Happy 50th Anniversary, Mom
25 Years Later
Had I been born today or 24hours before, I would have been 25 (and not 24): My mother’s age when she gave birth to me. I find it truly beautiful that this is the only year where I will be half of your age, and finally able to empathise you (Do the maths for the fun of it, dear smart reader!)
Because she lost the love of her life 8 years after, but never failed to play his role (not to mention hers), I want to take this date to dedicate this short-story I wish my mother would genuinely understand, had I felt empowered that my message would effectively reach the recipient; instead of resented by our turbulent relationship. Last conversation or the discussions since and from nearly 12 years ago did not resonate, so I could never express this to any single person I know, possibly not even to my own self. This is a very special date,
a major key!
Mom, you are my one hero: Way more stronger than all the elected childhood characters, culminated, I have tattooed on my left arm sleeve (and yes, Batman is there of course). If I were to compile a badass dream team, they would be the chosen ones (Wolverine, better known as “X-Men” where I was born is also there, or should I say here?!). Yet still the classic ass-whooping against my Mom, like back in the 90s, when a flip-flop was a weapon! My Mom will get a whole half-limb for her dedication… But that’s a story for another day.
Growing up without a father has been the major personal challenge I have faced. Being 24, today I understand how much complex it could be to lose your best friend, your husband, the father of your two young children, the love of your life or the love you vowed to live with and by
“Till death do us part.”
And when such death is of such a traggic nature that demands the “Whys?” that can never be answered for as many replies and truths that may surface, it takes one a great depth of strength and perseverance to lead three lives, as blurry as the pathyway and/or vision may be/seem.
Like Neo, my mother is The One. She found her own way through The Matrix, in a way we do not possess the dedicated empathy and knowledge to understand. We look forward to understand her modus operandi, when we have never been on her skin: We have not witnessed the cold lonely nights; the afternoon naps; the financial perssures; the expectations from the elite society; the Devils who want to see us going through hell; the angels who are around but never present. We all think we have. Truth be told - we can only think. Not feel, not learn from, not know.
Via this story I want to express how much I love my mother dispite our “irreconcilable differences” — I saw Amber Rose the 59th Annual Grammy Awards the other day, so I thought it would be interesting to go out of context right now — that in time became evident to the rest of our family, friends, neighbors and acquaintances. Should you one day read this letter Mom, I meant read, I hope you understand that I am on your side (and never against you) and am willing to cherish our family relationship for the rest of our days — Like Wiz Khalifa;
That you are indeed my one best friend, because you are the only one asking the most important question when you empathise my love melancholies: How do you feel? What do you want to eat for lunch and dinner? When are you and her getting back together? What do you need to wear tomorrow? Does your vehicle have any scratches and dents? And of course, have you checked the deposit? (Raindrops!)
Quite silly, but these are the questions that keep the integrity of the man I have grown to be. The questions nobody ever asks or checks on, or never at your frequency. And what makes you the real woman you are: the behind the scenes and silent efforts towards my stability and pursuit of happiness.
And after I leave home you call my phone in less than 2hours, for no absolute reason. But so do you do a broad spectrum of activities that make me happy, like changing my sheets or buying a box of Estrelitas — Lord knows and so do you all that I could go to war with a supply of those only — and fresh, room-temperature milk; and grilled t-bones; and thick rump steaks with the fattie on the side; and feijoada; and grilled chicken for breakfast, since we eat late and chew it like bread at home… everyday we ask or don’t for it.
You never told me, but I know you are cripped by the idea that I may have left home after saying my ‘final’ goodbye, like that Saturday… I understand it so I pick up the phone, even if only at the second missed call when I’m too busy or upset!
I want to thank you for preparing me for the real war of life, Mother. I want to thank you for your patience and guidance and much self-driven as I had to become for myself. I want to thank you for providing beyond what I need or could ask you for. I want to thank you for the path we have led… and also want to let you know, although you have seen it and did not mention it, that I decided to cut my hair short like Dad’s look yesterday, for you, and even did my modern mustache (as much as you liked my hairstyle for as much as these younger girls do, my favorite gal)…
I also want to let you know that this soldier requires his unconditional lover to face the war, and bring home the bacon.
I would not have changed a single episode regardless of any setbacks and fires we have faced, otherwise I would not be able to appreciate the greatest gift of life as I am ephiphaning in this nostalgic story, today: To proudly be your one and only son, o “Vulizinho, Don-da-Caja!”(Don’t fuss about it Jessica).
I love you,