Dear Mamacita, te amo,
Only you and I know how truly deep our love for each other was. You were so much the loving mother that I didn't have. I loved my mom, but we were not close. You and I laughed over me mispronouncing the Spanish words you so patiently tried to teach me, and when you knew I was doing it on purpose to make you laugh, you always called me "sinverguenza." I don't know if I'm spelling it correctly but this one I do know how to say. I don't think a day has gone by that I haven't thought of you and mentioned you in many of my conversations to friends and family. My father thought the world of you, he always asks about "that charming Myriam." He enjoyed taking you around on his arm throughout the National Arboretum and the sound of you guys laughing was so comforting.
You got me hooked on those Univision Soaps, and you loved translating what they were saying. The stories seemed to light you up like a candle and you never seemed to mind explaining what was going on.
Kristina came to live with us, and we were a little strained at first, but I remember hugging her and she was so stiff at first. But by the time she was ready to move out, we were real sisters. She had a soft spot for Mancha our little Beagle, and Mancha had a soft spot for her. So much so that she brought her a bird and tucked it away as a gift behind her cupboard in her room! (Beagles are want to do that.)
Holidays were our favorite times, weren't they? Remember when you first moved to VA and we had our first Thanksgiving together? You just looked around and sat at the table and drank the Columbian coffee that we got just for us. It was strong, and rich, and full of flavor. You told me about your youth, your father, your time dancing and the piano. I was so impressed, and a bit saddened that you couldn't do it anymore, but we replaced it with family gatherings. Kristina was there and we had a sweet little time, and the night Paul and the boys showed up to move you in, we all ate Lasagna and laughed. They were so tired but I think they were fulfilled to have helped to give you a new start. I was always a bit afraid of Paul, but that night I let go of it and just opened my arms to him and it was the first time my own fear, pride and prejudice melted away. He was tired and hungry and when he sat down to our table it was like our family had just grown a bit larger.
We decorated the tree together, we talked about Christmases past and planned for "next year." We always had classic Christmas music playing and we all danced to 'Feliz Navidad.' Johan and I did the jitterbug (very poorly indeed) to 'Rockin' Round the Christmas Tree,' and you giggled. I believe Ave Maria was your favorite.
You loved our 'perritos' Nena and Mancha, then Bonnie and Clyde, and you even knew Kelly. In fact you were with me when I got him from the pet store. Remember?
Dear Mami, I don't believe in endings, death, heaven or hell. I believe that there is no beginning, no ending. I believe that when we leave this plain we elevate, into a dream we've had, the vastness of our desires, so I see you dancing your heart out, and it makes me smile. As for those of us left here without you, what we retain is the best of you and us combined; we are part of the whole. The Universal whole, that, to me means that just as you were part of our lives when we had you with us physically, you are now and always a part of us more deeply. Not a cliché, just my way of saying that every memory, every photo, every conversation, every time I see or talk to someone in the family, every dream I dream of you dancing and playing the piano, and every time I play the piano myself, is when you are the closest.
Every year I buy a gift for myself that specifically connects me to you all year long. Can you guess what it is? Paloma Picasso perfume. Just one more thing you taught this old country girl. The first time you gave it to me as a Christmas gift, you said "A woman should have a signature scent that is all her own." Just another bit of class that you shared with me. So whenever anyone says "that is a wonderful perfume, what is it?" I tell them what it is, and say, my Mother in Law gives it to me every year. The way I see it, you do, and it's how I'll always think of it.
Just a note to Johan, Paul, and Kristina. Johan, no matter what, you were and are an amazingly kind and loving man, and friend. You are one of a kind, no one compares. Your mother made you that way. I hope you are AMAZINGLY happy. You deserve it more than anyone I know.
Paul, allow me to say that your mom love, love, loved you like crazy. She had the kind of love for you that was enviable. As for me, I have always respected you. Always.
And last but certainly but not least, my sweet sister Kristina. Your mom was so proud of you and you gave her so much comfort. When I would call, I would ask her how she was doing, and she'd always say "Hanging in there." I always asked her about you and she'd tell me about your job, or the pets, or that you'd just been to see her, etc. To her you were the loveliest person she knew. She was so proud of you. She worried about your working so hard, but admired your grit.
I know this is a very verbose dedication. Truthlfully, I could go on but some thing are gifts you hold carefully to yourself.
Buenas nochas, Mami.
~hasta mañana,
Your Donita