Letter #3 - Happy Birthday to Me
Today's letter covers: My birthday from some years ago and why gut feelings are a real thing.
13 years ago, while I was in college between Calculus and Art History, my mom called me and asked if I wanted to do something special for my upcoming birthday. I was about to begin my senior year in college, and we thought having a little celebration before my summer semester started would be a great idea.
We decided to plan a short trip with two of my closest friends to Bonaire, a small island in the Caribbean, where my grandparents bought a beach shack in the ’70s. The showers barely worked, there were mice in the kitchen, and the decor was kept intact for over 30 years, but E’horizon, our house, was heaven on earth.
This house was where I grew up with my cousins, learned how to swim, bike, and built most of my core memories - it was also the place where my grandfather died from a heart attack while sipping a Vodka on the rocks during his daily sunset swim.
E’horizon was an emotionally loaded territory, to say the least, yet it felt like the perfect place to have this small reunion and turn a year older.
Two very turbulent flights later, I finally landed in Bonaire.
The excitement of arriving made the shitty weather and the recent breakup with my college boyfriend seem trivial - like brushing away a mosquito at a picnic. My mom and my friends were there to celebrate my egotistical ass for an entire weekend; what more could I ask for?
But do you know when there’s a permanent feeling you can’t seem to shake off? It feels like a nod in your throat or a stomachache.
There was this electricity in the air, a feeling of euphoria that I still can’t quite describe, but the entire weekend felt… I still can’t describe it 12 years later.
Maybe it was because I felt like a peer to my mom rather than her overprotected child. For the first time, we respected one another rather than getting stuck in a power struggle dynamic and truly enjoyed each other’s company.
For context, I was the product of a successful IVF round in a tumultuous marriage that ended in screams and an absent father. My mom's greatest wish was to become a mother, and after seven years of trying to get pregnant, she finally did. Then she proceeded to leave her cheating husband’s ass to dedicate her life to raising me.
Talk about dedication.
During the trip, we did nothing but chill. We spent the days dancing flamenco to Gypsy Kings, going to the supermarket to buy the catch of the day, and doing “Drunk Yoga.”
The dinner conversations were about sex scandals from my Mom’s teenage years and racy stories from the time she caught my dad cheating and the subsequent events.
If I am a good storyteller, my mom was even better, and my friends and I were highly entertained.
Elena, opened up to us and showed us a side that I was seeing for the first time.
Perhaps the years we spent living apart while I was in college gave us the necessary distance to connect, or maybe I was becoming an adult (?) and was able to interact with her in a healthier way.
I think I’m good at picking up the foreshadowing breadcrumbs in movies. In most, I can absolutely tell what’s going to happen. The music gets more intense, the lighting changes, and then boom - the “unexpected” happens. In retrospect, I think I knew something was about to go down all along.
On the last evening of the trip, my mom (the best cook I’ve ever met) and my friend Isa (second best cook) prepared the most amazing dinner, and once again, we overextended the conversation until 4 am. At one point in the night, my mom made a toast and expressed that she had reached maximum happiness with all of us there. That if she were to die tomorrow, she would die in peace; she even said she wanted her remains to be scattered where my grandfather died: by the ocean in our favorite place in the world. We all nervously laughed and told her there was no reason to cut her life short.
The last hours of the trip were a bit of a blur, but I remembered that nothing seemed to flow that day. Nothing clicked. We ran out of Venezuelan cigarettes (panic!), we all had issues with our flights out of Bonaire, and my mom was a fucking wreck.
Every time we said goodbye, she entered a frantic state, but that day, it seemed to hit her harder than ever. I was the first to fly out, and she and my friends drove me to the airport to say goodbye. Right before the gate, my mom started balling out, and I remembered being embarrassed, borderline annoyed with the fact - I was like, “MOM RELAX, I’ll see you in two fucking months; stop making a scene” I hugged her, and boarded my plane ready to part ways (cold).
When I landed in Miami for my connecting flight to DC, two disturbing voicemails were waiting to be heard on my cell.
The first one was from my mom. She sounded drunk and confused. I could barely understand what she was saying, as if she had a hot potato in her mouth. The second was from Francisco, my friend I left behind with her in Bonaire, saying to call him back immediately.
I remember standing in what felt like the longest immigration line ever when I called them back. Squatting between people, trying to avoid the immigration officers catching me on my phone, I finally connected with Francisco. In under 45 seconds, he explained that shortly after I left, my mom had “a seizure or something” and fainted.
Elena could be a bit dramatic, but this seemed extreme. When I asked him to put her on the phone, he said, 'The thing is... she hasn’t woken up.' I was so confused. I left four hours ago; ‘What do you mean she hasn't woken up yet?!’
My entire family mobilized to get my mom out of the tiniest nurse's office on the island and into a real hospital. In the meantime, I had no other option but to stay in Miami and await further instructions. This was in 2011, during the height of Venezuela’s communist period under President Hugo Chavez. Hospitals were in terrible conditions, and it wasn’t safe to take her there in such a fragile state.
Out of desperation, feeling the clock against us, we decided, as a family, to fly my mom to Bogotá, Colombia, where my aunt, her only sister, was living at the time. I took the first flight out of Miami, and when I landed in Bogotá, the immigration officer said, “Happy birthday! What brought you to Colombia? Your 21st birthday?”
I answered, “I think my mom just died.”
Somehow, I knew that the last time I kissed her goodbye at that gate in Bonaire was the last time I was going to feel her warmth.
There’s more to this story, so please stay tuned for Part 2.
💌 I’m turning 34 today, and it’s my mom’s 13th anniversary - I’m also getting married next week, so it’s been an eventful month. Please bear with me as I find the courage to sit down and write Part 2. 💌
🍒🍒 Today’s snack time will be different: short and sweet.
It felt like an insult to share my browsing history or shopping links, yet this is the playlist I listen to whenever I want to connect to my mom.
It‘s also great for cooking, hosting, and reminiscing.
Wow. I can’t imagine what you went through Ana. You are so resilient ❤️
Va a ser difícil leer algo más profundo y mágico por el resto de mi vida