Extinguished Hope

Today is my mom's birthday.  She would have been 64 years old, had she not been taken so violently 35 years ago.  Today I am sad.  Thinking about how much I miss her and how she was ripped away far too soon. 

Over the 33 years that I was unaware of her death, I always celebrated her on her birthday.  Seeing that she was born in May, her birthday is always around Mother's Day.  So for both days, I would be in a celebratory mood.  Recently, I was speaking with a dear friend, Walker and we were talking about how hard the month of May is for me.  My mom's birthday, the day she passed, Mother's Day and my grandmother's birthday, all in May.  He pointed out how my feelings had changed over the years.  This lead me to think, why the change?  Why is this month so much harder now than in the past?

After deep thought, I came to the realization that having the hope of seeing her again extinguished, the positivity around the month of May was extinguished as well.  You see, even though it had been decades since I had seen my mom, I always thought that I would see her again.  In a way. there was no reason to be overcomed with sadness.  This was a temporary absence, no matter how long it had been.  It may seem incredulous that I wouldn't even think her death was a possibility but it's true.  The first time I even considered she may not be physically here was in 2009.  Even then, the idea seemed far fetched.  I just knew I was going to see my beautiful mother before I died.  

The first time Mother's Day was a struggle was when my grandmother, her mother, died.  That year I felt like I had lost both important ladies at the same time and I was devastated.   I truly felt that maternal loss and struggled to cope with my little lady's death.  My mom was still distant in my grief because I was not aware of what had happened to her.  

It has now been 2 years since learning of her outcome, and I am just starting to process the loss.  Uncovering and dealing with 33 years of unresolved grief and longing is a daunting task.   The grief I feel now does not diminish the celebratory feeling I held throughout all of these years.  I wasn't lying to myself about feeling sad, I was simply grateful for the positive women who have stepped in over my life to serve as maternal role models  

Mother's Day will always hold a touch of sadness as I mourn the physical presence of these two ladies.  However, I also still celebrate and appreciate all of the women who have mothered me over the years.  I have been truly blessed to have some amazing women in my life and in my corner.  After another talk with Walker, I really feel these women were placed in my life by my mom.  They were able to be here for me in a way that she was unable to.  It took countless women to help fill the void of one of the most amazing women I'd ever met.   That feeling was like a balm to my spirit and helped me feel closer to my mom.

Over the last couple of years, I have been working on feeling closer to my mom.  I had pushed her out of my mind for so long, it wasn't easy to bridge that gap.  Not only was it difficult but it was also uncomfortable.  It is so much easier and simpler to distract myself from thoughts of her.  But that was counterproductive to my goal of feeling her presence.  As I mentioned before, I have to go through it, to grow through it and get through it.  Going through it means allowing the feelings of sadness to come through.   I am sad about the profound loss of my mother. 

Today, her birthday, I think about her.  I think about the big smile I inherited from her.  I think about her compassion that is so evident in my sister, Brenda.  I think about how fiercely she loved and wanted to protect those she loved.  I think about how close she and her sister, Rosa were.  How Brenda and I remind me of them two.  I think about her love of music and how she passed that love to me and future generations.  For so many years, I didn't think about her because it hurt.  I didn't want to feel that pain because it led to anger.  I didn't want to be angry with her if I ever saw her again.  Better to just not think about her.  But that choice was taken from me. I have no choice but to embrace the pain. 

With the pain, comes joy.  Through tears, I can smile about the years I had with her.  In 10 short years, she was able to give a lifetime of love.  It wasn't enough but I don't think it would have ever been enough.  Even if she lived to be 100.   I can celebrate the positive impact she had on my life.   How lucky am I to have been loved and protected by someone so bright?  Her bright light may have been dimmed too soon but it burns in me and those who were fortunate enough to have known her.  

So, today I will allow the sadness, enjoy the moments of happiness and mourn the loss.  As someone once said, grief is the price we pay for loving someone.  My grief was delayed but not diminished in the time it took me to learn of her demise. 

Happy Birthday in heaven Mom.  I love you and miss you more than I could ever say.  Thank you for all that you did with the little you had.  You were amazing and I hope you're proud of how we all turned out.  

As always, thanks for reading and take care.  

Through it

 Another year has passed since learning of my mom's demise.  I thought things would be easier but instead, they are slightly harder.  For the first time, I am sitting with my feelings instead of "moving on."  

Having experienced trauma at such a young age meant having to find ways to cope with it as the years flew by.  Coping looks different for everyone.  For some, it means engaging in risky behaviors.  For others, it can mean becoming overly aggressive.  Yet for others it can mean isolating from society.  Oftentimes, we find more than one mechanism.  For me, my main coping mechanism was distancing myself from the feelings associated with the trauma, in essence distancing myself from me.  

Throughout the years, I became adept at recounting my past as a laundry list.  I barely paused as I went from one trauma to the next. 

• I was raped at 7 years old.
• My mom became addicted to drugs and we moved in with my aunt.
• We were forced into foster care when I was 10.
• The last time I saw my mom I was 10.  No one knows what happened to her.

I would sum up parts of my childhood in less than 5 minutes.  After I recounted my list, I would nod and say, that's what's happened to me, and I have moved on.  I survived all of that trauma and I am living my life now.  I was proud of myself for being able to "get over so much."  I mean, I had some trauma but there were people out there who had it so much worse than I did.  

The first time that I was made to stop after recounting my "list" was in 2009.  I was doing a therapy intake and telling the therapist my past.  When I finished, she took a deep breath and said, "whoa.  That's a lot."  her pause made me pause.  She was the first one who acknowledged that I had been through a lot.  In doing so, she forced me to do the same.  That started my therapy journey.  Although that was over 15 years and 2 therapists ago, the distance remained.  I just couldn't or wouldn't bridge the gap.   

When my grandmother passed away in 2021, I knew I was going to need help to get through the grief and began therapy again.  When reviewing what I wanted out of therapy with the new therapist, I realized that I wanted to reconnect with my younger self.  I wanted to befriend my little girl and give her a hug, similar to that scene in Drop Dead Fred.  I shared this with the new therapist and hoped I would make the progress that I was desperately seeking.  I was hoping that progress would be fast coming but alas, it was not.  

I have had many an "a-ha" moment in therapy since I started in January 2022.  Little things that improved my everyday life but I still struggle with some of the bigger issues.  When I found out what happened to my mom, I thought, this is it.  I am finally going to confront my issues.  I am ready.  But I was not.  In many ways, when it came to my mom, I was still the 10 year old child missing her mom.  Once again, I could not or would not allow myself to really grieve the loss.  I mean, she had been missing for over 30 years, I had grown accustomed to not having her in my life.  Now it was just permanent.  

I expected a flood of tears after learning of her fate but they did not come.  I shed a few on the day her identity was confirmed.  I cried a bucket load on the day we buried her ashes and may be on a couple of other occasions.  Not even visiting her grave, would I really feel like crying.  This lack of expression frustrated me.  How could I not cry for this woman I loved so much?  Where was my grief?   What is wrong with me?  No matter how often my therapist would explain that crying was only part of the grief, it's the only part I was fixated on.  I wanted to cry and feel the relief that often comes from a good crying session.  

As I continued going to therapy and making other strides, it started to make sense to me.  Of course I couldn't grieve for her.  For over 30 years, I only really allowed myself to think of her in the month of May.  I didn't allow myself to really think of her any other time because it was too much.  Too much pain.  Too much heartbreak.  Too much loss.  Just too much.  In order to really grieve for her, I have to allow myself to think of her.  I have to sit with my memories and bring her back in my life.  Great, that should be easy to do. 

Wrong again.  Thinking of her and bringing her back into my everyday life was HARD.  I had gotten very good at redirecting my thoughts when they would land on her.  To actually force my thoughts to remain with her felt uncomfortable and unnatural for me.  But as my therapist constantly points out, I cannot cheat the process.  I have to go through the process and sit with the discomfort.  I joked with him that I wanted a magic pill that would make everything better.  I mean I had lived through it, wasn't that enough?  Isn't surviving enough?  I didn't cause the trauma, why do I have to put in the work to get over it?  However, I now recognize that I cannot get through the pain without going through it.  I have to go through it, so that I can grow through it and get through it.  I am ready to go through it.  

I woke up today with a heavy heart.  My thoughts were on my mom.  But I didn't put on music to get over it or try to distract myself with other thoughts.  I acknowledged that it is sad day.  There is a reason for that sadness and it is valid.  When I went to the cemetery, I talked to my mom.  I apologized for all of the anger and bitterness I felt when I felt abandoned by her.  I told her how much I love her and how proud I am that she was my mom.  For the first time, when I was leaving, I was overcome with emotions.  I sat in the car for a few minutes before leaving to see if the tears would come.  I wasn't going to run this time or try to move past the feeling.  I didn't cry but my eyes did get misty, and I was able to sit with the feelings. 

I know that I have a way to go.  After all, I can't overcome 30+ years in a short time but for the first time in a long time, I really feel I am on my way.  I am ready to go through the pain so that I can grow through the pain and get through the pain.   

I will always miss my mom, and I will always love her.  There may even always be sadness but that isn't a bad thing.  It's an expression of that love and longing for my mother.  

As always, thank you for reading and take care.

Memories

Memories are tricky.  We can't always count on them to be truthful.  Our memories can sometimes be versions of the truth we tell ourselves.  We repeat them so often, they become our truth. For over 3 decades, I "remembered" the last time I saw my mom was on May 4th, 1990.  However, we found out 2 years ago that she was murdered on May 2nd.  So, now I assume the last time I saw her was May 1st.  Is it a big deal that I was off by a couple of days? No.  However, it leads to a bigger question, if I was off about one thing, could have been off about other things from my past?

There are so many challenging things about learning about my mom's passing so long ago.  Even though its been almost 2 years since gaining the knowledge of how she passed, I am only now starting to grieve the loss.  I was cheated of grieving for so long, I didn't even know how to begin.  Another challenge is having to reconcile the thought of a mother who abandoned me, when she swore she never would and knowing that she didn't make the choice to leave.  One of my biggest challenges, is that because of the lack of funds to afford the limited technology available, I don't have any videos of my mom.   I have to count on my memory of her to bring her to life in my head.   And memories are tricky.

I can remember my mother's smile.  But then, I have photos of her smile to aide in that memory.  I also inherited that smile and can see it when I look in the mirror.  I can clearly recall her signature whistle.  A sound that immediately brings the same smile to my face now as it did then.  I not only remember her spirit but I feel her spirit.  The love and joy she exuded.  It was vibrant.  However, try as I may, I cannot remember her voice.  I cannot remember the voice of the woman who birthed me.  I cannot remember the melody or tone of the voice of my biggest protector and the one who bathed me in love.  

When my Abuela passed, I often comforted myself with videos I had on my phone.  I could hear her laugh and it would bring back other memories. It was tangible.  I was robbed of that with my mom.  If she had not been taken so long ago, I would be able to comfort myself with videos of her.  But I can't.

It breaks my heart that I don't have the ability to hear her.  When she comes to me in dreams, she is silent.  My desire to hear her is so strong, that my mind has conjured a possibility that there may be a video of her somewhere.  When I was raped in 1987, I remember speaking with detectives in the hospital and eventually going to the precinct to see mugshots with my mom.  Could there be an old, grainy video of one of those sessions?  Is it possible that somewhere there is some video that features her?

Since I was so young when I was raped, I don't recall which precinct my case was out of.  Who can I contact to see if such a video exists?  I called the hospital where I was hospitalized but they don't keep records that long.  However, I realized recently, there is a cold case detective in the NYPD who is investigating her case.  A cold case detective who has agreed to look up my case.

While I am grateful, I am also nervous and scared.  My biggest fear is that there will be no file.  A close second fear is, what if the memories I have about that time are false?  What information could there be in that report that can possibly shed light on my past? Would they have recorded any of my interviews?  I am hopeful and terrified. 

I never thought that in trying to grieve and remember my mom, it would lead on a path to remember me.  For so long, when asked about my past, I would recount the highlights as if reading from a grocery list.  I completely detached from feeling the pain of so many different traumas.  I, innocently, thought that since I had survived my childhood, I could move forward and worry about the future.  When I started this blog, 16 years ago, it was about finding myself.  Never did I think that would mean unravelling what happened before.  But here I am.   I am at a place now where I am ready to confront the pain.  I am ready to challenge my memories of the past in the hopes of finding clarity in the present. 

Thank you for staying on this journey with me.  Thank you for reading and take care.