Two Years Gone

Dear Mama,

You have been gone two years. If not for the videos and voicemails, I wouldn’t remember what your voice sounds like. I still remember when the hospice nurse called me to say that you were beginning to slip away. I had just gotten out of a budget meeting and my mind raced as I asked questions. When I hung up, I ran upstairs to find a rabbi. Rabbi Robbins and Rabbi Kim consoled me before Alice took me to see you. Rabbi Lewis came to visit the next day, your last day here on Earth, and sat next to me as I said my goodbyes. You died a few hours after I left. 

There have been countless times since when all I’ve wanted is to call you or run into your arms. When I gave birth to Eliza, I wanted to be able to hand her to you, for you to hold your granddaughter, and it hurts so much that you never got to do that. She is a beautiful little firecracker of a human and I’ve had so many questions I’ve wanted to ask you about how you managed parenthood. I have an amazing husband and partner and I still struggle, so I can’t wrap my mind around how you were able to raise me on your own. I’ve wanted to ask you questions that I never thought about before I had my own child. I’ve wondered about what you would have been like as a grandma and how you would have bonded with Eliza. 

As much as I miss you, a part of me is thankful you aren’t here to witness this increasingly scary and uncertain world. After October 7th, I know you would have been terrified for my safety and that of your granddaughter’s. When the news came this week that Shiri, Ariel, and Kfir Bibas were brutally murdered, I cried. Eliza is the same age that Kfir was when he and his family were abducted by Hamas. After an unexpectedly tough meeting on Thursday, I ran to Eliza’s classroom and hugged her. I kept whispering how much I love her and that I would do anything to protect her. Later on, when I was alone, all I could think was “How am I supposed to protect my daughter when the world seems to be targeting every part of who she is?” She’s a Jewish girl and part Hispanic, a combination of marginalized groups that are being targeted. All I want to do now is run into your arms and cry. I want to ask you how you kept me safe during the worst of my depression, when I was a danger to myself. I just want you to be here and I wonder if I’m strong enough to be what she needs. I always felt safe with you and I hope Eliza feels that way with me one day. 

I miss you so much. You never got to see me find the love of my life, get married, or have my own child. You never got to meet Stephen, who gave me the family I thought I wouldn’t be able to have, complete with two amazing bonus children. 

You also never got to see Maxine with Eliza. It took some time, but they are the best of friends. When Eliza was sick earlier this month, she would go and lay her head on Maxine, who seemed to know that she just needed some comfort. You would have loved that. I am so grateful Maxine has been here for Eliza because it’s almost like you have been here for her too. 

I can’t believe it’s only been two years since losing you, it feels like an eternity. I wanted to go to Oak Cliff today, specifically Kidd Springs, where we lived for so long, but I just couldn’t. I haven’t been there since I moved over two years ago, when you were in the last few months of your life. It’s still painful to think about the place where I have so many memories of you and I don’t know when that will change. 

I miss you every single day and hope you would be proud of me. I am so grateful you were my mom. I love you. 

Love,

Anjelica