Leer este post en español.
120 months (ten years) ago today, I moved to Mexico. One year and two days ago, I started to share openly that I was pregnant. Four days ago, my husband’s mom died. It is almost inconceivable to me that in less than 6 months, Yeyo lost his son and his mother… and both of them, so very unexpectedly. I only know how it has been for me, the departure of my mother-in law, María Ofelia Arruti Hernández. I can only talk about the way that one grief touches and stirs the other. I can only share that every time I imagine Ofelia on “the other side,” I see Rafa in her arms, the two of them smiling and enjoying themselves. Every time I think of this, I weep. They are tears of sadness and joy, pure emotion. I have no idea if a place like heaven exists. I doubt it. But it gives me so much solace thinking of Rafa with his grandma, that I am forced to suspend my disbelief.
Pero desde la muerte de Rafa el tiempo es diferente –ya no lo vivo simplemente como una herramienta para marcar una ocurrencia o evento en específico– . Aunque me gustaría creer que es así: divisible, limitado, lineal… siento que no es tan sencillo. Ahora experimento el tiempo lineal como una trampa. Cuando abrí mi agenda en el mes de diciembre este año, leí la intención y reí de mí misma con cinismo. Decía: “Enjoy the moments of feeling good and wellbeing. It is a time to celebrate a wonderful, magical year.” (Disfruta los buenos momentos y sentimientos de bienestar. Es el tiempo de celebrar un año mágico maravilloso.)
There is the lingering sadness that was more alive (or had more room) during the time we were together; our togetherness somehow made Rafa’s absence more present. There are questions about how much I should continue to self-identify first and foremost as a bereaved mother, asking myself if that is healthy or useful. There was space for anger (which I have struggled with letting out). There was this beautiful little one-year-old, Andino. There was also a fuck-ton of laughter and fun and joy! I felt bathed in the light of the community: the light of each person and the glow of our collective power.
Pero, no me mal interpretes, me encanta todo sobre estos festejos. Me encantan los colores: morados, anaranjados, amarillos, fucsias, negros. Me encantan los disfraces, las comparsas, la creación de altares. Me encanta la solemnidad y la celebración, todo junto en un paradójico paquete. Este es básicamente el único día feriado que celebro durante el año. Pero con el bombo publicitario en los Estados Unidos sobre el Día de los Muertos en los años recientes, Oaxaca se ha vuelto en un tipo de Meca para extranjeros durante estos días. Y este año, pues, tengo una relación bastante distinta con la muerte de la que tenía antes.
In the Name of Rafa 