eso ocurre asi,que un dia las cosas no son como parecen. por ejemplo,descubrir que ella trataba de ayudar,pero como cada vez que sugeria algo se equivocaba,o asi la trataba yo,simplemente decidio callarse un dia. y sin embargo lo intentaba,dando consejos enredados en enormes cantidades de conocimiento,y sufriendo por [...]
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From Craigslist:RANT:Why I’m not in prison right now. So I go up to the roof again,one weekend real early in the morning when she would have been up there,and it was all gone. The pigeons,the coops,the pigeon crap everywhere,everything,vanished. It was like it all got blown away [...] This picture was taken an incredible amount of years ago,in a calm October,in our first house in Bogotá. We were having fun in the backyard;my father taking pictures,my mother talking with him,my brothers and I playing around. I was climbing that big cherry tree that got loaded every December,straddling our neighbor’s wall,trying to make a bow and arrows out of the smaller branches of the tree,taunting and yelling at my neighbor,and jumping up and down with my striped pants and splotched colorful shirt. She was this very happy lawyer,her title as doctor in cassation recently obtained. I was in first grade,my father HR manager of a big company. The memories of that life get mixed with the ones of my last years in Colombia,but small pieces get trapped in the photo album,the stories I hear,the things I dream. The days at school haven’t yet got any significance,my brothers are getting the idea of being social,and my aunts are late for something. Sometimes I revisit that place,that day in my memory,in my hopes. There is so much in those eyes,that hair,that smile! At that moment I have two small brothers,which I consider crazy even to this day,my father is still smoking two packs a day,and I get my first ideas about politics since I am the only liberal in my school’s conservative environment. My mother,however,smiles. She knows that life is just a series of moments,and she is clearly enjoying that instant. She was wise,determined,brave. She used to fight with incredible tenacity,competed permanently,and was incredibly subtle,marvelously expressive. That day tasted like cherries and ice cream,smooth as silk,languid and without hurries. We were at peace with the world,we enjoyed each others company,the family was complete,happy,hopeful. This is a good memory. Love you,Mother,wherever you are. Bookmark It Hide Sites $$(‘div.d1293′).each( function(e){e.visualEffect(‘slide_up’,{duration:0.5}) }); Mothers are like that. They leave suddenly,only to reappear in dreams and thoughts,in sudden conscious longings,in the long forgotten advice about car maintenance,in the shape of a hairdo,or the smell of forgotten soups. Mothers try like that,not to be remebered,but to give and do:somehow their task is [...] Woke up this morning with the phone ringing. The phone ringing. The phone ringing. Finally I manage to get out of bed,dreadful Monday,long weekend and even longer week ahead. Grey sky,too much light filtering through the blinds,reminding me that it is late,and I should be at work already. ID doesn’t [...] It has been nine months already. Although writing,and the voices of support from everybody,have helped ease this pain,there is something unfinished,a sense of having lost something precious,a desire to go and work harder at showing things,as if the effort were to give me the answers I am seeking. There [...] Dreamt with/of my mother. Bookmark It Hide Sites $$(‘div.d1032′).each( function(e){e.visualEffect(‘slide_up’,{duration:0.5}) }); Spoke with my father,and he reminded me that today it is seven months. The memory is alive,though. I act as if I would be able to share anything with her,trying to get a response,a word. And then it hits,a small bump in my conscience,the impossibility of talking to her. Small details that go around,and always the though of going there,telling her something,showing her something. It feels as when I was five years old,and I called the police and placed a missing person report because my mom didn’t come home at lunchtime. Of course,that evening she was home checking my homework – this time the knowledge of the permanence of the situation makes that separation to feel inapprehensible. Grim chronology,this one based on death. Bookmark It Hide Sites $$(‘div.d922′).each( function(e){e.visualEffect(‘slide_up’,{duration:0.5}) }); Everything changes,from Joshua Micah Marshall,on his mother. via Ed Cone. Bookmark It Hide Sites $$(‘div.d827′).each( function(e){e.visualEffect(‘slide_up’,{duration:0.5}) }); I am trying to easily escape all thoughts and ideas that assault me. It is six months today that my mother died. It still hurts. Spoke with my father,and his voice was almost breaking. Tried to sound calm,but am not good at lying –really,my voice sounded as I was terribly sad. Maybe I am. I miss the ease with which it was possible to look at somebody and be reassured on this situation. These days get longer,but as well the memories seem to last more,the sadness lingers and a little more humidity appears out of nowhere. Keep busy,I tell to myself,yet there is no easy way to do it. Keep moving forward,yes,of course,that is the only option. I had promised myself I was not going to be sentimental about my mother’s death. A rational,logical process. A situation that could be managed. Not quite so. Went to a church today,and prayed in a very small way,very shy,for her,for me,for my father,my brothers. Death per se is not so hard and experience to assimilate,. The difficult part is the new reality that appears,the truth of being alone,or having a thousand questions,and stories,and things to share. I lost her last message on my phone –it got deleted automatically. It was a cheerful voice,a promise to visit,the voice of a happy person. Just barely remember it now,though. It is sad that the first thing we lose is that,the voices and sounds. We may preserve the pictures,and some letters even,but the sounds,the spontaneous mirth in front of a mike,the sudden insight,all lost. Knowing that whatever I do they will understand,that I may choke but then look on defiantly and they would look at me and understand the pain and the reluctance to cry and make it public. Grieve in private. To listen to music and enjoy it and cry internally,and perhaps only one of them would know what is it. Madre,siempre para adelante. Bookmark It Hide Sites $$(‘div.d813′).each( function(e){e.visualEffect(‘slide_up’,{duration:0.5}) }); |  | ||||||
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