This weekend was my sister’s Bachelorette weekend and it was wonderful, up until we got back home and I got into my car to drive home. I quickly realized there was a huge prickly, crab looking spider living in my side-view mirror. It was enormous! I tried going faster on the highway so it would fly away, but it only seemed to tighten its grip. So I decided I would have my children sacrifice themselves and try and get the spider, but neither of them would take me up on the offer. To their defense, it is probably the biggest spider we have every seen outside of a safe enclosed space.
So we decided on the next best thing, the car wash. We went to a tunnel car wash and got the best car wash we could with the limited time we had, hoping the wraparounds would wash it off. We yelled as the soap was dispensed, water shot at our car, and the spider crab didn’t even flinch. “Oh no Mami, it’s not going to work! ” the kids yelled, and I honestly thought we were doomed. This spider crab probably laid eggs and will not be taken down by anything or anyone!
Then the grand finale- the dryers! They blew for what felt like an eternity, before the crab spider finally let go and flew by Nate’s window. “Yay!” we all cheered. We were done. Mission complete.
I couldn’t get the spider off my mind all day. She was relentless and unmoving, despite all the things I did to it all day. Speeding down the highway, poking at it with a stick, and going through a tunnel of torture seemed useless, until the very end. I hope that I have a slice of the grit this crab spider had. Life can be very much like her one day with me. Countless “things” will come our way, and we have to be anchored and go to battle, and be ok with the outcome, knowing we fought back. Failure shouldn’t hold us back.
I hope you have the courage to stand and take the spirit of the spider crab that lives within you.
In every season, in every moment, even the painful ones, I have been your rock. When you have thought there was no hope, hope never gave up on you. My heart is grace, although you have had such a difficult time accepting it from me on so many occasions. I am intricately entwined with your spirit, among threads of hope, forgiveness, endurance. I push you forward, hoping you will be relentless, and graceful when you fall. Because you will fall, and you will feel as if I have been shattered, but cry not, for I will recover. I always have and I always will. Forgive and be renewed. Stop overthinking your mistakes, clean up and try again tomorrow. I surround you, and have surrounded you with those who let me live within them.
I don’t remember the dream, but I woke up sobbing. The big emptiness in my chest that seems to suffocate me was back. I whispered, “ I miss you Mami,” and drifted back to sleep. The morning felt heavy, yet different .
Circa 1988
Write. Write. Write.
That’s what I felt my heart was saying to me. So here I am, it’s 5:56pm. I am sitting in the Dojo watching my kids do karate and making the time for these thoughts to unravel on this screen.
Grief. It never leaves you. There are seasons when the waves don’t seem to knock you off your feet. Then there are seasons when you’re anchoring your feet, folding your toes into the sand with all your might, and yet the waves push you around just the same.
We are not meant to hold our breath under water for an endless amount of time. We are not meant to stand wave after wave without assistance or being knocked down. I will always need, miss, and mourn my mother. The disappointment of her absence will forever sting. And this is ok.
Disappointment of expectations unfulfilled is something we all feel and mourn. And yet, we have hope, and hope is that which allows us to feel these emotions and at the same time know that His goodness will never fail us.
I hope that as you go through your waves of grief (whatever those may be for you), you feel hope deep within you.
I’m actually a little embarrassed. My own page did not recognize me and had me go through all these loopholes to verify my identity. Once in, my jaw literally dropped when it said the last published post was from July of 2019! No! I gasped. Lately, well, more like the last year, I have written about 20 entries but I have failed to publish them.
Self portrait by Nathan
Hmm. I know, that’s what I said, too. Needless to say, this year has been such a rollercoaster and a blur. I think I had decided what I wanted to actively pursue, once Elea began to get use to staying at her pre-school. I was loving their schools (they both attended different schools last year), and I was ready to start a new season. And then, life as we knew it stopped.
Big kid morning rides
I remember that morning like it was yesterday. It was Wednesday, March 11th. My sister had a newborn at home and I had been doing some grocery shopping for her every couple weeks. I was heading over to Costco to stock her up on her toiletries. One of my very best friends was heading over to Costco herself, so we decided to have a date and meet up for coffee, which would be followed by our Costco shopping. Unbeknownst to us, that Costco trip will never be forgotten. It marked the beginning of COVID for me. It showed me what can happen to kind, normal, level headed human beings, when you do not know what the next day will look like.
America
My cart was taken 3 times, I was pushed and shoved by adults, there were toddlers crying out for their parents as people shoved them away from their guardians, food was being taken from carts that had owners, all the toiletries, including baby essentials, were being taken off the shelves and stocked piled by what felt like out of this world aggressors. I have not felt that afraid since I was a child in elementary school (different story).
Mother’s Day gift from Nathan
I left and didn’t return to Costco. It was a very unsettling feeling. What was happening and were the stores running out of food? Did I miss something on the news? Were we being invaded and never allowed to go to the store again? I lost my friend in the store. We were separated. We called and checked in. She was fine and I was fine. I sat in my car and cried. I was shaking so much I couldn’t even turn on the car. As an adult, I felt helpless to be unable to get something so simple done. I did my breathing exercises and calmed my heart, which felt like it was going to jump right out of my chest.
New Year Day 2020
It was very early. We did not understand what was happening. COVID was just like a cold. COVID was not like a cold. COVID was being used by politicians. COVID was…causing fear. The unknown. I had been following some of the stories about COVID before it was widely known and I was scared. I did not understand what it was and all the confusion around it. But did I need to worry? No one was worried in America. No one was really talking about it. It was a foreign problem. Or so, I was unconsciously thinking this way.
Quarantine beach days
It has been 5 months and 2 days since my family started quarantining. The worries are different every day. Some days are easier than others, and sometimes I look forward to bed time so I can sit in silence and tackle my worries one at a time. But then I am reminded by our good, good, Father- He has got this. This does not look like the year I had in mind. I definitely did not anticipate having to teach every day for months, unable to get alone time exceeding the seconds it takes to use the restroom (even then I normally have a guest watching me!). BUT there has been so much goodness come out of these months. They may not be as clear as we would like them to be, but they are present.
Bed time snuggles under the pillow fort kid made bed
I choose to be optimistic. I choose to trust my Father because He has always been there. Every step of the way. In the darkest moments and in my most elated moments. He has given me breath, after breath, even when I thought I could not take the next one. Life is unpredictable, to say the least, but He is faithful. And even if you don’t believe it, and you can’t see it, He works everything for good. Every. Single. Time.
On Saturday, my sisters and I hosted our 6th annual holiday cookie party. It was our first without our mama, and every day leading up to the day, I thought about canceling. I thought it would be better to go without this year. Nothing feels the same without her and most things just make me miss her even more. My mom never made a cookie for our party, but she brought the best stuff, the tamales we always serve and Arroz con Leche (a rice drink somewhat similar to rice pudding). And if she couldn’t make it, she made sure her goodies always did.
Thanksgiving was over and the heaviness of it had lifted. And now the cookie party was giving me a little bit of anxiety. Where do we get the tamales from? Would it be ok if we cancel? Why did we send the invitations? Thankfully my sister was able to get us a fantastic contact and the tamales were delivered and were just as yummy. But the tamales were never the problem. It was her presence that I wanted so badly. The presence of love, joy and so much laughter you almost pee your pants (Nathan is going through this stage right now).
The cookies began to arrive and soon enough the house was full, all the christmas decorations were singing, blinking their lights, going round and round their tracks, and laughter filled the walls. It felt surreal. Physically I was very much present, but I felt like I was watching all this from a glass window. I could see my sisters laughing, tasting, and through their eyes I could see joy. It was a like the spirit of joy was going in and out, zig-zagging through each guest. My heart went from incompleteness to an incredible feeling of fulfillment. I walked in and out from the first living room, through the cookie room, right to the Christmas tree room, and every room was filled with laughter.
The night was perfect. The anxiety had vanished and had been replaced with heart warming love. I went home so full of love and joy, I felt it would burst from the seams. The best part was the feeling that mom was there, too. I felt like she was proud that my sisters and I continued something so simple yet hard to put together without her. She was proud that we opened our hearts and gave them the opportunity to fill with joy. She was proud that we chose to give joy a chance, when we could have easily cancelled it.
So this week started with a high and I hope it will end that way. I will choose to keep my heart open for now and remind myself of the goodness that will continue to fall upon me and my family, because now my mom is in heaven, and she, of course, sends extra joy down to her babies (grandkids included 😉 ).
There is a sense of responsibility I have, for you, my reader. I have been told I am a good story-teller ( live, that is). I think Lei gets her facial expressions from me. I can’t hide my emotions very well, and so, when story telling I can be extremely vivid. I very much love making people burst into laughter. I really enjoy making people feel good. It makes me happy. But this week, I have been struggling. Big time.
Every so often I find myself giving myself pep talks. You see, where as I am a strong advocate of choosing joy, it is not always the natural choice. I remind myself of all the goodness. The little miracles I see. But sometimes it does not suffice. I am left feeling cheated.
My birth anniversary is next week and instead of feeling excitement and celebration flutter, I find myself feeling bamboozled. And it is ok. It if perfectly normal, and justified, for me to feel cheated. I shared my entire life with my mother, and now I don’t get to share it with her at all. I would tell my mom the silliest things that happened to me, because for some reason, funny and weird things happen to me all the time. And she would laugh, a lot, or tell me in her serious voice that she couldn’t believe it, ” Ay no, Lita.” I don’t know whether she believed me all the time, because sometimes I would act it out so dramatically that I would burst into laughing spells. I thoroughly enjoyed hearing my mother laugh out loud.
We had a terrible heat wave earlier this week in Los Angeles. It was HOT. Miserably hot. And as I drove into the garage from Lei’s school, I found myself picking up my phone to dial my Mom. I was going to tell her how miserable I felt and how the heat wasn’t helping. I parked, turned the engine off, and cried. It’s incredible how you notice every void left behind. It is even more incredible to see how much of my life was filled by the joy my mother gave me. Her constant words of encouragement and the words that stung when spoken.
Love
It is hard for my heart to understand how life keeps moving when such a huge part of it is gone. I wish I could say it is easier this time around. I was recently asked how I do it. How do I keep moving forward? I wish I had an answer for you. I wish I could tell you that I simply eat a lot of kale and that makes it happen for me. Jesus helps me a lot. A lot, a lot ( as Lei would say). I find it so filling to list all the things I am hurt by, disappointed by, and am completely angry about and to let Jesus know. I tell him what I feel (the days I can muster words) and let him know that I am angry and that I don’t think I can get it together that day. So I carry the anger, the hurt, the pain around for as long as I think I can carry it and then I hand it over to him. I find Him much better at dealing with all the baggage. He always takes it, but I pick it up again.
Papa and Lei
At the beginning of the post I wrote about honesty and responsibility. This is my point in this round about post, I have hardly felt ok the past 5 months. I work extremely hard on smiling every day and choosing joy. I have reminders on my phone, in the bathroom mirror, and in every corner of my brain. Reminders that I can and will feel joy come to me without so much work. I have to remind myself to be gentle and kind with myself. To embrace every emotion and not stuff it in the closet. I am a work in progress and my brokeness is being molded. Whatever your brokeness may be, I hope you know you can face it all with Jesus. He takes baby steps, I should know, because He is taking them with me, again. This season will have its end.
We all dream about things we want to do and who we see ourselves around when fulfilling those dreams. Actually, most of the time we don’t even question who we would be around during those precious moments in our lives, we just assume that they will be there. Dreams keep us going. They are our goals. We strive towards them every day, wanting to make someone proud, fulfilling our own desires, or simply moving towards something different. But what do you do when your dreams are shattered? What happens when your rock is gone? When everything seizes to exist the way it should and time gets cut too short?
Aside from crying a lot, wishing time would rewind and praying every second you can- I’m not sure what else you can do. Nothing feels right and everything feels incomplete. But you take baby steps forward, because you must.
Me & Mami 1988
And this is what I’m re-learning once again. Dreams are not abandoned. They never disappear. They must simply be tweeked due to unexpected changes. The problem is, most of the unexpected changes leave us not wanting to go on. Those dreams now seem fruitless, because the joy in them doesn’t quite feel the same.
Mother’s Day 2016
I was recently gifted a key with the word DREAM engraved in it. My dearest sister wanted to remind me that our dreams must go on, even if everything feels broken. Our mother was our encourager, she loved watching us grow into new roles and would push us forward every time we wanted to throw in the towel.
Crossing the finish line
Seattle glass museum
We did it!
I was in Seattle this past weekend, running a race with my sister. And surprisingly, while I ran I felt great, better than any other time, even though I had ran very little since my mother went home. I had to hold back tears during the last leg of the race because I could feel my mother with me, cheering me on, telling me I could finish strong. And I did, I beat my previous time and felt full of joy. I was proud for doing something I had no desire to do. Honestly, I wanted to stay in our beautiful airbnb and have a pity party with the gloomy Seattle weather.
Nana & Nene Fall 2016
My Mother is not gone, her presence is just different now. And while nothing will ever be the same, things will be good, it will feel great again, perhaps not the way I thought it would; but it will. I know it. And even if I don’t believe it now, I will continue to confess it over myself, until I not only believe, but know it to be true.
A week ago, anticipating today, I sat in my living room having a moment. I ran through every detail to ensure I still remembered. I ran my fingers up and down Emme’s c-section scar ensuring it was real. Sometimes it doesn’t feel real. Sometimes it feels like she’s going to run in and say something silly, as any 3 year old would. I thought about what she’d want her birthday theme to be. I thought about how I would, as always, plan for a small party but end up with a carnival.
Loss. It felt so heavy.
And then Life knocked at my door. As I cried in silence unable to open her box to inhale her smell again, to touch the hair the NICU nurses so gently packed for me, to fold and re-fold the baby clothes she wore for such a short period of time, I heard Nate’s butterfly begin to bat her wings, practicing as she broke through her chrysalis and embraced her new body. Charlie (our almost 2 year old turtle) began to chirp. I could hear the birds outside. In my sorrow, I heard life. There are no words to describe what I felt, but in that moment it was as if I was being told that life was blooming all around me, everywhere, all I had to do was silence my heart and listen.
The chrysalis
The anticipation of Easter has been hard the last couple years. I always felt so betrayed by it. Here comes spring and everything is blooming and there I am, mourning. I will never stop mourning; feeling extremely sad that I wasn’t able to live my life the way I would have liked with Emme. But this year I see life. I see it breaking through. The heaviness surrounds me but it’s not hopeless. No, it is not hopeless.
A couple days ago I was leaving my my sister’s place when she noticed that my tire was completely flat. My immediate response was, “oh, that tire is kinda funny, it’s always a little flat.” My sister looked at me like I was crazy, so I walked over to look at the tire. She proceeded with directions: I was to go directly to the nearest gas station and get it taken care of. I obliged. I got out of the car, pulled Elea out of her car seat and proceeded to go inside to pay for the air. I thought I was putting air in the tire but the tire wasn’t looking any better. I re-read the instructions and kept trying. After no success I finally reached inside to grab my phone to call Eric, only to realize I had no phone. So, I looked around and approached the kindest looking person, an older gentleman who I later realized was living out of his car. He walked over and said he would be more than happy to help me. The problem was simple: I never pushed the ON button. He filled the tire and then taught me how to do it. He expressed concern over my safety with such a flat tire and then went on to grab his own meter to show me what I should expect my tire to read every time (the one provided by the gas station was broken).
Although it felt like it took me 5 minutes to do all this, I was actually at the gas station for almost an hour. As I drove home, I processed the risk of the flat tire and although I knew the car was driving funny, I was completely unaware. And even when my sister was trying to point it out to me, I wasn’t really concerned until I saw how the tire looked post air. My tire pressure light had been on and I still didn’t take the time to look at it, or at least to make sure it wasn’t bad. It is a lot like my gasoline habit. I can get down to zero miles but it doesn’t make me nervous. I know, because I read somewhere (please don’t trust this), that when your car says 0 miles it really can go an additional 20 miles before it leaves you stranded. I have never been stranded but have come pretty close to getting a panic attack, when lost, running low on gas, phone is dead, and am in a completely unknown place (happened to me in December). Yet, I do it again and again.
So, as I processed this issue and my overwhelming amount of trust in my car, I saw a recurring theme. I am capable of trusting wholeheartedly. No problem. But most recently I have found myself teetering between believing whole heartedly in something I know can be done and surrendering hope. Like a tire needing air, I was infused multiple times this past week with unbelievable confirmation that hope is not lost. You see Faith is amazing, but no one said it would be easy. In the midst of the storm, you have to find peace and hold on to it. And while there, you’ll see the beauty of believing. Be the tire that gets infused with hope and faith, because our Father is your rim. So even if you are left without air (or gas), you will keep going even if you wobble through, the rim will keep you upright until you can get infused once again.
XO
P.S. try not to go without air in your tires and/or gas. Trusting in your car is not nearly as good as trusting in God. Whereas eventually I will get stranded, God will never let me down.
Nathan’s preschool teacher has been sick the entire week and thus we’ve had substitutes every day. I walked into his classroom today hoping she was back, but instead the air was knocked out of me. My hands began to shake the way they do when I have too much caffeine. I squeezed Elea closer to my chest and hoped no one could see the sweat that was starting to form as my body burned. In a blink of an eye, it was Spring 2014. My knees shook and it took all the strength I could muster up to keep me from falling over.
Nathan’s substitute for the day was his old teacher, the teacher that held my hand through emails and gentle questions. She encouraged me at a hopeless time. When Emme passed, the last thing I wanted to do was take Nathan to all his classes. I felt ashamed. I felt as though I had failed my daughter. My body had failed to be a safe home for her. I had failed at giving her life. And although I know this is all wrong and completely false, these feelings overpowered me for a long time. I felt worthless.
His teacher emailed me and every time I had the courage to come to class, she always greeted me and Nathan with love. I remember trying to pick up where I left off because Nathan needed his mother, but every time I walked into his school, all I could think about were the things everyone else was thinking. Feeling sorry for me and avoiding me. I now understand that they avoided me because there was nothing good enough to say to a grieving mother whose eyes looked like they were on a short pause from crying. Those days were shattering for me. But I never forgot her because every time I walked in there, it was like she knew and she held my hand through the rest of the school year.
This morning, our eyes met and I knew she remembered. We talked about Nathan but neither one of us had the courage to go back. I wanted nothing more than to give her a big hug and let her know how vital she was to my survival, but I couldn’t. My voice immediately cracked, my eyes filled and my body weakened. I couldn’t say thank you.
I’m not beating myself up about it. Like I have said before, grief is like the ocean waves, you never know which wave will knock you down, but you must get up, over and over again. I truly hope she knows what a beautiful person she is and how her kindness still inspires me. And next time, I hope I can get a step closer to telling her.
Confessions of a Wife, Mother & Cook 
