I gripped the steering wheel of my aging Jeep Wrangler tighter, my knuckles turned a ghostly white. Another car pulled up behind me and the driver mercilessly slammed on the horn attempting to coerce me to move forward. He then rolled down his window and stuck his head out of his window and brutally screamed, "Are you blind? The light is green for Christ's sake!"
I hesitated, but then the taunting red light flashed into my eyes and I felt my foot hit the floor of the car. As I sped away through the red light I glanced in the rearview mirror to see the driver’s face in the car behind me twist into utter disbelief as he and his car remained stationary.
Once again, nothing happened. I didn’t get hit. I run red lights all the time and nothing ever happens, but the one time she runs a red light she dies. One careless mistake and her entire life is taken from her, and with that mine is completely altered. How is that fair?
Today is the anniversary of her death. It’s been five years since October 12, 2005, and in those five years I’ve been without a mother, and practically without any ca...
I, of course, knew my mother as a mother. As I have reached adulthood and become a mother myself, I have also known her as a friend. My mom shared much of herself with me, and I saw sides of my mother as she struggled with her cancer that I had never seen before, especially her strong belief in positive thinking and the importance of quality of life. I was privileged to know so many facets of my mother, but certainly I did not know all. There were parts of her life that I didn’t see, relationships that I didn’t know about. Last night, at the wake, so many stories were told to me about my mom’s strength, courage, humor, kindness, her quietness, her loyalty as a friend. It was so special to hear of these things that my mom said and did, to know some of these other parts of her life. I hope that her friends and family will continue to share these stories with me and with each other so we can continue to know and remember my mom.
Almost twenty years ago, around this time of the month, you had a baby girl on November twenty-six. Like every parent you are happy, smiling at the baby, holding my hands and taking pictures. I grew up, stood up, walked for the first time, said my first words, and lost my baby teeth. It’s time for me to go to my first day of school; you don’t want me to go because you got use to my presence in the house. Meanwhile, you are low-key wishing for me to stay a baby girl, when you know perfectly that it isn’t going to happen.
She left the bar late, and began her journey home. Not long after she left, she noticed a pair of lone headlights approaching her vehicle very quickly. The woman glanced at the car again and it had its turn signal on, like the car was going to pass her. However, the car quickly resumed its position behind her. The car was dangerously close to the woman, and then it flashed its lights at her.
Before I go on to celebrate my mother and what she stood for I must share with you the reality of what life was like for my mother and the family since she was first diagnosed with cancer in October. Of course, nobody suffered more than my mother, but Dad you’re definitely second. We all shared my mother’s pain. It was like we were all on trial.
I walked into the room on New Year’s Day and felt a sudden twinge of fear. My eyes already hurt from the tears I had shed and those tears would not stop even then the last viewing before we had to leave. She lay quietly on the bed with her face as void of emotion as a sheet of paper without the writing. Slowly, I approached the cold lifeless form that was once my mother and gave her a goodbye kiss.
I was just passing Cobblestone Dr. in our subdivision. Our speed was declining fast with the traffic light ahead at the corner on Pinehurst Dr. and Spring Hill Dr. and the tons of cars in front of me. The road is divided with a grass-filled median, two lanes on each side. I was driving on the right but in the left lane of the two. I see
Over the next few days, we took it easy. I went back to work. My mom was getting worse as each day went on with a few good days in between, of course. We ended up moving my niece Lexi’s birthday up a few days because we wanted to make sure my mom would be there for it. She, my mom, couldn’t talk as well anymore, but she made the effort to sing for her granddaughter. The day before my niece’s actual birthday, my mom passed away. Her wish had come true, too. She had wanted my dad to be the only one in the room when she went.
I can’t begin to express how hard it is for me to stand here before you and give my last respects to my loving mother - name here. From the biography that was handed out you can recall that during the her early years in the united states she studied and worked in New York where she met and married my dad, the love of her life. They spent the rest of their days loyal and in love with one another. Unfortunately, one day my father passed away with cancer at a young age. My dad was the one who suffered the most, but my mom suffered right along with him. She felt powerless, and for my mom- powerlessness turned in to guilt and grief, a painful distress she lived with on a daily basis for the next six years. When he died part of her died! Life for her was never the same again. I was not able to completely understand her loss- until now…
As the sound of my tires fighting to get a grip on the gravel and the rough terrain light lit up on the dashboard my heart skipped a beat. However after a short struggle the truck managed to pull itself up the hill as if by magic. Further down the gravel road I noticed a pristine white Ford F-150 sitting of to the side of the road, its lights still on. I slowed down as I neared the truck to ensure that the driver was not injured, but suddenly I heard a sharp snap on my left and the driver of the truck, a tall middle aged man appeared on my right jumped into the driver’s seat and tore off down the road before I had gotten within five hundred feet of the truck. Watching his angry red taillights disappear I wondered what he had been doing, suspicion clouded my mind. Two left turns and ten minutes later relief flooded through me as I pulled into the drive of my small, white
As you’re driving along the side road or highway, you see a set of headlights come up on you rather fast. Suddenly, you look in your rearview mirror and see a huge truck right up against your trunk as you’re driving 50 mph. What should you do? Slow down, speed up, and pull over? As you look, you see the driver getting progressively annoyed. Suddenly the driver shoots out beside your car, lays on the horn, and flips you the bird. “Outrageous!!” You think to yourself.
After a long day I returned home and was greeted again by my mother. She immediately asked how my group presentation and the rest of my day went. In spite of her already unpleasant day, she was still concerned with mine. I, in turn, turned the conversation to how she and my grandmother were coping with my great aunt’s passing. Throughout this entire conversation we both were using a great deal of empathy and
It was June 6, 2011. I remember taking my mother to the County Hospital’s emergency room. She seemed extremely exhausted; her eyes were half-closed and yellow, and she placed her elbow on the armchair, resting her head on her palm. I remember it was crowded and the wait was long, so she wanted to leave. I was the only one there with her, but I did not allow her to convince me to take her home. I told her in Spanish, “Mom, let’s wait so that we can get this over with and know what’s going on with you. You’ll see everything is okay, and we’ll go home later on.” I wish then and now that would have been the case. Unfortunately, she was diagnosed with colon cancer that had spread to many parts of her body including her lungs and kidneys. The doctor said to me not considering that I was a minor and my mother’s daughter, “Her disease is very advanced and we don’t think she will live longer than a year.” With this devastating news, I did not know what to do. I thought to myself that perhaps I should cry, or try to forget and take care of her as best I could and make her laugh to ease her pain.
As I pull up to the stop sign, I look right then left. There is a car in the distance but there is plenty of time to pull out into the road. As I pull out, I notice the car that seemed to be far away has sped up and is now right on my bumper. I slam on my brakes to piss off the driver behind me. I can tell this infuriated him. The driver holds up his middle finger, muttering something that I cannot understand. The driver then whips in front of me, almost running me off the road. As we approach another stop sign, the driver gets out of his car and walks over to mine. I get out of my vehicle and we begin to yell. The next thing I know, we are in an all out fistfight!
My only worry now was how I was going to get off this truck. My chance came when the driver stopped, got out and walked over to a guard. They were talking very fast in a language I couldn't understand. It was now or never. I climbed down the side of the truck and opened the passenger door, I slid in.
“You fucking bitch. This is my car so get out” he punched the side of my head with great force.