That's a wrap

A little over 3 months ago, I received a call I had always been dreading.  I was told that my role was being outsourced and I would be laid off at the end of the year.  I should have expected it with all of the changes happening, but I can honestly say, for me, it came out of nowhere.  It felt like a tidal wave knocked me out.  After the initial shock, I had a session with my therapist.  During that session, I acknowledged the tiny voice in the back of my mind.  The little voice reminding me that I was ready for change.  This lay off would allow me to find a new position and a passion.  Dare I say it, I was actually excited for what the future holds.  

Over time, I began informing coworkers of my impending exit.  The reactions were all similar.  Shock and disbelief.  After 23 years, my time with the company was coming to an end.  I received beautiful messages from so many people and for the first time, I felt affirmed.  I may lack confidence in other areas of my life but work is not one of them.  I have always felt confident in my ability to do my job well.  Yet, I was surprised and a little overwhelmed by all of the positivity.  

In October, I went to California to assist employees with Annual Open Enrollment.  While there, my coworkers went all out in celebrating my accomplishments.  There was a beautiful Golden Girls cake the first night.  The next day, after gifting me with some Golden Girls swag, I was treated to a Hollywood tour and ended the night with a delicious steak dinner.  My coworker even made me wear a "Birthday Girl" crown, so others can celebrate me as well.  I felt special and seen.  When I expressed my thanks for such a wonderful send off, I was told "You're a super important person to our team and we wanted you to know that!" That started my "farewell" tour.  

As I continued to share my goodbyes with colleagues I had worked with for many decades, I kept receiving wonderful messages.  People who had left the company long before now were reaching out to share their well wishes and also to offer themselves as referrals.  The outpouring of love was immense.  

In truth, I have been looking for my next role for a little while now, but I have always been filled with so much guilt.  I didn't want to leave the company and take all of my knowledge with me.  Part of the severance agreement included the transfer of knowledge.  I embraced the task of training the replacement team.  While others expressed disbelief that I would be "forced" to train someone taking my job, I was happy to do so.   This separation would allow me to pursue other opportunities and provide the chance to impart some of my knowledge.  It really was a win/win.  

The icing on the cake has been to fully understand the impact that I have made on the lives around me.  It has been gift to have so many people care about me and the work that I've done.  I wish everyone could know their impact as I have come to know mine.  

Closing this chapter is bittersweet.  I am grateful for all that I have learned with my company and hold no bitterness.  While I will miss the work that I've done, I am excited for what will come.  I can cry tears of closure and smile at the new beginnings.  I am ready.

As always, thank you for reading and take care.

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.

One year later

One year ago today, I made a decision that would change not only my life but the lives of my loved ones.  After 30+ years of wondering about what happened to my mom, I decided to post in the “Missing People of NYC” page on Facebook, in hopes that someone may be able to provide a clue as to her whereabouts.  After all of that time, I was ready to begin the search.  Little did I know that one post would not only be the beginning but also the end of the search.  I often joke that I was ready to start the search, not end it.  While it is a joke, there is some truth to it.  I was ready to start searching because I had high hopes that I would find my mom in the end.  And I did.

Unfortunately, the speed with which the search came to an end is because my mom had long been taken from this earth.  For over 3 decades, there was a void in my life.  I always wondered where my mom had gone.  Why had she disappeared and left us?  There was anger and sadness and a ton of other emotions.   I had no way of knowing that she hadn’t left us by choice.  11 days shy of her 29th birthday, she was brutally murdered and left unnamed and unknown in a city grave.   

Finding out that there would be no happy ending with hugs, kisses and laughter was heartbreaking and devastating.   I am still trying to make sense of it all.  However, that post and discovery gave her back her name.  It also allowed my family to place her in the same burial plot with her mom.  We would never have to wonder where she is. 

When I used to think about my mom, there was always love but also some pain.  I wouldn’t think of her often because it hurt too much that I didn’t know what had happened to her.  When I think of her now, my first instinct is to push the thought away to avoid the pain of not knowing.  But I am then faced with the pain of knowing why she is not with us.  It is a little jab to the heart every time I remember that she was taken way too soon.  There are still so many questions.  Why was she taken?  Will we ever catch who did it and learn why?  

I am not the same person I was 12 months ago.  I can no longer enjoy the crime shows I used to watch for hours.  I always empathized with the subjects of those shows but it never stopped me from watching.  There was a gruesome intrigue with the crime and the process of identifying the perpetrators.  However, I can’t watch anymore.  It hits a little too close to home.  

Learning that my mom was forced to leave us was an affirmation of a long held belief.  She would have never chosen to leave us.  She loved us with all of her being.  We were loved.  It is a powerful feeling to know that you were loved unconditionally and I know I was.   That love runs through me and pushes me to do better and be better.  I want my mom to be proud of the woman I’ve become. Finding out about her death has made me stronger. 

Although I found out what physically happened to her, I am still searching for my mom.  I clearly hear her unique whistling but search the recesses of my mind to remember her voice or her laugh.  I am searching to find her qualities in me.  I know I inherited her smile but I hope I inherited her heart.  

In the last 365 days, we have continued to tell her story and remember who my mom was.  Neida Esther Monge was an amazing, mom, daughter, sister, friend and woman.  She was a bright light in this world.  She is missed more than I could put into words.  She was and is loved by all those who she left behind.  She will never be forgotten again. 

Thanks for reading and take care.

Dear Mom

It’s been a few months since we became aware of what happened to you.  I still can’t believe that you’re gone and will never come back.  I guess with time I will accept it but it doesn’t seem fair.  Why were you taken from us?  Why didn’t we get to have a mother?  How could someone take away your bright light from the world, from our world?  Do you know how much you are loved and how devastating your loss has been?  It is an open wound that may never heal.

Growing up without you was difficult.  I never quite felt like a complete woman. I wasn’t sure how I could be a mother.  I needed your guidance and love.  I had many woman who have stepped up to help mother me.  Rosa tried to give us the hugs and love you would have given me.  But none of them were you.  They were a mom but not MY mom.

Mom, I don’t think you realize how special you were.  You could light up a room by walking into it.  Your smile was magnetic and inviting.  You were not only physically beautiful but also beautiful on the inside.   In these last few months, we’ve begun talking about you more.   Rosa tells us how you were so kind hearted and forgave anyone who crossed you or betrayed you.  That level of compassion is so rare nowadays, although I see it in Brenda all the time.   

You were taken 11 days shy of your 29th birthday.  28 years old and already lived through more trauma and heartache than some will experience in a lifetime.  Did you feel like you were always having to fight to survive?  Hell, it started from when you were living with Wela.  She may have been a wonderful grandmother to me but she sucked as your mom.  She failed to protect you all from harm in your own home.  She often sided with one of your many abusers.  How that must have hurt you.  My heart breaks for the child you were.  You deserved a mother who would fight for you, not against you and you didn’t have that.   It’s no wonder you turned to drugs for escape.  I would want to escape those memories myself.

You tried so hard to protect your kids from the nightmare you lived.  You warned us of strangers and tried to steer us away from danger.  You showed us how much you loved us all the time.  Even at your lowest, you put us first.  There is no doubt in my mind how much you loved us.  

I hope you know that I have never blamed you for what happened to me.   For so many years, I have carried the shame of that day.  I felt responsible for talking to that stranger and starting the domino effect of becoming homeless and you falling deeper into the depths of drug addiction.  But I now know that it wasn’t my fault.  You had already been dabbling with drugs before I was attacked.  The attack just pushed you over the edge.  Rosa said you never forgave yourself for what happened to me.   You sent me, your young child of 7, to the store alone.  But don’t you see, it wasn’t your fault either.  The only person who should carry the shame and guilt of what happened to me is the rapist.  He, like so many other predators, took advantage of the situation.  How many times before that day had I been out alone?   I cannot forgive you for something I never held you responsible for.  You are not to blame. 

Who might have you become if you had been given a chance to change? The chance to stop using drugs and deal with all of your trauma.  You probably would have helped others to overcome their addictions.  You would have been around to laugh with Brenda and I.  You and Rosa would probably see yourselves in us.  We would have been able to comfort one another when Wela died.  There are so many ways your story could have gone.  

You weren’t able to live your life to the fullest because you were taken from us.  I will live mine to the fullest for both of us.  I will work through the trauma to become a woman you would be proud of.  

I love you mom.  I loved you then and I love you more now.  I will love you forever.  

Love, 

Millie

Letter to my younger self

Dear Millie

It’s been a while since I’ve thought of you or talked to you.  You seem so far from me.  I barely remember you.  Glimpses of a smiling little girl pop through but quickly vanish.  I have flashes of the innocent child you were.  I remember the joy we felt when we found money in the hallway and Mami was so happy.  That day we had pizza and pineapple soda.  That little bit of money brought so much happiness on that day.  I remember waking up early during the summers and going outside to play with Lemonuel because the street was closed and we would ride our bikes up and down the street.  I remember being the only girl invited to his party and wearing Mimi’s dress because her clothes were always in better condition than mine.  Memories of being in kindergarten and crying because someone said they didnt want to be my friend.  Even at the young age of 5, wanting to be liked was vital.  Who would you have become if that monster had not violated you?  

It’s not your fault.  It never was.  He took advantage of your good heart and your good nature.  He knew that if he offered you money for helping him, you would.  You always had such a good heart and wanted to help in anyway you could.  And a suitcase full of money?  SOLD.  If $20 made everyone happy, imagine what a suitcase full of money would do.  

You knew that you should not have gone with him because she always warned us not to talk to strangers.  You knew what rape was because of what happened to Rosa.  But this wasn’t really talking to strangers.  This was helping someone who needed help with his mother.  And he was going to pay.  This would be ok. 

At 7 years old, there’s no way you could have known what would have happened.  No matter how much you think you should have, you couldn’t have.  You weren’t fully mentally developed yet.  That asshole lied to you when he told you that this is why you shouldn’t talk to strangers.  He made you believe that it was your fault.  After all, hadn’t she told you that repeatedly?  But I’m telling you that you hold no blame or fault in what happened.  You have to forgive yourself.  

Also, the sexual assault was not the reason Mami started doing drugs. She had already started down the path before  you were attacked.  She tried to protect you by making sure that you didnt have to go back to that neighborhood.  But she had already been abusing drugs.  You were not the reason for that.  

I promise not to lock you up in my memory.  I will think about you more.  I want you to see that even though we have been through some shit, we are doing ok.  We are strong.  We are smart.  

I love you little one and I will continue to work on dropping the burden of feeling at fault.  Let’s see if we can free you from the bondage of guilt and shame.

Cheated

“I miss my mom.”   I can’t count how often that single phrase has ran through my mind.   I could be in the middle of the most mundane of tasks, such as cleaning and all of a sudden, I’m missing someone I haven’t seen in over 30 years.  For all of this time, I really only allowed myself to think of my mom in May.  During the month of May, I would allow thoughts of the woman who not only gave birth to me but also raised me for the first 10 1/2 years of my life.  I gave myself permission to miss her and think of her.   It’s not that I didn’t want to think of her, it was too painful to think of her.   There was too much pain, anger, and confusion.  Where was she?  I hope she got off drugs.  If she got off drugs, why hadn’t she looked for us?  She’s living her life and I am going to live mine.  I never doubted that she loved me but still I was angry with her.  Where was she?  When thoughts of her crept up throughout the years,  I shoved them down. 

Finding out that she didn’t walk away but was taken away has caused some of the same feelings: pain, anger and confusion.  Pain that I will never see her again. The hope was snuffed out with that one confirmation.  Anger that she was brutally murdered and unnamed for over 30 years. Confusion because now I have to reconcile the anger I felt for 30+ years at her absence.   Now when thoughts of her creep up, I can’t shove them down.  Immediately I remember that she’s gone.  When I am asked where my mom is, I can no longer say, “I don’t know.  No one has seen in over 30 years.”  Now the answer is, “oh she was murdered 33 years ago but we just learned about it.”  

Since finding out, I’ve also felt cheated.  My family and I have been cheated on so many levels.  We were cheated of having her in our lives today.  She was taken before any of her kids became adults.  She never got to meet any of her grandkids or great grandkids.  They would never know the amazing, caring and loving woman she was. They would never hear her signature whistle or experience the brilliance of her smile.  I would never again feel her arms embrace me or hear her tell me she loves me.  I would never get to tell her how much I love her.

We were also cheated on justice for her.  The likelihood of finding out who murdered her is almost slim to none after all this time.  Maybe if we had known what had happened to her when it happened, the cops could have interviewed people who knew her or that area and get some leads.  But that wasn’t done.  Her case was discarded as carelessly as she was.  We will most likely never know who did this or why.

I also feel cheated on grieving.  I feel the grief of knowing she’s really gone but it was 33 years ago.  I don’t even know how to grieve the woman who I loved with all of my being.  Ive spent so long trying not to think about her to avoid the pain of not knowing where she was.   I know where she is now and I have to catch up with 33 years of grief.

I missed my mom for the last 33 years and I will miss her for the rest of my life.  

Network of Angels

 “Could she be The 1990 Bronx Jane doe?”  A question that ended up providing an answer to a question my family had been asking for over 30 years, what happened to my mother?

Over the last 30 years, I have often been asked about my mother.  What happened to her?  Has anyone seen her?  My answers varied but always included, “she disappeared and no one knows,” “she’s like Elvis and there have been sightings over the years,” “I really don’t know,”  Inevitably, the next question would be, “have you ever looked for her?”  That answer was easy, no.  I had never looked for my mom in earnest.  I would the occasional Facebook or Spokeo search but never really looked for her.  Initially, I was angry with her and figured, she was living her life and I would live mine.  When I realized that she may be deceased, I didn’t want to know the answer.  It was like Schrödinger’s cat; she was both alive and deceased as long as there was no confirmation.

One of these conversations took place on March 18th with my sister and a close group of friends.   It’s funny, even though I had been friends with these ladies for well over 10 years, some close to 30 years, we had never really talked about my mom.  I tend to be an open book but if the topic or questions dont come up, I don’t volunteer the information.  The conversation naturally shifted to other topics throughout the night and that was that.  Or so I thought.  

A few days later, as I was scrolling through Facebook, I decided to post a picture of my mom and a small blurb in the “Missing people of NYC” group.  I reached out to my sister and asked if she thought it was a good idea and she agreed.  I didn’t think anything would come of it.  Figured people would look at her picture and if they didn’t recognize her, keep scrolling.   I sent Brenda the pictures I intended to post, along with the blurb and after I got the ok, pressed, “Post.”

Within an hour of posting, one of the admins of the groups, reached out and began asking questions about my mom.  Where had we seen her last?  Was there a NAMUS case? Had we filed a missing person’s report?  Have we provided the Medical Examiner’s office with our DNA to match against possible Jane Does?  It was a little overwhelming but I was touched that she had taken an interest and given so many good leads about how to start the search.  She also offered to create a missing poster to aide in the search.

Not long after that, multiple people were commenting on the post trying to assist in the search.  I mean people were actively doing their own searches on the internet to help.  I couldn’t believe that so many people were spending their time to help someone whom they had no connection to. Eventually someone commented,  “Could she be The 1990 Bronx Jane doe?”   I had no idea who this Jane Doe was and asked for additional information.   An article, published in ourBlackgirls.com, was forwarded to me.   The article contained a picture taken in the morgue of the Jane Doe and the particulars of the case. 

At first, I didn’t think the Jane Doe looked like my mom but I couldn’t deny that she looked like she could be related.  As I stared at the picture, I conceded that it there could be a match.  This factored with when she was found, May 2, 1990, the same timeframe she went missing and the location, Claremont Park, near Webster Ave, where she was living, all pointed to this being my mom.  I reached out to my sister, who agreed that this could be our mother and we started making calls to see about an identification. 

I was flabbergasted that I not only possibly had an answer so quickly after posting about my mother but I was also incredibly grateful that so many people were trying to assist.  People were not only commenting on the post but sharing it as well.  There were also those reaching out to me individually offering their assistance.  When I thanked the original person who asked if she could be the Jane Doe, she mentioned that she been working her case and recognized her based on the pics.  She then stated that she finds John and Jane Does.  I had someone else reach out and offer to assist with the case.  When I explained to this person that I felt the Jane Doe was in fact my mother, she agreed and confirmed that this Jane Doe’s case had been around for awhile.  I had another person reach out and offer to create another missing poster and get the word out.  What?  Who were these people?  How did I not know of their existence? 

These are individuals and small groups who look for unidentified and unclaimed people in an effort to give them their identity and provide answers for the families.  It was comforting that someone was trying to help my mother during the time when we, as her family, were unable to.  Websites like ourblackgirls.com posts articles about these Jane Does to put the faces and stories out there.  The deceased are people who had families and deserve to be identified and brought home.  

One week after my initial post, we received confirmation that yes, Neida Monge, was in fact The 1990 Bronx Jane Doe.  After 33 years, this Jane Doe was identified and Neida Monge was brought back into the light.  When I share the news about my mom with others, the same question always comes up, what made you post in that group?  The truth is that I don’t know what inspired me to post on that day.  I had been a member of that Facebook group since December 2021 and had never thought to post before.  In fact, I joined that group to help another friend out.  But something in me knew to post on that day. 

I will forever be grateful to the site, ourblackgirls.com, for posting the article about the Jane Doe.  That article was shared repeatedly and became known in the network of people who search for missing loved ones.   If it weren’t for the article and members of the Facebook group, I don’t know how long it would have taken us to find answers.    They are a network of angels doing amazing work.  

As always, thank you for reading and take care.

Dear Mami,

Mom, Mami, Mommy, Ma… so many ways to address the woman who birthed me and they all sound foreign.  I guess after 33 years of just seeing her in my head or referring to her as simply my mom, it makes sense that I would be lost as to what to call her.  The last time I saw or interacted with my mom, I was 10 years old.  While more than 3 decades have passed, part of me still feels like that 10 year old.  I’ve decided to address her as Mami and keep calling her that until it becomes “normal.”  

Dear Mami,

May has always been a month where you have been at the center of my mind.  Not only is Mother’s Day in May but your birthday also falls in May, around the Same time.  A month and a half ago, we found out that your life also ended in May, adding another day of significance during this month.  

33 years ago today, you were violently snatched from this world.  Taken from your kids, who so desperately loved you and needed you.  First we were removed from your care in March and then you were removed from our life permanently, 2 months later.  I will be honest that I am still a little numb from the news.  Heartbroken because I will never get to see you or talk to you in person.  I am sad that because back then we didn’t have a video camera, I will never hear your voice.  I am even sadder that I don’t recall your voice.  The only sound I remember clearly is your whistle.  I can’t imitate it but i can hear it clearly in my head.   The whistle that meant Mami is home.  So much joy to have you home.  You were the center of our life and having you around meant the world. 

As much as I wish I would have known what happened to you sooner, I am glad that I didn’t know of your death 33 years ago.  Living with Grandma was not a picnic and only the hope of you rescuing me kept me going.  I am devastated that the hope has been extinguished but I am far more prepared to deal with it as an adult than as a 10 year old kid.  Back then, it would have negatively impacted me and I honestly don’t know if I would be here today.  How do you keep going when all hope is gone? Maybe your spirit kept me from knowing to protect me.  Maybe you have been guiding me all along. 

I am sorry that I ever thought or assumed you would abandon us.  I never doubted that you loved us.  That’s why I was so incredulous that you would just disappear.  How could you not come back?  Knowing how horrible living with her was, how could you leave us there?  But looking back, I realize it was easier to get mad than to honestly consider that maybe you couldn’t come back.  Someone had made sure of that. 

As I sit here today, on the 33rd anniversary of your death but the 1st one since we found out, I am filled with sadness, longing, anger and so many other emotions.  But most importantly, I am filled with love for you.  I hope you realize what an impression you left on your youngest child.  Your fierce love and light have not been forgotten.  Even in the midst of the angriest I’ve ever been, my love for you far outweighed any negative feeling.  I remember you and your energy.    I find myself thinking back on the good memories.  Bringing up some story or advice you gave.  It’s comforting to to think of the good times and remember the smile that we all inherited from you.    

While you have never been forgotten, you were kept in the dark.  The thought of you was filled with pain and hope.  Maybe we would see you again.  Now that we know  what happened, the pain is still there but the hope is gone.  The hope may have been extinguished but you were also set free.  You were given your name.  We can talk about you and remember you and honor you.  All of these years since I last saw you in that hallway, I was measuring time until I saw you again.  I always envisioned a reunion where I would fill you in on all of the milestones you missed.  Now, I often talk to you in my head.  I haven’t started reminiscing yet but I will get there.  You will never be kept away like a little secret again.  I love you ❤️ ❤️.

Love,

Millie

Grief

I am struggling.  For the last month, I have been surrounded by grief.  I lost my grandmother, friends have lost parents and the world has lost beloved stars.  Varying degrees of grief have invaded my life.  I feel ill equipped to handle so much at one time.  I want to be there for my loved ones but I am also drowning in my own grief.

It has been almost a month since my little lady has passed and I feel lost.  I’ve never had anyone this close to me pass away and I feel completely unprepared.  Logically, I know that no one can really prepare for grief but I am completely at a loss.

For the last few months of her life, I made sure to pick her up once a week to take her out for the day.  I would pick her up in the morning and bring her back to the home in the afternoon.  Every week, before I left the home, I would make sure to tell her that I love her.  I would then wait for her to say it back.  Sometimes, she was already talking to one of the aides or looking around but I wouldn’t leave until she said it.  As her ability to speak was declining, it would take her a little longer but until I heard her say, I love you in her deep husky thick accent, I would not leave.  I had no idea when I dropped her of on Sunday, 11/28/21, that it would be my last time speaking to her.  I am grateful that my last words to her and from her were “I love you.”   

Before she passed, I would often think about how my life would change when my grandmother was no longer around.  While I am not a morbid person, I think its almost inevitable to have that thought, as we grow older and our loved ones age.  I knew that life would never be the same.  Having had friends and family lose their loved ones, I had said all the worn out cliches:  the memories will comfort you, its ok to be sad, there is no right way to grieve and the list goes on.  Naively, I thought that these words and sayings would help me when my time came to grieve.  But I was wrong.  There is very little anyone can say or do to help me as I navigate through this painful period.  Regardless of how supportive my friends and family are, this is a journey I am on alone.  

Waves of sadness come out of nowhere.  Tears threaten to fall whenever I catch a glimpse of her smiling face.  She is really gone and I cant seem to wrap my head around it.  Since she’s passed, Ive dreamt of her almost every night.  The same theme: it was all a mistake and she was still alive.  I cant even ask her what those dream mean.  It’s like my brain won’t accept the permanence of her absence.  Even though I was only able to see her a couple of times a week and barely talked to her on the phone, I miss my little lady more than I thought possible.  I really did not expect to feel this pain so profoundly.  My heart is broken and it feels like I will never be whole again.  I will never be able to see her again or hug her or tell her that I love her.  

My new therapist said there is no right way to grieve but there is a right way for me.  I wish someone would tell me what that right way is because I cant see or feel it just yet.  

As always, thanks for reading and take care.  

Wela

 October 18, 2019 is day I will never forget.   On that morning, one of my worst fears was realized when I found my grandmother on floor of her bedroom after she had a stroke.  I have no idea how long she had been on the ground, as I hadn’t heard anything from my bedroom upstairs.  This doesn’t surprise me when just a few days before a big tree fell mere inches from my front door and I didn’t hear a thing.  

When my grandmother, my Wela, came to live with Elio and I, I was a bit nervous.  She is one feisty little lady and had some type of conflict everywhere she lived.  I wasn’t sure how having her in our home would impact our lives.  Needless to say, it was a huge impact.  All of a sudden, I had to answer to someone who needed constant attention.  It was also obvious that she was becoming more forgetful.  The more she forgot, the more aggressive she became.  We constantly fought and I always felt I wasn’t doing enough.  She was never happy with anything I did.  I could never win, no matter how hard I tried.  

We had her tested and she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and vascular dementia.  It was official, she was diagnosed with a condition that would only get worse. There would be no magic pill or treatment to cure her.  Once again, I was at a loss as to how this was going to impact our relationship.  Thankfully, it was progressing slowly and I assumed we had time.  You know what they say when you assume.   Not only did the stroke affect her ability to speak clearly but it also seemed to progress the dementia.  

When she was discharged from the hospital, she was sent for a short term stay at a nursing home.  Everyday she would complain about being there and just wanted to come home.  I knew she would be in the home for at least two weeks because she needed PT and ST.  We would have weekly care meetings and the nurse and therapeutic staff would discuss how she was progressing.  After each meeting, it came back to the same thing, she would need 24 hour care in order to be discharged.  24 hour care?!?!  How would I be able to provide that for her?  I didnt ever hear when she fell.  How could I ensure that she was safely taken care of?  

We applied to various agencies for assistance but it didnt seem that we would be approved for in care home assistance.  Without financial assistance, we wouldn’t be able to hire someone for her.  Even with all this, I figured I had to suck it up and figure out a way to bring her home.  What kind of grand daughter would I be not to??   This lady had done so much for so many and here I was giving up on her.  Was I scared?  YES!  I was terrified but I figured I’d find a way.  

My opinion changed when I went to see my primary doctor and she asked me about how I was doing.  I explained Wela’s situation to her and how I was trying to figure out to bring her home.  Empathetically, she questioned if that was the right call.   She explained that to bring her home would be to give up my life for my Wela.  I wouldn’t be able to do basic things such as run errands because Wela couldn’t be left alone.  I thought, well I could always ask someone to stay with her.  But then I had to really think about it. Before the stroke, I always felt like if I had a child that couldn’t be left alone for too long.  Now she would need even more care.  Would I be able to mentally and physically handle that toll? 

After careful consideration,  I realized that I couldn’t.  The best place for her would be long term care at the home.  I discussed it at length with Brenda, my sister, and she was there when I informed Abuela.  She seemed resigned to the news and eventually, she was moved to the long term unit.  Having her in the home long term was no easy task.  For one, she doesn’t speak English and the little she understood was destroyed by the stroke.  She also refuses to eat the food at the home.  For the last two years, her daughter has prepared her meals for the week and brings them up to her every week.  Initially, I tried to compensate for my decision by visiting her every night.  Yes, every night, after a long day at work, I would go spend 1 -2 hours with her.  This was exhausting but I felt I had to.  

Eventually, I started cutting back my visits from daily to 3 - 4 times a week.  When the world first shut down due to COVID, I am slightly ashamed to say I was relieved.  I could take a break from that task and it wasn’t my fault or doing.  However, after a few days, I was overcomes with guilt.  Talking to Wela on the phone was painful, as she would tell me she missed me and our nightly routine.  There was nothing I could really do to comfort her.  I tried calling her often but as the dementia creeped in, phone calls were increasingly harder to get through.  I was racked with guilt by this point.  I made the painful decision to leave her there and now she was completely isolated from everyone.  

If my own guilt wasn’t enough, she also blamed me.  She has decided that I told the doctor she was “crazy” in order to get rid of her because I didnt want her in my home.  At times she would also promise that she wouldn’t fight so much with me, as if that would change my mind and I would bring her home.  The first day we were finally able to see her, after almost 3 long months, the first words out of her mouth was that she dying to leave the home.  This broke my heart because no matter what I said, I couldn’t get her to see that she was in the home because of her medical needs and not as a punishment.  People often tell me how I’m such a good grand daughter or she is lucky to have me.  While I smile and thank them, I cant say that I agree.  I don’t feel like I deserve any praise or kudos.  After all, aren’t I the one who put her in there?  

It has been almost 2 years that she has been in that home.  Her daughter has continued to cook for her weekly and I visit her at least once a week to take her out for the day.  Usually on Sunday mornings,  I pick her up and take her out of the home.  Sometimes we go shopping or drive her to the Bronx.  I know she enjoys getting out of the home and just being out and about.  She is slowly declining and struggles to speak a little more every day.  Because of this, we don’t talk a lot when we’re together but I’ve come to really enjoy that time.  I put Pandora on a “tropical radio” station and hope that she enjoys it as well.   

Spending these days with her makes me look back at the months she lived with me with a little regret,  Why couldn’t we get a long like this?  Why did I lose my patience so easily?  Why didn’t I realize that her condition was affecting her more than I originally thought and try to be more patient?  Logically, I know that she is in the best place due to all of her medical needs.  Emotionally, I still struggle with the guilt.   Mainly, I struggle because I know that she still thinks that I just dont want her in my home and there is no way for me to convince her other wise. Hopefully, somewhere deep down she knows how much I love her and how I would bring her home if it were possible.  

What is possible, is for me to take her out every week.   We spend the day together and when I drop off, just before I leave, I take a selfie with her.  Brenda recently joked that they’re all starting to look the same but for me, its a way to remember our time.   They also serve as reminder that while I’ve made mistakes, I am doing the best I can. 

As always, thank you for reading and take care!!  

3 Goals

 Anyone who has been following my blog for the last 12 years, knows that I have attempted losing weight multiple times.  I have had varying degrees of success over this time but none have been long lasting.  Before the pandemic hit, I had started slowly improving my quality of life.  I increased my activity level and making smarter choices when I ate.  I had slowly lost over 20 lbs and felt good about myself.  Then COVID came and threw a HUGE wrench into my progress, 

Like many others, the pandemic increased my anxiety and I used food as a comfort mechanism.  When you can’t really go out as much and socialize, eating good food is the next best thing.  Not to mention that I love baking and was launching my small cookie business.  As work got busier, I leaned heavier on take out.  It all conspired to get me off my game.  

At the start of this year, I realized I had put on 25 lbs over the pandemic.  I panicked and decided that enough was enough.  I needed to do something.   I was debating between joining Noom and WW.  As I reviewed my options with a friend, she reminded me of my past success with Weight Watchers.  Without even over-thinking it, I joined WW.  The first day was a STRUGGLE!!  I hadn’t prepared for a change in my diet and only had crap food.  But instead of using that as an excuse to postpone starting the plan, I worked around it.  It was time. I needed to get serious. 

WW has changed significantly over the years and their new app and program were a huge help to me!! They have a social media aspect to the app, so I was able to discuss my fears and concerns with other members who were in a similar situation as myself.  The app also had a ton of recipes for me to try and I found some really good ones.  I didn’t feel deprived and enjoyed trying different foods. 

When I initially restarted WW, I didn’t really share the news with a ton of people.  I felt like, here we go again and I would be met with guarded optimism or cynicism.  However, anyone who was aware of my new journey was nothing but encouraging and positive. It was more about me and the shame/guilt associated with the roller coaster of weight loss.  This reluctance to share with my friends, led me to share with the WW community.   This community was comprised of people who knew what I was experiencing because they had either gone through it themselves or they were still on the journey.  It was a comfort to me. 

One of the things that I saw as I scrolled through the app’s social media were goals.  Lists of things my fellow members were hoping to accomplish by following the plan.  At my starting weight, I couldn’t think about my ultimate end goal,  I still can’t.  It is overwhelming when you have a significant amount of weight to lose.  I chose to come up with 3 short term goals: weigh under 300 lbs, lose 50 lbs and finally fit on the Harry Potter ride when I went to Orlando.  I knew I could definitely meet my first goal but wasn’t sure about the other 2.  Here we are 5 months later and I have met all 3 goals!!  

Before leaving on vacation, I knew I had met the first 2 goals because I was faithfully following the plan and weighed myself weekly.  I wasn’t sure about the last one.  I knew the odds were good when I boarded the airplane and didn’t need a seatbelt extender.  I even took a picture to show much room I had left on the seat belt! I was still unsure about the rides at Universal but decided to go through with the trip.  When I tell you the joy I felt when I was able to ride the first few rides.  I couldn’t believe it but I was still not sure about the main one, the Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey.   

When the HP world first opened at Universal, I was heartbroken to learn that I was too heavy and unable to fit the ride.  I lost 50 lbs and STILL was too heavy too fit.  Over the next few years my weight yo-yoed and I stopped trying.  However, this time, I thought I could do it.  When I got to the “seat tester” at the entrance of the ride, I sat down and held my breath.  As I lowered the bar, I looked up at the attendant to see if it was a go.  With a big smile, the attendant told me that it was a GO!!  I could finally ride it!!   I was actually able to ride all of the rides in both Harry Potter worlds.  

It may seem like something small but the fact that I actually set goals and accomplished them was huge for me.  I choked up on the ride because I couldn’t believe it.  I had actually done it!!  While my journey is still ongoing and I have set a couple of new goals, I am basking in this moment.  I can’t wait for the next big one!!

As always, thank you for reading and take care!! ❤

Where is your mother?

 "¿A donde esta tu mai?" "Where is your mother?"  My grandmother casually asks me as we wait in the waiting room.  As she looks at me inquisitively, it takes me a minute to realize she's just asked me where my mother is.  "My mother?!?"  At this moment, I am instantly forced to realize that she is slowly fading away.  Yes, she is still lucid the majority of the time but dementia is rearing its ugly head.  Begrudgingly, I have to remind her that no one has seen my mother in over 30 years.  Looking in her eyes, I can see the confusion.  Even now, I don't know if she fully understands what I've told her. 

Unexpectedly, I am filled with sadness and feel heartbroken.  My mother's disappearance has always been an open sore for the family.  While we've processed her disappearance differently, her absence is felt by all of us.  Today is her birthday.  I don't know whether to say she would have been 60 or to say she is turning 60.  But on this day, 60 years ago, she was brought into this world.  Although 60 is most definitely not old, it's also not young.   She is past middle age and almost classified as a senior.  The last time I saw my mother, she wasn't even 30 years.  I am now older than she was when she was last seen.  Its unreal that 30 years have passed since she's been gone.  

However, it is not her void that fills me with sadness and breaks my heart.  In that moment, it dawns on me that I don't know how much longer my grandmother's essence will remain with her.  How long before she doesn't recognize who any of us are?   "God, please let me see my daughter again" was a constant prayer for my grandmother.  I remember her crying on New Year's Eve because she wanted to know what happened to her child.  All these years, she's still asking for that child but this time, it's as if its been days since she's seen her daughter, not years.  I guess in her confusion, time has no meaning.

For me, time means everything.  Before the pandemic, I remember thinking the dementia was stealing the time I had with her.  However, the pandemic came and robbed me of 13 months of hugging and kissing her.  Due to the side effects of the stroke and the dementia, speaking to her on the phone is difficult.  Visits where we had to sit across from one another without any physical touch felt cold and empty.  I'm grateful we can finally embrace and frequently find myself reaching out to touch her, even if for just a moment.  I want to show her how much I love her and how much she means to me.  

I don't know where my mother is.  And it feels like too soon, I won't know where my grandmother's mind has roamed.  The fact that she "forgot" that she has ached for her daughter for all of these years, reminds me that eventually, she will "forget" all of us.  Until then, I will enjoy the time we have left.  

As always, thanks for reading and take care.  

Challenges

I've often posted about how challenging certain parts of my life have been. Often times just the word is enough to elicit a groan from me. However, last year, I decided to take part in a challenge I saw on Facebook and I am so glad I did.

I was on Facebook and saw a 30 day challenge: No cookies, candy, ice cream, chips, white bread, soda, fast food, juice, potatoes or fried foods. Initially, I looked at the list and thought, no way. A whole 30 days without any of those things, I can't do that. In the past, I would have attempted for a day or two and then given in to my cravings but this time was different. I decided I was going to challenge myself. I would not indulge in any of the good foods prohibited.

At first, I struggled with what I could eat. The hardest to give up was not the junk food, it was the potatoes and white bread. I remember going to a BBQ and having to eat a burger with just lettuce because the only bread available was a regular hamburger bun. Or the time my grandmother made some of her delicious potato salad but I couldn't have any because I couldn't eat potatoes. Man...this was hard. But I persevered and made it the full 30 days. I was so proud of myself. I had set a goal and while it was a small one, I had accomplished it. This small success inspired me to keep going.

2019 was all about making small changes to improve my overall health and well being. In March, I started meeting with a trainer at work, once a week to get me to start moving. I plan on doing a post about that in the near future, so I wont go into to many details now. Ultimately, it made me a lot more active, which I am very proud of. I began walking on a daily basis and doing strength training. When the fall came, I couldn't enjoy my walks because it was too dark and I joined the gym. Not only did I join, but I actually go to the gym on a regular basis. Unfortunately, I was still making not so good choices with my food intake. I noticed toward the end of the year that I had grown too dependent on junk food and needed to make a change. Having successfully completed the 30 day challenge in August motivated me to start a new challenge in January. I then decided to do a different challenge every month in 2020.

2020 began with no junk food January. As I am doing 1 challenge a month, I thought it was fun to give the challenge a name that began with the first letter of the month. As I was successful in avoiding junk food in January, it led me right to no fast food/fried food February. Today is the last day of February and I am proud to say that with the exception of 2 fried eggs (I forgot they were fried because I ordered over easy) last week, I have stayed away from fried foods and fast foods this month.

This month, I also decided to do another challenge at the gym; the Sweat Heart Challenge. This was a list of exercises, including a whole workout for the month, created by the fitness staff. When I looked the list, my first thought was, you guessed it, nope. I probably wont be able to do it. But I immediately followed that thought with, I can't do it, if I don't at least tried. With the help of Barb, my amazing trainer, I was completed all 20 exercises on the list, including the workout for the month. Even though Barb modified the activities that I am physically incapable of completing, she still made it challenging enough. I committed to finishing the list and I cannot begin to explain how good it felt when I finished the last thing today. I couldn't believe that I had actually did it all.

These challenges are not about weight loss for me. Obviously, I want to lose weight but the challenges are about make small changes that lead to bigger changes. It is about focusing on one or two things instead of becoming overwhelmed and giving up on everything. I can commit to these one or two things and as I succeed, it motivates me to continue.

March starts tomorrow, well technically in less than 30 minutes, and this month's challenge is going to be one of my toughest: no meat. No meat for the entire month. No red meat, chicken or pork. I am so nervous about it because it is going to be drastically different to plan meals around something other than meat. I hope that by eliminating meat, it will force me to incorporate more veggies in my meals and also introduce seafood into my diet. I know it won't be easy but it will be worth it. Wish me luck!!

As always, thank you for reading and take care!!

Losing time

It's been almost 6 months since I've last blogged. And it feels like a lifetime ago because so much has happened since then.

I may have mentioned in a previous blog that my grandmother came to live with us last year after she had fallen and broken a hip. We are blessed enough to have an empty room and full bath on the first level of our home, which meant there was no need for her to climb any stairs. It was quite the adjustment to have her move in. I had to get used to being questioned about my comings and goings and the constant criticism. We had many an argument because nothing I did ever seemed to be good enough. She hated being in CT and longed for her beloved, Bronx. She never wanted to be alone, so in order for me to go out at nights or for a weekend away, I had to arrange for someone to come stay with her. It was as if we had adopted a 70 something year old child. Needless to say, it wasn't always easy but we made it work.

Before she moved in with us, I called her every morning to see how she was doing. In our daily conversations, I realized that she was forgetting things more frequently, which was a concern for me. After she moved in, her lapse in memory was much more noticeable. I took her to be tested and it was confirmed that she was in the beginning stages of dementia. When I asked the doctor to differentiate between dementia and Alzheimer's, the doctor explained that Alzheimer's is the most common form of dementia but there were other types of dementia. My grandmother had vascular dementia and Alzheimer's.

This diagnosis was devastating to me, as I realized that some of the behavior that annoyed the heck out of me, were not always in her control. I also recognized that she would only decline as time went on. When she first moved in, my biggest fear was that I would come down stairs one morning or home from work and she would be hurt or worse. Once she was diagnosed, the fear only increased. What if she was cooking and forgot to turn the oven off? What if she fell and no one was home to help her? I had been struggling with the state to get her approved for home care but had no luck.

One Friday morning, as I made my way downstairs, I noticed she wasn't in her usual spot on the couch. I assumed she was in the bathroom and continued walking to the kitchen. As I passed the hallway, I looked to my left and saw her feet sticking out of the doorway of her room. This was one of my worst nightmares come true. I ran to her to assist her and questioned her to see how and why she was on the floor. I was unable to make out any words she spoke to me. I knew I had to take her to the doctor. I thought I would be able to dress her and drive her but realized that I needed help. I called 911 and when the paramedics got there, I heard them mention a possible stroke, after I explained the symptoms. She was rushed to the hospital.

Once the stretcher left my house, I immediately broke down in tears. I composed myself long enough to call her daughter and my sister. I made my way to the hospital to await news. My sister met me at the hospital and we were told she would be admitted but the tests had not confirmed a stroke. She was disoriented and still unintelligible. She kept insisting on getting up to go cook some Mondongo for my uncle. Brenda and I made jokes to bring some levity to the situation. We called her a flight risk because she kept trying to escape the bed. After a couple of days, they did an MRI, and it was finally confirmed that she had in fact, suffered a stroke. What would this mean for her? Will she be able to come home? Will she recover?

She was moved to short term rehab after about a week in the hospital. She progressed quickly during her first few days. She was able to speak a little more clearly and was her usual feisty self. I assumed with time, she would continue to progress and we would be able to get her the help she needs at home. However, it soon became clear that the stroke had impacted the dementia and she was declining at a faster rate than before. She was also fast approaching her maximum medical improvement. We were told that she would need 24 hour care when she was discharged. 24 hour care?? How would she get that care in my home? Both my husband and I work. I explained to the home that I would not be able to bring her home without having care in place. Ultimately, she was moved to long term care and its where she remains today.

Deciding to keep her there is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Part of me feels like I let her down and gave up on her. Another part of me recognizes that I cannot provide the care she needs and she is in a safe place. Reconciling these two parts is not easy. I visit almost every day and am mentally and emotionally exhausted. She hasn't accepted that she has dementia and thinks I diagnosed her with the condition in order to get rid of her. Her aggression and anger has increased and it breaks my heart. There is no reasoning with her because that part of her mind is not there. She can go from yelling at me to talking to me like normal in the span of a couple of minutes. My natural instinct is to yell back or fight back but I have to restrain myself.

Everyday it seems like I see more examples of the dementia creeping in and stealing more from us. Her memory is slowly slipping away and I just want to rage and fight against it. But who do I fight? There is no one or nothing that can stop the inevitability of what's going to happen. I try to enjoy the time I have left with her but sometimes it doesn't seem like long enough. How much longer before she doesn't recognize me anymore?

Tonight was another hard one for me and I decided to blog about it. Truthfully, I still feel raw and emotional but this was a small outlet. As always, thanks for reading and take care. 

Happy Birthday to me!!

Today is my last night in my 30s. Tomorrow I turn the big 4-0!! WOOHOO!! These last 40 years have had its ups and downs and I feel so grateful to have at least made it this far. In honor of how far I've come, I've decided to give myself a present. But before I get to my present, let me go back a little.

This year has been trying and satisfying.  It has been one where I have had to face some hard truths and one where I have been enlightened.  I've had to let go of some things and accept that I cannot control all outcomes.  With as many obstacles as I've encountered, it would seem that I should have learned long ago that I have no control.  However, it is just the opposite, because of everything that has happened, I have the desire to control even more.  My control issues are not limited to outside situations;  they extend to the people in my life.   I expect my loved ones to behave according to my ethics and the box I put them in.  When they go outside of the box, I struggle with crushing disappointment.  The disappointment makes me want to put distance between myself that person.  When I realized this was how I reacted, I had to ask myself why.  Why is what someone else doing affecting me so much?  Why can't I accept that people are going to make mistakes and should be given the room to grow from them?

In thinking about it, I spoke with my sister.  She is someone who I can count on telling me things straight.  She asked me something that I had never thought of.  Am I like this with myself?  And the answer is, yes, I am.  I expect to live by a certain code and when I don't, I am severely disappointed in myself.  There are two memories that come to mind; both have to do with my sister and both occurred over 20 years ago.  These memories filled me with shame.  I learned last year the difference between guilt and shame: guilt is to feel bad, shame is that I am bad.  These memories make me feel ashamed of my actions.  When I mentioned both memories to my sister, she had no idea what I was talking about.  Here I was feeling deep shame over something she didn't even remember.  She told me I needed to forgive myself and stop striving to be perfect.  I didn't realize that's what I was doing, striving for perfection.

As I continued to think about this, I spoke with my therapist.  I recounted the conversation between my sister and myself.  She connected my trying to control everything and be perfect to the trauma I experienced as a child.  It was as if a light bulb went off, a real a-ha moment.  I have never stopped blaming myself for what happened to me when I was 7.  I not only feel guilty but shame.  This despicable thing that happened to me was proof that I was a bad person.  I felt bad about it because it meant that I was bad.  My mother had discussed rape with us and I knew not to speak with strangers.  That 7 year old inside of me carried all that blame inside.  To try and counteract all of the damage I felt I had caused, I tried to make sure that I was never bad again.  When I was thoughtless or careless, as children can be, it was further proof that I was a bad person.

When I first started my therapeutic journey 10 years ago, my therapist had me write a little to the little girl who was raped. She wanted me to picture myself as a child and tell that child that it wasn't her fault and let her out.  I couldn't do that exercise.  Logically,  I knew I wasn't too blame but I still felt it.  It was my fault was all I could think.  The little girl inside of me would peek out sometimes but she would always retreat.  However, this year, I finally gained a little more perspective.  I still couldn't quite picture myself as a 7 year old but I personally knew a 7 year old.  I thought how small this child was and how innocent.  There is no way someone that young could be responsible or at fault for someone's sick action.

My gift to myself this year is actually a gift to the little girl inside of me. My gift is to let go. My gift to her, to myself is to accept that what happened in April 1987 was not my fault. It was not my fault that someone saw the innocence in me and exploited it for his own sick desires. It was not my fault that my mother became a casualty of the crack epidemic. That 7 year old was being true to who she was and showing kindness. She (I) made a mistake of trusting the wrong person but it does not make me a bad person. My gift this year includes the realization that I not only love myself but I like myself. I was a good person at 7 and I am still a good person with a good heart.

This year, I realize that no matter how old I am, I never feel "that" age. I always feel like me. This year feels monumental. Not because I am turning 40 but because I feel like I am happy with me. I am embracing who I am. I am looking forward to celebrating this moment!! Spending time with some of the most important people in my life and living it up!! So many in my situation never get here and I don't take it for granted. I feel blessed to be where I am in life and can't wait to see what else life has in store for me. Happy Birthday to me!!

As always, thanks for reading and take care!! :-)

Love Thyself

Its funny, although mentally, I write a million entries, I rarely transcribe them.  I always think I have time to do it at a later time but I never get around to it.  As forthcoming as I am, there's a certain vulnerability with exposing my thoughts to an unseen audience.  Will my thoughts come across clearly?  Will I be judged for what I think or how I write?  Will someone take offense to what I've written and to what extent should I care about how other's feel? All of these thoughts linger in mind whenever I decide to actually write.  Ultimately, I've decided that I am only responsible for what I think and can't control how its perceived.  I am always open to discussing any subject further with anyone so inclined but I can't let the fear of the unknown stop me. 

With the exception of the tribute to my aunt Rosa in May, it had been about 8 or so months since I last wrote.  I've had a lot of changes in my life in that time.  I attended the Haven retreat mid October and when I returned, I was placed on antidepressants.  This was not my first bout with antidepressants.  About 8 years ago, I was placed on a different one and it really didn't do anything for me, so I stopped them.  This time was different.  I immediately felt like they were helping.  I no longer had the irrational mood swings that I suffered from and my mood was regulated.  It was like being set free.  While my mood swings certainly affected those around me, it affected me the most.  It was frustrating and exhausting to be on a constant roller coaster of emotions.  Whenever I lashed out irrationally, I'd beat myself up.  It definitely wasn't fun for me.  Thankfully, my emotions are regulated now.  This has allowed me to clearly evaluate my thoughts and feelings, which enables me to make changes where I see fit. 

The retreat was also instrumental in my changing my thoughts.  As I expressed in previous posts, the retreat was amazing.  The biggest thing I took away from it, was to be kind to myself.  A simple concept but one that can be hard to practice.  Previously, anytime I made a mistake or didn't do what I "should," I would mentally berate and belittle myself.  On one hand, I knew I was a smart person but was constantly calling myself stupid for small things.  It was on a loop in my head.  The retreat has helped slowed down and in some cases, stop the loop.  The retreat's focus was on positive affirmations and I have adopted the same practice.  If I make a mistake, I can now say it was a mistake not that I am a mistake.  What a difference this has made for me. 

The combination of the retreat and the medication has been amazing for me.  I have realized over the last few months that I like myself.  I like who I am and am proud of how far I've come in life.  There are plenty of things in my life that I am working on changing but I like who I am right now.  In society, we are often not encouraged to think positively about ourselves in general but especially if you're not the right size or color or if you're in the wrong job or relationship.  Self love is a destination, something to be attained once you've reached the "right" goal.  But I disagree.  Self love is a journey.  You can love yourself and still work on making changes in areas that need help.  Why should I not love myself because I'm heavier than I want to be?  I can work on becoming healthy and still love myself.  I am working on becoming healthy because I love myself.  

In a little over 2 months, I am turning 40 and I am looking forward to it.  There are so many people who mourn this milestone birthday but I am celebrating mine with a party to myself.  I've overcome so much in my life and with each passing year, I continue to grow and learn.  I may not have everything I want in life but life is good.  I am surrounded by people who fill my life with joy and love.  Isn't that what life is about?

As always, thanks for reading and take care.  

Strength

Picture a woman who grew up in a house where she was never the favorite, nor did she feel the love she so desperately sought. In search of someone to love her, she got married when she very young. Instead of love, she found someone who only wanted to take advantage of her and destroy her. She could have stay in that married and endure years of abuse but instead she realized that she deserved more and left. This same woman, later went on to find love with someone else who showed her what real love was and treated her like the queen she knew she was.

Later on in life, this woman would find herself chasing the wrong kinds of highs. She would find herself regretting her choices on a daily basis. Her choices could have landed her in a number of different situations; none of which were ideal for a mother of two. She could have continued down that path but once again, she saw that she needed to make a change and she enrolled in school. She got her degree in a field that she is still in today.

I am so proud of this woman and all that she has overcome. She has fallen so many times and could have stayed down but she has always gotten right back up. She doesn't see herself like I do. She doesn't see the admiration I have for her. To get through what she has gone through takes strength, fortitude, grit and a certain level of "badassness." Often times, she would only have the support of her husband.

While I have also had many ups and downs in my life, I have always been lucky to have had wonderful people in my life; my own personal cheerleaders. One of my biggest cheerleaders has always been my aunt, Rosa. She stepped in when my mom disappeared so long ago and has always been like a second mother to me. She is actually the one who keeps me blogging. Whenever I go too long without posting, she asks me about it. She loves reading what I write and has even encouraged me to write a book. Today is her birthday and I decided to dedicate this post to her. She is the woman I have described. She doesn't show it often but she has one of the biggest hearts I know and I love her very much. Happy Birthday lady!!

As always, thanks for reading and take care.

The Retreat

Many people have asked me about the retreat and what it was like.  I say it was amazing or enlightening but those words don't seem adequate enough.  Intense, emotional, educational also can't capture the essence of the retreat.  The foundation has really invested in the healing and educating of women who were taught or shown at a very early age, that life can be cruel, ugly and unfair.  Everything from the house to the food to the staff is carefully selected to promote self care, health and empowerment.  Nothing is pushed on anyone.  If you didn't feel like attending a class, you didn't have too.  If you wanted to sleep in, that was OK.  The goal is to empower the survivors to make choices and live lives that may have seemed impossible before. 

One of the few rules at the retreat were pictures were not allowed.  Since many of the women there may not want to have people know where they are or that they were there, no one is allowed to use cameras.  It's unfortunate because the house was BEAUTIFUL!!  The bedrooms were big enough to sleep 6 comfortably, with 3 sets of bunk beds.  Most of the classes were held either in the library or the common areas, all rooms furnished with big comfy chairs or couches.  Colors were soft and comforting.  Everyone is gifted a water bottle upon arrival, and there are fountains throughout the residence to stay hydrated.  Everything was carefully designed for comfort, safety and healing.  It was a beautiful home nestled amongst majestic mountains, hidden away from the real world.

While the house was breathtaking, it would have been meaningless without the staff, who went out of their way to attend to the needs of everyone.  As I mentioned before, I was over 4 hours late in getting to the retreat and assumed that the staff would be annoyed at having to make special provisions for me but instead I was greeted kindly and warmly.  The staff genuinely cared about the participants.  During the week, the first question was usually, how are you today?  Followed by, did you sleep OK?  These were not just "making conversation" questions.  They were sincere and attentive to details to make the participant as comfortable as possible.  The food prepared was delicious but also nutritious. Anyone with a food allergy had a comparable substitute, prepared just as lovingly and carefully as the main dish.  As a participant, I knew I could go to my case manager or therapist with a need or a request and they would take it seriously and try to assist in anyway possible.  While there, I didn't have to "worry" about much, which allowed me to focus on myself.  It allowed me to connect with the other participants.

Often times, sexual abuse is not something most people discuss.  Whether the victim is told not to discuss with anyone else or doesn't feel comfortable discussing it, it is a secret that hides in the deep, dark recesses of our mind.  At the retreat, we all knew why we were there.  We may not have know the details of each story but we all had the common thread of being a survivor.  Because of this, we connected on a deeper level.  We were all on different parts of our healing journey but we were there together.  It was a sisterhood made up of women from all different ages, backgrounds and walks of life.  In these women, I saw beauty, compassion, courage and most importantly strength.  The inner strength and grace that surrounded me inspired and uplifted me.  To know that I am not alone in some of the ways I struggle or more normal than I may have thought, was healing for me.  To know that I can continue to count on these women for support and encouragement is a blessing.

This was a once in a lifetime experience that I will forever be grateful to have been a part of.   

As always, thank you for reading and take care.