It was a Sunday morning when the nurse came into my room and tells me that the doctor has released us and we can go home. We had been there since Saturday morning. Your father and I went to the hospital that Friday evening but they sent us home. I was not ready yet is what they said. I sure felt ready. I mean the signs where all there. Pain, contractions, phone calls to the family and bags by the door. Yup we or rather I was ready. Scared but ready. I will not share the labor details or describe the whole labor experience. I would not like to scare you out of having your own experience some day. I will say that I made it a point to forget it because if I kept the memory you would be an only child. Hence you have a brother. Besides, labor is labor. Painful, messy and you just want it all to be over fast!

24hrs later you were born. It’s a girl. Great! That’s what I thought you was going to be and what I wanted you to be; a girl. A girl so I can dress up like a doll. Comb your hair in two pigtails and show you off. I also only had a girl’s name so…. They put you on my chest and I hugged you. I kissed you and hugged you. Wow the feeling was indescribable. The minute I laid my tired eyes on you I knew you was going to change my life. You cried when they were cleaning you and preparing you for me and the rest of the family. It broke my heart to hear you cry. It sounded like you were scared and calling me to rescue you. I turned to you and said. “It’s ok. It’s ok mommy’s here. Mommy’s here.” Immediately you stopped crying. The nurses looked at each other in shock. One of them turned to the doctor and said, “You see they do know the mothers voice. They do! I told you they do.” Everyone in the room was in aww. Silence controlled the delivery room and the only thing you heard was the staff cleaning up, putting things away and shuffling medical utensils around.

The day we were set to leave the nurse came into the room to check on us. She was very young looking and very sweet. She took you out of your crib held you one last time. She tickled your chin and gave you the gentlest smile and said take very good care of her and you. She then placed you back in your crib which was across from my bed and left the room. I began to dress you in an all-white Italian hand knitted outfit. You looked like an angel. Your skin was like coffee with extra cream. It blended beautifully against your clothes. The only thing missing were your angel wings. I remember instructing your father to make sure that the house was clean and the dogs were put outside before bringing you home from the hospital. I did not want any bacteria lingering around waiting to touch you and harm your perfect skin. Everything had to be sanitized before it came near you. No harm would penetrate your skin. No harm could come near you! Everything had to be perfect. I remember washing everything by hand three times months prior to your arrival with Dreft which, was the soap that was used to wash baby’s clothes. Dreft was a soap that was free of dye and chemicals, harmless to a baby’s skin. This was perfect! Music to my ears. I still did a little research on baby soap and found that although Dreft was a very good and the appropriate soap for babies it was not good enough for my little angel. So, I went out and bought organic soap. You must understand I didn’t want anything to harm your perfect skin. Dreft was just fine but I felt I could do better. Yes, I was a bit overboard. I ironed everything a few times. Even right before putting anything on you or around you. I made sure that it was clean and or steamed. A few times even. Yes, I was a bit overboard. I needed to make sure that there wasn’t any germs or bacteria lingering around. No harm would penetrate your delicate skin. When I brought you home I remember holding you in my arms and wondering did I read enough books or parenting magazines? Had I done enough research on raising a child? How could they let me bring you home? They never asked me any questions to ensure that I was fit to take care of you. I mean before you can take a car off a lot you must show that you have a license and insurance. So why didn’t anyone check to see if I was qualified to bring this little angle home. I didn’t have any certifications to prove that I was trust worthy. Was I ready to bring you home? I always felt I should have read more or learned more or read more or taken parenting classes. How can they do that. Hand, you to me, and tell me you were ready to go home with me. I only had 9months to prepare for you. To research all I needed to do to raise you to be strong, confident, smart, educated, bad-ass and delicate. A fearless woman.

I wrapped you up in a blanket and brought you home.

The nurse told me to always check your temperature in case you caught an infection or something went wrong. I did just that. Every two hours I checked your temperature. Later that evening I notice that the thermometer was showing that your temperature was getting a bit high. I wrapped you up in two blankets and began to look around as if to spot the bacteria that was beginning to invade my little angel. I found nothing. I checked your temperature and found that it got worse. Your temperature was over 100. I called the doctor. All I can think of was that your father didn’t clean as thorough as I asked him to and you contracted some bacteria and now you were dying. I know; a bit overboard again. I got the answering service at the doctor’s office. What the answering service. WHAT THE FUCK! My angel is dying from some bacteria that her father did not get rid of and I get the Fucking answering service. Leave a message for the doctor and she will call you back, is what they said. So, I did. I left a message. I waited five minutes and proceeded to take you to the emergency room. The phone rang and it was the doctor. She asked me a few questions and then instructed me to take off all the blankets and clothing I had put on you. Leave her in diapers and her tee-shirt she told me. Give her some water and you will see that her temperature will start to go back to normal. She’s fine. She’s just hot. The doctor went on and on explain what had happened. Basically, she said I S-Mother-ed her and your body was reacting to it. Guilt rushed in and I began to doubt that I was the right person for the job.

One night I placed you in your bassinet. I had bathed you and clothed you with your soft onesie, the one with the pale flowers on it and the little cap to ensure that no cool draft would touch your little head. I covered you with a blanket and turned off the light. A few hours passed and I began to hear someone whispering telling me to wake up and check on you. So, I jumped up and ran to you. There I found you chocking on your blanket. You must have gotten hungry and began to suck on your fist which was covered with your blanket. I pulled the blanket out of your mouth and off you. I threw it on the floor and took everything else that was around you away from you. I picked you up and held you the rest of the night. I was mad at myself. I felt stupid and not qualified for this job. Guilt kept rushing in accompanied by doubt. I S-Mother-ed you again. Was I the right person for the job? From that day forward nothing was in around you when I put you down in your crib.

I remember I cooked all your food from scratch. (I still do.) I would stay up until 2am preparing all your food and even your juice. One day you became ill because you ate something other than my food. I took you to the doctor and it was clear it was my fault. I never exposed you to outside food strengthening your immune system. I was afraid that you would get some bacteria and die. I know again a bit overboard. No harm could come near you. Guilt set in once again. I S-Mother-ed you. All though, for the past 18 years I have taken care of you, I have always doubted if I was right for the job. I have questioned if I did enough? I pushed you and demanded excellence from you but it was to make sure that you were raised strong and accomplished. I checked on you when you did not know. I let you think that you needed to handle things on your own but, it was to make you strong. I put bandages on your boo boos and sometimes kissed them. I also let you put your own bandages on your cuts because sometimes you need to care for your injuries yourself. I sterilized your bottles, cups, pacifiers, hair pins etc. No harm would penetrate your skin. I S-Mother-ed you but I also let you fall and pick yourself back up.

I look at you now that you are 18 years old and I wonder; did I do enough S-Mother-ing. Should I have done more? 18 years old. 18 years old.  You changed my life every day for the past 18years.  You are making life choices and might or might not get a higher education. There is a possibility that you will get your heartbroken or that you might be a great scientist. There is a possibility that you make a wrong choice like eat something crazy or not do your laundry. There is a possibility that you might have a regular job with a caring heart. You might be afraid to explore the world because I S-Mother-ed you too much. Did I do enough? Did I fail you? Can I get another chance to raise you because I just thought of a bunch of things I should have done or could have done? Like read to you more or talked to you more. Or hugged you more. Enrolled you in a private school or paid for those horseback riding lessons. Maybe dance classes? I should have kept you in gymnastics. I should have…. I should have…. I could have done more. I could have S-Mother-ed you less and then more. You see my dear Smothering is what mothers do when they are being a mother. You see my dear without Mother you can’t spell Smother. It’s in the word. S-Mother-ed is what I knew I needed to do because I was doing my job as a mother. So, when you feel S-Mother-ed you should know that I am doing my job and you are being loved by your mother. Me! Love you Mumuma!

3 of #52essays

Some people believe that old flames never completely die out.  My late maternal grandmother would always say, “Donde habia fuego, cenizas quedan.  Where there was fire, ashes remain.”  Could this be true? What is it about reconnecting with a childhood boyfriend or girlfriend that gives a spark to that once crackling, bright, vibrant flame?

It was a late Saturday afternoon.  I had spent the day cleaning my entire house.  I was exhausted.  The house smelled of cleaning products.  Clorox, Ajax, PineSol, and Mr. Clean.   I was a mess.  My hair was in a pony tail that had loosen with my movements.  The radio was on playing all of my favorites from Rock to R&B to Salsa and Merengue.  An occasional Spanish Rock, Jazz and even a Gospel song would be heard. Lord knows I needed to stay inspired. As I was finishing up cleaning the last part I had left, I received a notification on my phone letting me know that I had a message waiting to be read on my Facebook messenger.  So, of course I did what anyone else would do, I stopped what I was doing, removed my cleaning gloves and accessed my messenger.  I didn’t recognize the name on the messenger but the picture next to the name was recognizable.  I began to wonder.  “Hum mm?” I thought.  “Is this who I think it is?”  I paused for about a minute and then proceeded to open the message.  It went something like this.   “Hi is this…….? This is……remember me? We dated back in High School.  If this is not who I think it is then please accept my apology. However, if it is you please write back I would love to reconnect with you and catch up.  It’s been a really long time.”  and he added his complete name.   His name! His name was the most beautiful name I have ever heard. His name was the most beautiful name I have ever written besides mine of course.  After reading his message, time seized that very instant.  My heart began to strike my chest as if it was trapped in a dark cell and was pleading its release.  Maybe there was some truth in my grandmother’s statement.  All that surrounded me had seized.  The air that my lungs consumed without a fee tasted different like Mango dipped in Chocolate.  It was no longer forced and easily expanded my chest with no boundaries, with no fear because it was soft and harmless as it once was a long time ago, around him.  The air recaptured the smelled of New York City.  Full of smog and pollution mixed with candy hearts; Be Mine, Kiss Me, Hug Me, All Mine and how can I forget the famous, I Love You.  I found that even, in the harsh city winter, fresh luminous flowers were always in bloom when we were together.

“What should I say? Should I even right back?” I asked myself out loud.  “Well, I think you should and quick!” I said to myself out loud again.  I never took lightly to peer pressure so, I put the phone down and walked away.  I put my cleaning gloves back on and continued right where I left off however, my mind did not.  It was still on the message.  Recapping every single word.  Analyzing every letter as if there laid the hidden answer to solving world hunger.  “Stop thinking about it!” I told myself, but I couldn’t help it.  After a good thirty minutes of self-yelling and self-torture I responded.  It went something like this. “Hi! Yes, this is…. I do remember you.  How are you?”  I paused again.  “Hit send.  Hit send!” I told myself.  Why was I afraid to send the message?  Why was I hesitating?  Oh, I think I know.  I feared what would happen next.  We would engage in this long chat and then I would learn that he is happily married to a beautiful accomplished woman.  I would also learn that they have a mini basketball team of perfectly accomplished artsy city kids.   “Oh, stop it and just hit send!” I told myself and so, I did it.  I hit send.  I proceeded to cleaning and my mind proceeded to remembering him.  His touch was like a warm summer wind that moved slowly and softly down my spine as we walked through Central Park.  Memories continued rushing in one after the other and some at the same time. They fought each other to see which one would come through first.  Wow it was him.  It was who I wanted it to be, messaging me.  He was “him” for me back in high school.  The guy!  I was head over heels for; this boy.  He gave breath to my lungs, chills on my skin, life to my lips, color to my cheeks and a swing to my hips.  Yes, I even walked different when he was around (smiling as I write this).  I remember lying to my mother and telling her that I was going to meet my girlfriends and walk around and it was to see him.  We would meet at the corner of 207th Street and Broadway and we would walk to Inwood Park.  I would exaggerate the swing of my hips just like Debbie Reynolds dancing with Gene Kelly in the “You were Meant for Me” scene in the Classic “Singing in the Rain.”  Oh, his dark almond-shaped eyes would suck me into another dimension.  His shy look always intrigued me and made the pit of my belly perform back flips as if it were in a gymnastic competition.  Yes, he was “him” for me back in high school.  He had me reading Shakespeare, Hemingway, Dickens, Yeats, Austen, Wells, Faulkner, Tolstoy, Poe etc.  I somehow managed to incorporate my feelings in these great writer’s work.  I pictured him reciting Brown Penny by William Butler Yates just for me.  I remember I wrote poetry just for him.  Rose are red violets are blue I think I am falling in love with you (Blushing and chuckling as I write this).  We had very few classes together in fact I don’t remember having a class with him at all but, it sure felt like we did because he was always on my mind.  When we saw, each other passing in between classes in the school hallway of John F Kennedy High School located in the Bronx, I felt as if we were the only ones in the building.  See, being with him made me believe that the world was flat despite what the great explores had discovered.  It stood strong on a point and because the universe felt that we were made for each other, it would tilt at the precise moment to always lead us together.  Could this be the universe tilting again? Or are we Anne Elliot and Captain Frederick Wentworth considering a second chance at love after years apart like in Jane Austen’s last book “Persuasion”?

“Clinging!” My messenger alert announced that there was a message waiting for me.  I quickly pulled the cleaning gloves off my hands and picked up my phone.  It read something like this.  “I am doing good.” Man, he’s so smooth. I thought.   “How have you been? I have asked a few people for you and they said you moved out of the city.  Where do you live?”  Oh, boy he has been asking about me.  Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah! (while doing the Oh yeah silly dance).  Yes, he was “him” for me back in high school.  When he stared at me it felt as if I was being seen for the first time.  When he smiled at me there was nothing in the world that could keep my feet on the ground.  I felt as if I was dancing in the rain like Gene Kelly once did with no care in the world.  His shy look and his lip’s gentle curl upward at the corner of his mouth, gave me the sweetest acknowledgement that…. Oh, man he was “him” back in high school.  The color of his skin ignited my appetite and warmed my body like when you drank hot coco on a winter day.  The heat would rush down my throat and to my chest making it hard to breath.  It would crash in my belly but, when our eyes met and he held my hand, oh, that heat would extend the trip to my lady parts and…. Wow! He was “him” for me back in high school.  He remembers me and askes for me and now we are engaging in a conversation.

“Donde habia fuego, cenizas quedan.  Where there was fire, ashes remain.”  Maybe this is true and the reason why is because we get to feel alive again and 16 yrs old again. Even if it’s for that brief chat or…. I guess this is how it started all over again.

2 of #52essays2017

“Where are you going?” No answer. “Where are you going?” No answer. I knew he heard me every time I asked him the question. He just continued to get dressed. Man, was he a sharp dresser. His shoes shined like light reflecting off a mirror. Socks matched his pants just right. His pants nicely pressed with the sharpest crease precisely going down each leg. They could cut diamonds. He always wore a white V neck tee-shirt underneath his shirts. “A real man wears a white tee-shirt under his shirts. Remember that for when you meet a man.” He would tell me as I watched him get dressed. “Where are you going?” No answer. During the warm seasons, spring and the summer time, he would wear “Guayaberas.” Those are the shirts with an embroider design on each side that went from the top of the shirt all the way to the bottom. “Where are you going?” No answer. During the cool seasons, fall and the winter time, he would wear his long sleeve button down shirts which, he made sure was pressed to perfection. The sleeves wore, the purposely made crease, from the shoulder down to the cuff.  In fact, his entire outfit was without a single wrinkle. “Do you see any wrinkles? He would ask while turning around so I can review his entire outfit.  “No! Can I come?” I would ask. No answer. I knew he heard me. Why didn’t he answer me? I hated it when he would ignore me. “Are you sure that there are no wrinkles?” He would ask again. “No” I would respond with my head down and my little skinny arms pressed down against my fragile little body. I knew that he was going out and I was not going. “Yo vengo ahora.” “I will be back.” he would say. I remember I ran to my room and grabbed my shoes and my coat and ran after him. My little feet ran as fast as they could down the long hall way of our apartment with hope that he would grab my hand and say ok come on. “Can I come, please?” I gave it one last try. “Close the door.” He finally answered. I stared at his back, closed the door and jump on the stool so I can see him through the peep hole as he walked down the stairs and out into the street. I remember sitting on my bed with my coat still on for hours and asking myself why won’t he take me. As the years went by I stopped asking. I stopped watching him get dressed. I stopped checking his outfits for wrinkles. I told myself that it would be easier for me, you know less painful. He taught me a lot, This Man. He taught me how to add and subtract. He taught me how to remember things in a simple way like associating something to a situation or an object. He taught me to love Snickers Bar. And till this day, it is still my favorite chocolate bar (big smile on my face). He taught me how to tie my sneakers. Two elephant ears then put one under the other and pull hard. He also taught me to be observant and never speak out of both sides of my mouth. “Think before you say anything. Think about how what you are going to say. Is going to affect the person who is going to hear it.” He would tell me. I would remind him of things. His promises along with the date and time he made them to me. He would tell me that I reminded him of the elephant. I asked him why and he said that it was because I had an excellent memory. The elephant never forgets anything. He taught me to love elephants. However, the most important thing that he taught me was how to notice the signs of someone who didn’t care that they were breaking your heart with their actions. The signs of someone when they are getting ready to walk away from your life. He taught me how to stop feeling so I would not hurt. He taught me how to avoid the heart ache. He taught me how a man should not treat his family for when I grew up and had one. You know a man. A family. I can see the signs now.

One day This Man came to my room while I was reading Clifford the Bid Red Dog and asked if I wanted to go with him. I stared at him in disbelief and nodded yes. He told to put on a pair of shorts, tee-shirt and sneakers and to hurry because if not he would leave me. I put on my favorite pair of jean shorts, a white tee-shirt and my white sneakers with yellow laces. Boy, I was looking good. I had to because I was finally going outside with This Man. This time we walked down the long hallway together. He locked the door behind us and he grabbed my hand as we walked down the stairs together. I was on cloud 99; way up there. Nothing can mess this day up. I was outside with This Man. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and said “let me check the mailbox. Wait right here.” He opened the mailbox and took out a thin square glass bottle. He took a swig, closed the bottle, put it back and closed the mailbox.  He turned to me and said, “we didn’t get any mail today.” As I opened my mouth to tell him that it was Sunday and the mailman didn’t come on Sundays, I remembered what he had taught me. I thought about how he would feel if I told him that it was Sunday. So, I decided not to say anything. I was not going to let anything mess up my outing with This Man. Not no mail on Sundays was going to get in the way of this day with This Man. “Don’t tell your mother that I took a little sip shhhh.” He said as he put his finger on his lips and smiled at me. “It’s our secret.” He said. My eyes lit up and in an instance my lips were sealed. This Man and I have a secret. That was so cool. It’s ours.  It was our secret.  Only This Man and me.

Summer time in NYC – Washington Heights were so much fun when I was growing up! Kids were outside and the parents were either right there with them or out the window watching them play with the other neighborhood kids. We would race from one end of the block to the other or from one building to the other. We would play Tag or Double Dutch. Parents would conjugate in front of the building or sit on the parked cars. Some would even bring down the beach chairs, a little cooler filed with ice, beer and little juices for the kids. Someone would always bring the boom box and play music. On hot days one of the dads would come out with this huge wrench and open the fire hydrant. Oh yeah! Today was one of those hot days. Swwwshhhh the water slowly release until a burst came out knocking the daring kids that stood in front of the fire hydrant. The kids screamed with joy. Everyone enjoyed it, young and old. “Can I get wet?” I asked This Man. “Tu mama se va a poner brava.” “Your mother will be mad.”  He answered. Then he gave me a nod and I took off like a jet and jump right in front of the fire hydrant. The pressure from the water knocked me down just like the other daring kids that jumped in front of it. I looked at This Man from the ground and he gave me a look as if he was saying to me to get back up.  So, I did.  I got back up.  He gave me another look saying get back in there.  So, I did. I jumped back in front of the fire hydrant and the water pressure knocked me down again.  Down on my side I went. This event went on for a while.  I went in.  I fell.  I got up.  After a few times of landing on my ass, I got tired of hitting the ground. I took a minute to analyze how I should jump in to avoid falling so I could stand in the water and enjoy it.  This Man also taught me how to learn from my mistakes.  How to take the time and figure things out to avoid the same mistake. I was enjoying the water and I had a smile that went from one ear to the other ear.  This Man stood close by watching my every move; holding a can Budweiser beer inside a brown paper bag in his hand.  He had a smile on his face that went from one ear to the other ear.  This Man also taught me to cherish the moments because they always ended.  This Man taught me that even good things will knock you down and not to look around for help or approval, just get back up.  If you want the experience again then it’s ok to try it again.  Figure it out. Perfect it.  Enjoy the falls because they make the getting up feel so much better.  He also taught me if you name something then you instantly become attached to it and when you can’t have it you will be heart broken.  I loved This Man but I knew I would get hurt if I called him by his….  As the years went on the moments shared with This Man became less and less.  Most of the moments were unpleasant because he fell in deep love with what was in the mailbox that Sunday.  Soon his love for it over powered him, making him believe that it was all he needed to live and it followed him throughout the rest of his life.  I choose to remember and cherish the great small moments with This Man because despite all the unpleasant moments, life was great with This Man.  I miss This Man. I miss the small great moments with My Dad.
 

1 of #52essays2017