children because my heart bleeds.  I think of my own children and for one second I feel the world is a horrible place to live in.

My faith hits the ground and  it comes to the point where I challenge my belief  in a God that is omnipresent,  and  nevertheless stands by as a guilty witness to the horrors done to one of his own children. Yet eventually, time that heals mostly everything, is the one that brings acceptance (even if it leaves my soul dented and grief stricken), and for some strange reason restores my  faith along the way.   

via morgueFile

What Mark asks us to do here is up to the readers to decide.  This isn't something that you can decide in a beat, but that needs to be addressed by each person individually.  Nevertheless, Dr. King's quote fits like a glove in this particular case.  What the murderer of this precious little girl did, certainly is something that will pull us low enough to fill our hearts with hate.

Probably that's why the death penalty was approved in many states.  Our hearts full of hatred become the motor we need to get it done with.  We just want to get rid of people that are capable of such evil.  But, aren't we giving them the easy way out?  Isn't is much better to have them incarcerated for as long as they live.  Put away in a place where all they can listen to are the sounds of their own thoughts. Which will probably haunt them until the day they die.  Don't you think that this punishment is way harder?   When each one of these horrible human beings is executed, their done with, no longer do we have them around.  In a sense their execution isn't a punishment for their actions, but something that gratifies us instead,  because we feel good knowing they can harm no one again.  I'm not going to go into the fact that this particular man already had prior convictions for assaulting other children.  That would be another story to tell, how our justice system fails once and all over again and again.

via morgueFile

 My heart goes out to the family of this innocent child, and I know if it would have been my little girl, probably my heart would be beyond repair. 


Our world has never been an easy place to live in, and probably it will never be.  It has survived despite the evil, many men and women have brought upon it for centuries, and through out it's historical periods.   In other words, we have survived!

Great good, but also great evil  have and  are capable of cohabiting together on this planet through the lives of the people who live here.  For as long as time,  executions have been around and even for some of us in ways that today may be seen as barbaric.  Yet, bottom line, what we do and think about it is up to us, but nevertheless we should never let hate become the motor of our actions or thoughts, because if we do, we have lost the battle against evil that is and always will be lurking just a few steps away from not only our own, but the  homes of other as well.    

     

How I Became A Gluten-Free Mom

 This post is dedicated to all those moms who have

children with any kind of special needs.

 
My sons were diagnosed with Celiac disease when they were only seven and eight. After that everything changed for our family. First, my youngest boy was diagnosed and then our gastroenterologist told us that all of our children would have to be tested. Soon, my other son joined him in this new venture our family faced.   Both were admitted to the hospital to get a biopsy of their small intestines to confirm their diagnosis. Out of the three, only two were celiac patients (thank God for that, it could have been three out of three). He went on to explain how what they had was different from an allergy and how it would affect their lives from now on.

No more sandwiches for you, mister!

 With their diagnosis many new things came along as well. We needed to be aware about “gluten”!! To tell you the truth, before that we had never even heard about gluten. Didn’t know what it was or what it did to your body. Now all of a sudden, we needed to avoid not only gluten, but wheat, oat, barley, etc. The first thing we did was schedule a visit with a pediatric nutritionist to make sure the boys were eating right and in the correct amounts.  Foods became a source of anxiety not only for the boys, but for all of us. My daughter was asked to quit foods that had gluten, until we all settled into the boys’s diets. I remembered asking her to stop eating cheese turnovers because these were one of  the boys’ favorite foods and if they saw her eating them, they would get upset.  After a while, when she could finally have them, they were difficult to enjoy,  because eating them became a source of guilt for her, as well as for me for making them.  

via morgueFile

Not only our meals became like walking the plank on a pirate ship, but going to the grocery store also became a reason for stress. If God forbid I left home the list of what we needed to avoid, shopping would become a nightmare. What list? The one that told me what my boys could NOT eat or drink. At the beginning, we often forgot taking the darn list,  so when we would get home from the grocery store many of the items we had purchased couldn’t be eaten by them. Another thing that couldn't be overlooked was the fine print in food labels; all those "nasty"  ingredients food companies put in their processed and non-processed foods that are written in very small words and that had all of a sudden become lethal for our boys. Those years were difficult, but we were able to overcome them as we gained confidence, researching beforehand the products we usually bought and those we would like to buy as well.

 Now parties were another story! Having them go through the excruciating process of saying “No, thank you” was awful. During parties, while party trays full of delicious appetizers were hassled around. My boys would put “a poker face” (which is a face that holds no expression) and repeat "No, thank you" over and over again. They would tell me not to tell anyone that it was that they couldn’t eat them. They felt better, if they only would say what I called the three words of pride, “No, thank you.” It was like they had a choice when saying no.Things got so bad at the beginning that my oldest son once told me that he no longer wanted us to celebrate his birthday because without a cake it wasn’t a real birthday. That’s hard for any parent to hear. Probably you’ll ask me, “Why in the world didn’t you bake him a gluten-free cake? Easy, because I stink at baking gluten-free. I’ve tried, but always end up with an awful tasting cake. Over the years they gave up on my baking skills and would tell me not to even try. Even though they always tell me that I make great pancakes.  

As their childhood left and their teenagers year came along we built the foundation for a gluten-free lifestyle. They haven't always been truthful to it and have paid the consequences because I can no longer watch them like a hawk.  Nevertheless, I like to think that I gave them the tools, so they can take care of themselves and most importantly I survived being a gluten-free mom.

The Goodbye Party

Anyone who knows me on a personal level, knows I hate funerals and weddings, but today I'm concentrating on funerals.  Why? Probably because I think both should be private and intimate moments in life,  where only those who are part of it should be present at all.  That's why it's no surprise to anybody in my extended family when they don't see me around if someone from our community dies.  My mom is always scolding me because she fears no one will attend my funeral.  She always says, "The day you die nobody is going to go to your funeral.!" To which I always respond with a shrug (It's not like that I'm going to be there to see it.   Ha!).  I wouldn't disrespect her by saying it out loud, but the answer always pops up involuntarily in my head.

Wait a second!  Did I tell you that in Puerto Rican communities when someone dies everyone that knew the family is expected to attend?  YES!  That's how it is, which means that you're going to be attending a funeral home that's packed with people, everyone talking at the same time, and some are even going to be coming in and out of the designated area for coffee and snacks (now a days they even serve food). Bottom line, it's basically a goodbye party!

photo via morgueFile

Although it used to be worse back in the day.  When my own grandfather passed away (who was like a father to me), the arrangements for his viewing were held in his own home.  My God, talk about something wrong and I will always have this one on the top of my list.  His viewing lasted three days, can you believe it?  When the day finally arrived where he would be laid to rest I was exhausted, my eyes had dried out, and all I wanted was to get over it, as soon as possible.

I watched in horror as every night people came from God knows where to attend his viewing,  and after paying the widow (my grandmother) their due respects,  than would step out to the "batey" to talk with folks they haven't seen in years.  Sometimes people would get loud, making jokes and drinking coffee till the wee hours of dawn.  Did I also forget to mention that you weren't suppose to sleep during the viewing.  This is when probably my hatred for funerals was born.

Some time ago I read a great blog from Ann Jacobous featured in Friends For The Ride, where she points out that "the moment a loved one leaves this world is a sacred moment..".  This is how its supposed to be!  I really don't know how I'm going to feel when my own parents pass away, but for sure I want privacy and serenity to be able to face the moment when it eventually comes around.

Facing the eve of life of anyone who's important in your life is hard enough, let's not make it more difficult by adding the grievance of having to put up with the endless line of friends, friends of friends, family,  and family of family (if you're Puerto Rican you know what I'm talking about) as they all want to share a piece of you.

Life goes on as it usually does, and after the funeral is when our friends and family need us around to help them cope with their loss.  Let's give them the necessary space to deal with the moment they need to say goodbye and make it through that very sacred moment in their lives when their parents pass away, but without forgetting about them afterwards.

I always tell my one and only brother that if I pass away first, if he doesn't get here fast (24 hours), he is going to miss my funeral.  Yet it's not that important because who he really has to be concerned about is my husband and my children.  Their the ones that really need him, so he knows he's coming anyway maybe not for our traditional goodbye party,  but to share his own pain with the three pieces of myself that I'm leaving behind in a quiet tea party that will be held only by invitation.

The Blessing of Unhappiness

I feel sorry for the people who aren't beautiful, or skinny, or hydrated, or into exercises, or into health food, or with their hair done, wearing designer cloths or  don't  have their kids  in private schools, or  have great houses, or have  new cars, or have great jobs, etc. etc. etc.  I can probably go on forever because the list seems to be endless.  Those of us who have a couple of these things, but don't have them all strive in getting the ones we're missing because unless you have a check mark in all of them you are a complete loser.

photo via morgueFile

Now, some of you who read my blogs are going to think what happened with the lady that crusades for those who are hungry, for immigrants, for social justice and above all for change?   Did she see one of those  aliens she talks about sometimes and some secret government officials (like those we saw in Men in Black) erase her memory?

Let me soothe your troubled minds, it's still me!  Now comes the interesting twist.....it amazes me how obsessed we are with so many things! Do we need to be or have all of these things to be happy?  If so, what do you think  happiness is all about?

Some of us aren't as lucky to be able to acquire all of these fancy things, so maybe we are unhappy.  So unhappy that we can appreciate the beauty of each sunrise and reflect on the wonder of sunset, so unhappy we can rejoice in the company of our children (even if we can't afford to send them to a prep school and have to take the trouble of homeschooling them), so unhappy that we need to cook our own meals and share them together,  instead of eating out all the time, so unhappy we can't wear the colors designer clothes are launching for the season, because we or our husbands don't have high paying jobs (which usually come with demanding schedules and stress lead lives), so unhappy we can only afford having our same furniture that hold precious memories from our children's first years than changing it every other year,  so unhappy we can have long conversations with our now grown up kids about life, love and the choices they make and not about what nail color is best to wear or diet to follow or any other silly (to not say stupid) thing that can cross our minds.  When you think about it,  than unhappiness is a blessing.

Sunset by Melissa Reyes Segarra

In life everything is about balance!  We can't always being pursuing perfection in how we look, as neither we can always be pounding our heads against the wall because sometimes life just sucks.  It's about being happy with ourselves.  Happiness and peace aren't things we can have because someone gives it to us, theses are things we need to look for within our own souls.  It isn't easy to nestle them inside you and it can take some time as we seek them.  For some it will be spirituality, faith, their nirvana, or whatever you may call it. Nevertheless, the important thing is that we're working at it.    

I stumbled upon all the requirements of happiness in a gathering I hosted  on Mother's Day weekend.  I was blasted away with the majority of the conversations that we're going around.  Everyone there seemed to be only worried about how they and people they know looked!

The climax of the afternoon was when someone told one of my cousins who was visiting from New Jersey as she walked in was, "You're a little fatter than the last time you were around." Wow!  I think she looks amazing, she's not the bare bones type, but nevertheless she's a beauty. That's only her outer beauty, because her inner beauty is even more breathtaking.   What an upsetting thing to point out to a person you haven't seen for a while, and the worst part is that  people who say  these types of things get away with it.  

"...find your own recipe for happiness and live up to it!"

Don't think for a minute I'm the hero here because I'm not.  Some time ago, I would've been doing and talking about the same things they were.  I was as obsessed as they are about being skinny, clothes, nail polish, etc. etc.  What changed me?  I would probably say that I took a hard look at myself this past Christmas and came to the conclusion that I needed to change a couple of things, but overall my life was great.  All I needed to do was appreciate what I had!

Thank God life is dynamic, we are always changing and for those who don't have the capacity of change is for who I really feel sorry for.  Remember we are and always will be a work in progress.  Life is more than what we have or look like, it's all about being able to wake up in the morning and discovering what the day has to offer you through its ups and downs.  Don't let others dictate how you're suppose to live, that's your job.  Last, but not least find your own recipe for happiness and live up to it because if you don't know yourself, who does?

Tlazocamatli: Thank you, "Gracias"

Recently my daughter was a key player in the organization of a march that would be held in Tucson, Arizona about immigration laws and how they are affecting a wide range of people who are part of the Tucson community.  In the early morning before the march began Allison (her pastor) came over to reassure and pray for her.  She asked our good Lord to bless, protect and guide her throughout the day.

Modern day Nahua

Yet not only did she receive the most needed spiritual intervention from one that shared her own faith, but also received it from an unexpected  member of the community. The local Nahua spiritual leader!  He came over to the premises of the Southside  Presbyterian Church,   where everyone was gathered,  to ask his deities to guide and protect those who would be participating in the march.  She told me how they had called upon the Universe and showered her with incense that would help her win the war.  They painted her face as if she was one of their own warrior women and for one brief second she felt part of these amazing people, even when she is far away from being so.  Even though she is Hispanic, she was basically born in a pop culture society, she is an American citizen by birth right, she is  Christian and so many other things separate her from the Nahua.  But they do have something in common,  they struggle together to fight against a system that hurts and condemns immigrants to living conditions that should bring shame to a country that was born from immigrants.  Bottom line, Tlaoamatli (which means thank you) for wanting to protect the well-being of one of my own.  I have no words that can express how grateful I am for your gesture.  If only,  I could also extend my own hand to be able to protect your people from injustice I would do so.  Yet, the only thing I can do is pray for you and write about your struggles and suffering, which I am more than willing to do.

The Nahua taught us a lesson with their openness and candor that we as Christians are not willing to reciprocate.  Why isn't it possible for all people to come together crossing the bridges that separate us and moving forward in creating a better world. Our country is full of churches, temples, synagogues, and so many other buildings where people gather to worship their own deities, but we are so far away from spirituality and good.

Maybe we do need to call the power of nature from the four corners of our Earth and ask our dear Lord to help us get over ourselves and then and only then will we  be able to appreciate our diversity and rejoice as we build a better today, so tomorrow the Nahua , Christian, Islamic or Jew children (just to mention a few)  enjoy a better place to live.  By doing this we are all contributing in creating a little piece of heaven here in this troubled Earth that we call home.

Crossroads

It is so much better to be a bystander!  Staying on the side of things and having the leisure of looking at others pass along (looking without truly seeing).   Many of us are always trying to keep our feelings and emotions in check, so nothing or nobody can hurt us.  Yet is that real life? Is pain so wrong? If we are brave enough to step into the unknown land of empathy we can grow in stature out of pain, and ultimately change our ways.   

Yesterday I saw in my Facebook news feed a photo of people from Mexico crossing the border and on the picture or on top, there was a question asking if you knew what the national sport in Mexico was, to which then it went on to answer crossroad. It reminded me of pictures of refugees fleeing from their country in lines of two.   It's very easy to make a stupid joke of the problems are world is facing and brush them off to the side as nothing, but the truth is it's not that easy.   When we do brush important things to the side eventually they come back even more harder to deal with.

credit: Trinity at crossroads, In the Cac

Empathy is when we are capable of putting ourselves in the place of others.  We have lost this ability, has it been wiped off all of us?  Is it necessary for us to endure poverty, hunger, violence and the ugly side of living for us to become empathic?  I don't think so!!!!  Empathy will flow when we give all those immigrants in the United States a face, a story, or when we get to know who they are. You may be surprised to find out that you will care after that.  No longer will it be something distant to you.  You will have all these families close to your heart and your prayers and most importantly,  you will want to do something about it even if its only feeling empathy for them.

Probably right at this moment if you stumble across this blog, you'll say well "tough luck" we can't do everything for everyone.  Reality is that they are not asking you do everything, what they want is an opportunity to be able to work.   

Fixing this mess isn't easy and it will take much more than feeling empathy, but at least people around the country should unite their voices and stand strong to demand immigration laws that will protect the nation's borders without compromising the basic human rights all of us are entitled to.  I'm not saying we live without immigration laws, every country needs to have law and order, what I'm trying to convey here is that these laws provide the due exceptions so there fair and human.

Let us stand together in that crossroad and unite while we share a helping hand, hope and the willingness to do something about it.  Life is not about being comfortable, it's about living and living comes with a price tag.  Are you willing to pay the price?

When Compassion Comes In Shades of Blue

"Long lost friend, so good finding you again.  Though I lost my way,

you've been strong enough to stay.  Faithful to the end, long lost friend."

Unknown quote

Sometimes we choose  our friends and sometimes we are blessed with others that tend to fall into our lives by accident.  That's how I ended up meeting one of the most important persons in my life. I've always thought we created a strong bond because we met in very difficult circumstances, and sadly when this time of the year comes around and Summer is just a beat away,  my thoughts become full of our shared memories and the scars I carry from her loss reopen as fresh wounds.  

The circumstances I mentioned previously were that when I met her,  she had just received a kidney transplant and my husband was going through multiple surgeries after his own liver transplant.  We met at Jackson Memorial Hospital the same day I arrived from home a 4th of July.  My father in law (who was taking care of my husband, while I came home to see my children) urged me to drop by this lady's room to say hello (which he obviously had already met).  I wasn't  thrilled about the prospect of visiting some stranger just because she was from Puerto Rico! To get him off my back, I reluctantly stopped by her room,  introduced myself and wished her a fast and complete recovery,  making a quick entry and departure (Speedy Gonzales would have been proud of me!).   I only was able to notice her incredibly blue eyes because she was wearing a disposable mouth protection cap that covered most of her face due to her recent surgery and barely spoke (probably because I didn't give her the chance).  What I didn't appreciate during those brief moments was the compassion those same eyes were capable of showing, which I would have the blessing of experiencing  first hand as our friendship flourished over the years that followed.

During the days and weeks that went on,  things began looking grim for me because my husband was in and out of surgery often.  The "lady from Guaynabo" as I called her,  was also staying  in a close by Ronald McDonald House and some days I would make it there to sleep,  others I would stay in the Intensive Care Unit's waiting room.  I think she kind of "stalked" me ( in a good way), because she began appearing as soon as I would put my key in the door to ask me if I'd had something to eat or just to know how my husband was doing.   I admired her compassion for a complete stranger, she seemed to be genuinely interested,  and I began opening up to her.  After a couple of times we had talked, she introduced herself and  told me her name was Carmen.  I felt ashamed I hadn't even asked her name when I had stopped by her room, and payed back her courtesy by telling her my own name.  

After we were on first name terms,  I began expecting to see her whenever I made it to the house.  Our courteous small talk transformed into long conversations where we would talk about so many things, we related in so many ways I felt I was talking to a long lost friend.  During my worst moments she would invite me to pray with her and later would sing me a hymn she knew by heart.  God has blessed her with a beautiful voice which she kindly shared with me as she  invited  me to sing along.  Those quiet moments helped heal and restore my faith during those troubled times. 

She became my own personal blessing and remained that way until she passed away almost thirteen years ago.   Today,  I can handle remembering her  without feeling the excruciating  pain of the earlier days, but still long to hear her voice on the phone or when we met frequently to see each other.  On the off set of losing a loved one, you can never really convince yourself that their gone.  It's something that takes practice, you need to repeat it over and over, until reality hits you, and you begin to come in terms with your loss.   

Ironically she died on her transplant anniversary and was coming to stay over precisely that same day with her husband and a precious baby boy she had given birth to a couple of years ago. We had planned a fun weekend, full of activities for our children and ourselves.  Everything seemed to be going swiftly, we had talked earlier and were on schedule, she would work until noon and then they would be heading to our home.  We went over the menu and the things that needed to be bought and said goodbye.  A little more than an hour later I received a phone call from her husband, where he would just repeat she's gone.  I felt numb as I listened to him explain that she had been hit by a vehicle as she crossed the street entering the office where she worked,  and had died almost immediately after.   In a twist of fate, we were the ones that ended up driving up to their home to moan her death that weekend, as we faced together the unexpected. If I would recall the moments in my life where I have doubted my faith, this was one of them.  It took me time to come to terms to what had happened and accept her death.   

Life is unexplainable, we just don't know what's going to happen as we wake up every morning.   I surely would have liked to be spared the anguish of living through that awful day, but nevertheless I am thankful she was able to be part of my life for whatever time life gave us. I will always be grateful that unlike me she wasn't pestered to find out how a complete stranger was holding out, and waited for me to show up at the end of the day,  just to ask a polite question, even if I only answered with a few words. She kept coming back,  not knowing that she was building the foundation of a friendship of a lifetime, even if it proved to be  short lived. I carry her memory like a badge on my sleeve, it will always be with me, until my own day comes by.

"Nos vemos en la otra vida, mi querida amiga." 

Overcoming Our Point Zero

This post is dedicated to my husband's donor, 

who gave him the best gift ever

the gift of a new beginning. 

The day we are born is our starting point in life, it's our point zero.  Maybe that's why people usually make such a fuss over their birthdays.  They plan and plan just to decide the best way to celebrate another year of life.  Some of us are such huge fans of our birthdays that we go to extreme measures of extravagance to please ourselves in each and every possible way.  Please, emphasize on the word, ourselves.  But,  do we really think about our lives and what we've made out of them?  I would really like to think that birthdays are more about reflecting on who we are, who we've become, and who we want to be, and less about shopping  for the perfect gift. It's the one day of the year that we need to get over ourselves and take a hard look at our lives. Easier said than done, but in the long run, any effort towards self-improvement is beneficial not only for ourselves, but also for those who surround us.

free clip art: http://amorelegnami.it/images/photos/index.php?p=16

After talking about the general concept of birthdays and all the nonsense that usually accompanies it, what I really wanted to share tonight in my blog, was the fact that my husband not only has one birthday, but two.

He doesn't really fuss about one of them, but makes a great deal about the other.   He was born on a February 28th, (the whole purpose of this one is just seeing plus one on his number line), but reborn again on a June 5th, 1995 when he had the blessing of receiving a new liver.

Every year when this day comes around, he celebrates his second new beginning, or better said,  his second point zero!  Not many people have the opportunity of a second chance not in, but at  life itself.  All the rest of us have just one shot at it.  We are born, live the best we can and one day pass away.  Some don't even make it through childhood, others make it up to a late onset in life, how short or long a life you get to live is and always will be a mystery.  Coming back to Carlos after being diagnosed with end stage liver disease apparently his number line would only reach 27, but miracles do happen and after a few bumps in the road, he was ready to receive his second chance that special day. This year, he reached number 47 on the number line we call life. 

With every sunrise we experience a new beginning.

He doesn't relinquish too much on himself, but in what he is and has been to others.  We have no words or actions to show how grateful we are to his donor's family for giving him the best present ever, his new life.  Not only does he celebrate his own, but also rejoices in the fact that his donor gave him the best present ever, the gift of life.  As I waited that night, I had the opportunity to talk to the husband of the woman who received his pancreas and kidneys and they sure were grateful as well.  Not to mention that I saw his heart and lungs ushered quickly to a waiting helicopter that would take them to Georgia, and last but not least his precious liver that was generously given to my beloved husband.  

When you face this kind of experience you really have no other option that to set  high standards for yourself. That can become a hard pill to swallow, yet he embraced it with fierceness.  Only striving to want to know that he has made a difference for others through his passage in life, that with each sunrise he continues to be worthy, and that when his parting day finally arrives,  he can gaze into the eyes of his children and be able to see that he HAS BEEN WORTHY.


Eighteen years have passed in a wink of an eye, and it seems like yesterday that I waited for precisely around eighteen hours to receive the great news that he had made it through surgery and was recovering in the ICU of Jackson Memorial Hospital in Florida.  Yet, I can say that I have had the blessing of witnessing how a young man became an outstanding human being who at least in my eyes has become worthy of the incredibly valuable gift  that a complete stranger bestowed on him so many years ago.     

 

Attachments: Who Said They Were Wrong?

During the past two years I've heard my fair share of, "don't get to attached, they can take him away." I'll tell you who I'm talking about in a little while.  But first I need to clarify a couple of things, so bear with me.

Another zinger I've heard (which annoys me even more) is,  "Not even your children belong to you in life, so don't get to attached.".  Sorry to differ, but they DO belong to me. They became mine the moment I received the blessing of  carrying them in my womb.  Precisely it was there, where  a life long journey of  caring, loving and looking after them began.  AND (sorry for the conjunction at the beginning of my sentence) I am and will become attached to them!  Let's not leave out the mommies that adopt, who also can and will become attached to their children with the only difference is that they carried them not in their womb, but in their hearts.  Our attachment doesn't mean we're exclusive, it means that we are joined, linked, united, cemented, glued, (and I can go on and on) yesterday, today and forever with them.     

Some of the greatest things in life, begin with thoughts and words.  Life pulls us towards different places we don't even know we want to go to. This can probably explain why every time my husband and me went to the mall, we would end up in the baby department, looking at the cribs, baby cloths, bottles and all the modern baby gear that was available (we had our first child in 1989).  Not only did we do this in the mall, but also in our weekly trips to the supermarket.  Every time we passed the baby aisle, we stopped and talked about all the variety of baby products that were also available today.  We lingered around and then moved on.  With each stop we walked through memory lane and talked about our own children and that's how are yearning was born.  That desire of having our home rejoice with a child's  laughter again was overwhelming, but we really didn't say it to each other.  Probably because neither of us knew how the other would react.  My daughter had brushed it aside saying that we were suffering from the Empty Nest Syndrome.

Our yearning was private, we didn't voice it out.  We just mingled with the idea in our heads.  Up to one day when my husband finally worked up  the guts to ask, "what if we adopt a baby?"  He did it, he had dared to speak out our longing, that wasn't good because we would have to talk about it in a concrete way.  So,  I did what I usually do, I backfired with a million questions and statements. What if we do try and fail?  How are we going to handle the heartbreak? What are the kids going to say?  It's not fair for them! Are you nuts, we are in our mid forties, we should concentrate on us for a change! After a lot of soul searching and going back and forth,  talking or may I say persuading our own children of how great of an idea this was (to which all shouted in protest), our imaginary "baby" became a real possibility.  We decided that our baby would be a girl and began planning, looking for information, getting ready to adopt.

"I wanted to be the healer, but became the healed."

As things turned out, my Myasthenia  relapsed  and so did our dreams of becoming parents again. We were forced to face the fact that my health wasn't up to raising a fourth child.  I gave up on my hopes of  healing, loving and the most important of all, bringing her home.  I would always tell my youngest son, "Somewhere there's a little girl calling my name."  We had taken a step further, and we had already chosen a name for her,  Carmen Isabel.   So you can imagine, what we went through when we faced losing our dream.   As a family we grieved about the baby girl who would never come home with us.  We had become attached to a dream, we had allowed ourselves to cling on to something, but weren't regretting it a bit.  Life brings us joy, but sometimes it also brings us hurt, and there is nothing wrong with that.

What we didn't know was that we were being prepared as a family to receive our newest member.  If you're still reading my blog, come and meet, who people warn me about not getting too attached to....

Ian and me in Franco's Honor List Activity at his University.

 It turned out that my husband's brother trusted him under our care when he was only two months and he turned two a couple of weeks ago (That's another story to tell).  He was formed in another woman's womb, but at the same time was being formed in my heart.  His name is Ian, his mommy chose that name not even knowing what it meant.  The curious thing is that it means, a gift from God.   One of my sons told me a couple of months ago "You know what Mom, you were right about a baby calling you, where you got it wrong was on the sex,  it wasn't a baby girl that was calling your name, it was a boy.".

Once again,  we've faced life with a baby in the house,  and dealt with my relapses along the way.   I wanted to be the healer, but became the healed.  Ian healed my soul and to my surprise my immune system has been much better even since he became part of our lives. We're adjusting, now we don't long or yearn in the mall or the supermarket, but complain (happily) on the soaring prices of baby stuff, but the most important of it all is that  he has become our greatest joy. We are and always will be attached to him, and the best part is that there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.