I smile because I have the choice to smile when I think of Mom, because if smiling is an option, then why not? I smile because Mom was so abundantly generous with the love she gave me that it helps to see the good in life, even when things go bad, even when the inevitable happens, even when the course of time outlasts a will. I smile because she had such a beautiful smile that she would light up a room and that light still warms me from within. I smile because she wasn’t just Mom to my brothers and me, but because she continues to be our Mother, and continues to be Mother to many people. I smile because I have so many good memories of her and we shared so many good talks.
I could focus on how easy it is to miss her, how intense the longing is, or I can breathe and smile, knowing I carry her with me. It’s not that I don’t allow myself the space to cry, it’s that I let go of that and then focus on all the good she left me… an ocean of love as it were. I think that’s the perfect analogy because if you think about it, even with all the technological and scientific advances we have, we have no idea what lays down deep in the oceans… that was the love of my Mother. Boundless, reaching to the horizon, and with depths unlike anything else. It’s also perfect because the ocean has waves and each wave is a gift… and if anything is clear, it’s how generous Mama Estrada was in giving. Her time and counsel were sought by many and treasured by those who dropped their pride in favor of listening to someone who took the time to listen to them and speak to them from the heart, only wanting to help.
I continue to toast to her good health because even if she’s not here in the physical plane, her journey has gotten way more interesting. She was spiritual and was quite in tune with her intuition, calling me up when I was having a bad day and asking what was wrong without me saying one thing. She would often catch me off base like that and then we would chat, because we talked from before I was born to this day. I’ve said before that people wouldn’t come in the room at the hospital when she delivered me because they thought there was someone visiting. And there wasn’t. It was just me and her, chatting, as we always did, as we always will. We did a lot of talking and some of my best memories would be downing a bottle of wine between the two of us and just waffling on. She is probably the reason why I’m so chatty, or at least one of the reasons why I love conversation and having a heart-to-heart with someone. She talked to me not in baby talk or goo-goo ga-gas; she really talked to me, before I was born, when I was a newborn, and throughout my entire life. She knew I could hear her so she talked to me. So I took a cue from her. When she couldn’t respond, I talked to her normally, chatted with her, told her how much I loved her, read to her, and kept her company in the best way I could, basically doing anything I could to make her smile, because I knew she was learning a new way to smile and I was happy to help her in these new steps. Now that’s she’s passed on, I still talk to her normally, tell her jokes, make sure to embellish my stories as best as possible, and chat with her, like always.
Being a writer, that means I’m a man of words. I find meaning in life through the symbols we use to convey the magic of story, the beauty of an emotion or feeling, or the soul smiles contained in the contact that happens when one message is shared from one human to another. She is with me and she shall always be… and that makes me smile.
I miss Mom.
I always will.
But I also love Mom.
And I’ll also do that always and forever, either because I don’t know any better or because I know best... and she just happened to raise me.
Salud, Mama. Te amo hoy y siempre.
Peace, love, and sauvignon blanc.
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