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Lessons from my Mom and Son/#34-infinity

Dear GB, Dear Mami,

I decided to do a hybrid blog to both of you because the two of you share this quality of spaces in my heart that I didn’t know I had, until I had them. I’m sorry it has been so long since I’ve written. I’m sorry Mami that my Lessons from you have stayed mostly in my head. I’m sorry Jonah that these beautiful, wonderful, special almost 5 months of your life have gone by without many written documentations. Mostly, though, I am sorry to myself, because I am the one at the disadvantage when I don’t do this; when I don’t sit down and capture THIS MOMENT, then I am the one who loses it. Truly, the art of capturing a moment is the most difficult thing to do, because once you’ve paused to enjoy it, it has passed. A photo, while a wonderful contributor to this, can’t always do this. At least not when I take the picture… that was never one of my strengths. But here. Here is where I do my very best to put down the magic that will no longer be one day. I reread my letters to my Mom and I am instantly taken back to the instant they happened. I can never have those moments back, not even in my dreams—though I try—this is as close as I can come. I can’t not take advantage of that.

I’ve learned so much from my Mom watching Jonah grow up these past months. More than anything, I’ve learned to trust myself. Those first few weeks of his life, I felt so scared of every decision I made. Something so strange and sad, yet wonderful, to me, was this parallel that I felt between losing my mom and having my baby. Life, being a cycle, has remarkable similarities on each end. Jonah learning to move his limbs, taking in his new world, unraveling from fetal position into being not just a baby, but a little boy. I constantly thought of my Mom, losing the ability to freely move her limbs, reflecting on a world going dark, becoming so dependent. That sounds so sad, and sometimes it was, but it was also amazing. I can’t explain why I felt so moved and impacted by the similarities. Perhaps that contributed to my fear: remembering my loss. I didn’t want to not have you, Jonah. But every day you grew stronger and I got to know better and better. Now, we feel in sync. We get each other. You hugged me when I struggled to make it through the 26th of this month, thinking about losing my mom. You call to me, in your own type of words, and I understand it just as if you spoke. I trust in own intuition to know how to take care you. That is something I was given by my Mom, despite her not being here to speak to me, in a similar way to my conversations with Jonah, I know she’s helping me in some greater, indescribable way. Through memories, through years of growing up under her guidance.

Now today, I lay down with my gummy bear, and his chubby little arms wrap around me while he sleeps. He is no longer in my belly, but he is still a part of me, in a parallel to my still being a part of my mom. He wakes up, and his little hands travel up to my face, exploring my nose, my mouth, my breath with tiny extremities and curious faces. It sounds simple and ordinary, but this exact moment, I needed to write down. Because it is life. This is what my mom has given me. What I hope to give Jonah. What I wish to all my friends and family. This moment needs to stay ever present in my heart.

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