Something I wrote many months ago, but never posted.. Don't know why..
The other night I was thinking of Seanna as a grown up. What will she be like? Will she be as attached to daddy as I hope for her to be? Will I be her best friend? Will she call me when she goes off to college? Will she remember me, my words, and my love for her? Those thoughts led me to reflect on my own person as a son to my mother. Do I do those things? Am I a good son? Am I what my mother wanted for me?
Some nights ago, my beloved old lady came to visit us. It had been long since she had seen us because she was abroad, in another continent 3000 miles away doing what she has always done since she was 15: fighting for her family. That night, I had one of those life changing moments where the deep roots of the heart tremble and the soul removes the vines that conceal the wall of memories. That night, as I put my little lady to sleep, in the darkness stood my old lady watching in silence as I hummed a song that she herself used to hum to me when I was a child. She stood there holding one hand to her heart and the other covering her face. She stood there weeping softly, watching her grown son be a father. And she whispered that she used to hum me that song. And as I saw her silhouette, I had that sudden feeling of discovery, of uncovering something profound within, and it came to me, the realization that all of my mom’s hard work had paid off. All the many times I had seen her cry because of the wounds of life, all the times she would come home dragging the anchor of sleeplessness from working two jobs, had beared fruit — There she was standing at the foot of my daughter’s bed as she was falling into sleep, holding on to her little teddy bear with one hand and my hand with her other, comfortable, under warm blankets, at peace. And I stayed quiet as looked back at my child. And I realized that my mother had paid the price for me to put my child to sleep with a belly full of milk, a safe environment, her favorite dolls at her side and with a certain future full of opportunities awaiting her. If it wasn’t because my mother decided to leave the little wooden shack from our native Nicaragua and venture into the unknown while risking it all, I would not be here, with this little piece of my heart and soul sleeping in pure bliss. No, I would probably be in Nicaragua still. And who knows in what shape.
I do not know why I didn’t share with her my thoughts or thank her with all the sincerity of my heart. Instead I stayed quiet, in my thoughts. There is so much now that I understand. Now that I have become a father. Now that I have purpose outside of my own selfishness. And I thank you mom. I thank you my dear sweet old lady (for the record, she’s really not old).
Know that the times we have butted heads have been only because you raised a child like yourself — a person who stands up for what he believes in and fights for what is his to gain. You have always been a fighter. You still are. And I still watch you.