Four years ago, Mom passed away.
During her last days with us, my brothers and I took turns staying with her at the hospital. We knew it was nearing time and we wanted to be with her and each of us poured our love for her as we often did, because that is our way. I was with her on the night she passed away and when I came to switch places with my brother, we both kind of knew it would be that night
Some people have asked me, how do you get ready for something like that? And all I’m sure of is that the answer will change from person to person, because what your heart dictates is unique to you.
I’d been in touch with my brothers and I had that feeling, so I did my best to get ready for that evening. I would take some books to read. I would talk to her. And sometime during the day, I got the notion in my head that I needed to write her something...So I got on the computer and wrote a short story.
For a frame of reference, it was like one of my Daydreams but in Spanish. In the story, I kind of guide her to her happiest moments and bring in person after person to send her off not with tears but with smiles. I bring in special people that had meant the world to her and described her at peace, a bit surprised, but at peace. In the story, me and my brothers took her along a little tour and led her to a place where there was a rainbow bridge. I wrote that all the dogs were waiting for her along with her Mom and Dad and that she could go in peace, because we would be OK. I also wrote that she did absolutely brilliant and that if at any point we cry, it’s for the right reasons, but that we’d continue to say cheers with love and keeping her present always with plenty of smiles in tow, as was her way.
I cried all the way as I wrote the story and I’m fully aware I did it for her as much as I did it for myself. So often in life, I can only make sense of life and what I’m feeling through what I write, and this was no exception. I finished the story, printed it, and took it with me to the hospital.
When I got there, I saw my brother and we exchanged that look of knowing. I gave him a hug and told him she’d be fine and that I’d be in touch. To not worry and try to get some rest. I love both of my brothers and I’m proud to be an Estrada boy because of Mom and because of them.
My brother leaves and I take a breath, smile, and turn around to say hi to Mom. I let her know I brought a bunch of things to read and share and that I was just there to hang out. I knew she wasn’t feeling that great and that was OK. I just wanted to let her know that if she so happened to want to shut all of us up and miraculously recover, we wouldn’t mind one bit. I also told her that if she wanted to stay a bit longer, that was OK too. Finally, I did mention that if she wanted to leave that night, that was also fine. I was there and would do my best to keep her company.
I spoke to her with as much gentle love I could. I wanted my voice to be as soothing as possible, again, for her as well as for me. I talked to her so much that night...about everything and nothing. I told her so many random things just to chat. I played her some of her favorite music as well as some tracks I’d found that were helping me a lot and I thought they could help her too. I read poetry to her and some of my essays. Then I pulled out the new story and apologized for the typos and things that I could improve, but that I did want to share that first draft with her. I kissed her head often, and stroked her hand, and did my best to let my love flow to her gently and freely. I wanted to stay awake though eventually, the long day got to me, so I went to sleep holding her hand a bit after midnight.
Sometime around two in the morning, I wake up and I feel her breathing’s changed. I’ve never been in a situation like that, but out of instinct I knew it was her moment so I stood next to her, took her hand in mine and told her it was alright. I did my best to soothe her, to comfort her, to hopefully help guide her to the light, and even cracked a joke that I hoped I wasn’t talking too much or being too annoying. I told her how good of a mother she always was and how much of me had been molded by that love. I thanked her for everything. I told her, “If you see a light and want to go there, it’s OK. We’ll be OK.”
I felt her breathing becoming more short and intense and I still held onto her hand, being there but not wanting to crowd her. Her breathing started coming in slower gasps and I held onto her, saying I’d be with her there and always. Slower she breathed and I held her throughout, never squeezing, just being there, and letting her go on her terms and when she was ready.
I don’t know how long that moment
truly lasted. Could have been five minutes or an hour. Doesn’t matter. What
matters is that I was fortunate enough to have the honor to be there and do my
best to show her the love that will stay alive as long as I live.I said, "You were beautiful, you were beautiful," until I finally corrected myself and said, "You are beautiful."
It’s been four years though parts
of me feel like it was yesterday. I don’t think that feeling will ever go away either,
by the way. Part of me shall always be open to keep her alive and present
because spiritually and genetically, she is a part of me. I feel her from time
to time. I feel how she joins in a celebration
or to soothe and comfort me. It feels like yesterday, because in some way or
another, she’ll always be there because I make that choice every day to keep her present.
So, to the question of how you say goodbye to someone you love, your answer may be a little different, and that’s how it should be, but here’s mine:
With as much love as you can...and always leaving the door open.
Mama, te amo and we’ll be toasting to you in a bit and actually any chance we get.
To you dear reader, who were kind enough to read this, my love to you and thank you for helping me keep Mom alive through these and many other words. If you're going through a hard time, I wish peace upon you and to call on those angels in your life, because they're always there for you. Trust me.
Peace, love, and Cheers Mama Estrada
