The Line is Always Open

Pic courtesy of my brother, Juanky

When there is an emergency, people are sometimes forced to resort to a landline to get in touch with other people because cell phone towers are down. That this still applies in 2023 is a bit poetic if you ask me. Ever since Mom passed away in 2019, I say that at least we don’t have to worry about any technological or atmospheric disturbance interfering with us keeping in touch.

True contact doesn’t depend on WiFi, it doesn’t care what network you’re on, and 5G is absolutely irrelevant in this scenario. That’s because my line to her is always open and I speak to her in some way or another pretty much every day. The same as I always did.

Occasionally, I’ve been asked about how I cope with grief and having lost her and anyone that I’ve loved in my life. The reality is that the answer changes and evolves along with who and how we are. What I can say today might be different from a year ago and both might be different from what I need in two weeks’ time. Apart from this, the other thing I consistently share is that you need to feel what you have to feel. Earlier in my life I repressed several feelings and it did me no favors. I learned the hard way and it took a lot of effort but I also learned to allow myself to feel, engage with, and understand those feelings.

So write it out. Play it out. Surf it out. Draw it out. Sing it out. Whatever you feel, don’t ignore or bury what you’re feeling. Express it, embrace it, understand it, and cherish it.

Part of me says that today would have been Mom’s 74th birthday while another part of me corrects that it is her 74th birthday. Just because Mom is no longer with us in a physical aspect doesn’t take away from the fact that part of her is still alive within me, my brothers, her grandchildren, and countless people she meant the world to and she had an impact on.

I’ve written her countless letters telling her about how things are. Sometimes I ask for her advice. Sometimes I ask for strength, patience, or both. I always do it in the present tense though. Always. I don’t say I wish you could see or hear or partake in anything, I include her in the activity and I truly believe that part of her enjoys and continues to live through the adventures of her loved ones.

I’ve known to take a moment to breathe and talk to her because I’m having a rough time. Often, I feel my breathing settle and a bit of calm returns to me. Sometimes I need to do other things, but the exercise is a start and puts me on the track to handling whatever life throws my way. Having that contact is huge for me and it’s something I shall always maintain.

I began journaling consistently from last year (more on this later) and I’ve found myself writing Mom less letters because I switched to writing her daily in the journal. I also write to God and to myself and am always thankful to all three. That’s one of the things I have been doing every single night for the last several months. Some people might think it’s a coping mechanism and in part that’s true, but the contact is also there and no one can take that away from me.

I have a river nearby and that’s a place I often visit to talk to Mama Estrada. Water is a global connector but part of me feels that it goes beyond the physical and connects us in ways we barely comprehend. It also kind of just feels right to talk to her there, even though I never took her when she stayed with us after Hurricane Maria.

But to this day, there are still some people who ask me about Mom and how she’s doing. People who either haven’t been in touch for years and never found out she passed away or some people who honestly forgot. It never upsets me because I toast to her often and talk about her often as well. From being the subject of several poems to being the inspiration of one of the favorite characters in the Human Cycle, I commune with Mom in countless ways because she’s always going to be with me, so if you tell me to say hi to Mom, I probably will.

When it came to us, I would often say, “I love you,” and she would often respond with an “I love you more.” I would always say that she had the advantage because I took a while to develop consciousness and start registering what a lucky kid I was to have her for a Mom, plus she had me in her womb 9 months where she was able to talk while I was glad to listen. It’s been three and a half years since she passed away and even though I could make a case that I love her more now that some time has passed, I know better, because the lines are always open, the contact is always there, and the love shall stay with me until we can finally share another glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

So happy birthday, Mama Estrada.

Peace, love, and lemon cake