Miracles and Other Stories...
On Monday, July 21st, my cousin Karen gave birth to Sarah, her second daughter. The next day, her sister Kathy gave birth to Lucas, her fourth child, and her only son. These are our miracles - babies born at this time that my mother will never meet, speak to, or hold. They are here to breathe new life and stand at the threshold of new beginnings for a family battered down by sadness and trying to lift itself back up on the wings of tiny angels. We have come back, swatting away the cobwebs of sorrow to reveal new light on which to go forward.
The Saturday following the lovingly anticipated births, the expanse of our heavily branched family tree gathers in Pennsylvania to meet and greet the new additions. There is quite a bit of laughter and good cheer. “I didn’t know everyone was going,” says my sweet husband, genuinely surprised. “Of course!” I cry with great enthusiasm, “Babies were born! The family is growing! You think we’re just going to send a card?” That’s okay, I think, he and I are culturally different and we learn from each other.
At the gathering, the rest of the children play with purpose, knowing that the in-betweens are long. The day lends itself to frolicking in the pool and the children take advantage of it all. On the deck the grill is hot and busy, food going on and off in a kind of dance with purpose. The various branches of the family chatter happily under shade of a patio umbrella. The ice chests flanking the sliding doors to the house are filled to capacity and drinks and condiments litter the table, passing around with ease and comfort. Food and beverage are shared during spontaneous conversations.
Inside, the powerful whirring of the air-conditioner keeps the inhabitants, who shy away from the sun, cool and content. Around the table in Karen’s open and airy kitchen, people gather and talk about their lives, recalling days gone by and discussing plans in the short and long term. In and out through the sliding doors adults and kids come and go. Little bodies are running in soaked bathing suits, or dry play clothes ready for the next adventure. Adults with sodas or beers in hand use the drinks to cool off from the day’s heated persistence.
Among us, a new member circles about, her dark, curly hair settled in a bun atop her head, her big, pretty eyes observing us all as we watch her. And yet, without effort she fills the space that is meant for her and blends, as if she has always been around. Kevin smiles and looks so deeply happy – a man content in a part of his life where it is imperative to be content above all - and that is all we really want for him in the end. That someone we love - in a family that loves too much – found the other (equal, not better or worse) half to compliment him and go forward into tomorrows.
The newborns pass from loving arms to loving arms, suddenly detached so vividly from the cocoons of their mothers’ bodies. In unfamiliar arms they remain as quiet and lovely. Each person is cooing or kissing the delicate little beings with much tenderness and love. They are, after all, the reason for us all being here at once and their presence does not go unnoticed. In a moment, they’re placed side by side in a crib and we look, breaths held, at what love has made.
In other parts of the blessed home, more guests fill the space and everyone seems lifted by the mere contribution of being a part of this wonderful mosaic. On the floor, gifts are strewn about for there are more than just the babies to celebrate on this special day. In another part of the house, or yard, the birthday girl who started the ball rolling, is deep in game and fun. At the moment, her attention is elsewhere. There is so much fun to be had, so many games to be played, so much little girl talking to do. Yet it will be she who pulls in all of the elements of this flock for the traditional singing of Happy Birthday, the blowing out of candles, the cutting of the cake. Yet, there will be a difference because Lauren is a child born into a bicultural existence. The difference will soon be heard in a similar song that follows the old stand-by. For Lauren’s many happy returns, this version will be in Spanish. We chant the song with verve… “Que los cumplas fe—líz”…I look around and see the thrill of the moment in all the well-known, familiar faces. And I am a part of that, I think.
This is what I adore about my family. These dynamics of the relationships we share of intermingled love that passes, not without its fair share of troubles, as we find ways to make sense of this life we are living. The loud and welcome noise of laughter and chatter, the hot food served on paper dishes and eaten with plastic forks because that is not what matters at all. Whether on purpose or by chance, we are forced to unknowingly relive that simple, rustic, ingrained cultural element that makes us uniquely Latinos. We find comfort in unpretentious chaos and familiarity in abundance of family. ‘Mi casa es su casa’ means something quite tangible and basic to us. We throw down that Welcome mat with meaning behind it and we back it up with actions – open doors, unannounced visits met with joy, come one, come all, sure you can the stay the night! The food and drink multiply effortlessly to accommodate the guests, the strays, and the add-ons. It’s all good here. It takes just a few of us to make a party, but we live by the-more-the-merrier law of nature. I spend the time as a working member of this crazy clan – I carry the babies, I pick at the food, I participate in this conversation or that one. All the while, I am watching and committing to memory all that I see. I am inhaling the moment like Amy Winehouse to her bong. And though I toss in that minor joke, I am not by any means making light of how very important this day of family togetherness really is. We are all here and we meet under very different circumstances and this is good.
Then, unexpectedly, there is that one moment that shakes me to the core, while filling me with pride. Suddenly, the foundation of what I know to be true shifts and I am hopeful again. This family I love so dearly, that has at times been its own worst enemy, offers a sense of renewal to itself in one simple act of kindness. My uncle, who is my Godfather, with the gentleness and concern of a father, helps my cousin whose eyes betray her - leaving her in darkness - to descend the steps of the deck and make the long walk to the pool to dip in just her fingertips and to hear the reckless laughter of the children swimming around. What would my mother have given to have seen that then? I am smiling so much that it hurts because I am trying not to cry. This affects me as if it symbolized a miraculous event. I nod to myself because I am not worried anymore because I know my mother is somewhere smiling at this, too.
When we part, having had our fill of love and food, content and happy as carefree babies, we hug and kiss with meaning. There is no awkwardness in our closeness. We don’t hug out of obligation; we hug out of pure desire to do so to express love. Our good-byes are tender in so many ways – we linger longer, hold on tighter, mean our words more: “Will see you soon!” “Call you tomorrow!”, “We’ll try to come up in a week or two.” And though our promises are real and heartfelt, inevitably life will get in our way and plans will not come to fruition and when we see each other again, the same excuses will cross our lips: “Got caught up…” “Was sick with the flu..” “Swamped at work…” But there will be no hard feelings because we will nod and agree and say that we too have been stuck, sick or busy. It’s just human nature and who else, but your family, will understand that and still welcome you back with arms wide open?
The Saturday following the lovingly anticipated births, the expanse of our heavily branched family tree gathers in Pennsylvania to meet and greet the new additions. There is quite a bit of laughter and good cheer. “I didn’t know everyone was going,” says my sweet husband, genuinely surprised. “Of course!” I cry with great enthusiasm, “Babies were born! The family is growing! You think we’re just going to send a card?” That’s okay, I think, he and I are culturally different and we learn from each other.
At the gathering, the rest of the children play with purpose, knowing that the in-betweens are long. The day lends itself to frolicking in the pool and the children take advantage of it all. On the deck the grill is hot and busy, food going on and off in a kind of dance with purpose. The various branches of the family chatter happily under shade of a patio umbrella. The ice chests flanking the sliding doors to the house are filled to capacity and drinks and condiments litter the table, passing around with ease and comfort. Food and beverage are shared during spontaneous conversations.
Inside, the powerful whirring of the air-conditioner keeps the inhabitants, who shy away from the sun, cool and content. Around the table in Karen’s open and airy kitchen, people gather and talk about their lives, recalling days gone by and discussing plans in the short and long term. In and out through the sliding doors adults and kids come and go. Little bodies are running in soaked bathing suits, or dry play clothes ready for the next adventure. Adults with sodas or beers in hand use the drinks to cool off from the day’s heated persistence.
Among us, a new member circles about, her dark, curly hair settled in a bun atop her head, her big, pretty eyes observing us all as we watch her. And yet, without effort she fills the space that is meant for her and blends, as if she has always been around. Kevin smiles and looks so deeply happy – a man content in a part of his life where it is imperative to be content above all - and that is all we really want for him in the end. That someone we love - in a family that loves too much – found the other (equal, not better or worse) half to compliment him and go forward into tomorrows.
The newborns pass from loving arms to loving arms, suddenly detached so vividly from the cocoons of their mothers’ bodies. In unfamiliar arms they remain as quiet and lovely. Each person is cooing or kissing the delicate little beings with much tenderness and love. They are, after all, the reason for us all being here at once and their presence does not go unnoticed. In a moment, they’re placed side by side in a crib and we look, breaths held, at what love has made.
In other parts of the blessed home, more guests fill the space and everyone seems lifted by the mere contribution of being a part of this wonderful mosaic. On the floor, gifts are strewn about for there are more than just the babies to celebrate on this special day. In another part of the house, or yard, the birthday girl who started the ball rolling, is deep in game and fun. At the moment, her attention is elsewhere. There is so much fun to be had, so many games to be played, so much little girl talking to do. Yet it will be she who pulls in all of the elements of this flock for the traditional singing of Happy Birthday, the blowing out of candles, the cutting of the cake. Yet, there will be a difference because Lauren is a child born into a bicultural existence. The difference will soon be heard in a similar song that follows the old stand-by. For Lauren’s many happy returns, this version will be in Spanish. We chant the song with verve… “Que los cumplas fe—líz”…I look around and see the thrill of the moment in all the well-known, familiar faces. And I am a part of that, I think.
This is what I adore about my family. These dynamics of the relationships we share of intermingled love that passes, not without its fair share of troubles, as we find ways to make sense of this life we are living. The loud and welcome noise of laughter and chatter, the hot food served on paper dishes and eaten with plastic forks because that is not what matters at all. Whether on purpose or by chance, we are forced to unknowingly relive that simple, rustic, ingrained cultural element that makes us uniquely Latinos. We find comfort in unpretentious chaos and familiarity in abundance of family. ‘Mi casa es su casa’ means something quite tangible and basic to us. We throw down that Welcome mat with meaning behind it and we back it up with actions – open doors, unannounced visits met with joy, come one, come all, sure you can the stay the night! The food and drink multiply effortlessly to accommodate the guests, the strays, and the add-ons. It’s all good here. It takes just a few of us to make a party, but we live by the-more-the-merrier law of nature. I spend the time as a working member of this crazy clan – I carry the babies, I pick at the food, I participate in this conversation or that one. All the while, I am watching and committing to memory all that I see. I am inhaling the moment like Amy Winehouse to her bong. And though I toss in that minor joke, I am not by any means making light of how very important this day of family togetherness really is. We are all here and we meet under very different circumstances and this is good.
Then, unexpectedly, there is that one moment that shakes me to the core, while filling me with pride. Suddenly, the foundation of what I know to be true shifts and I am hopeful again. This family I love so dearly, that has at times been its own worst enemy, offers a sense of renewal to itself in one simple act of kindness. My uncle, who is my Godfather, with the gentleness and concern of a father, helps my cousin whose eyes betray her - leaving her in darkness - to descend the steps of the deck and make the long walk to the pool to dip in just her fingertips and to hear the reckless laughter of the children swimming around. What would my mother have given to have seen that then? I am smiling so much that it hurts because I am trying not to cry. This affects me as if it symbolized a miraculous event. I nod to myself because I am not worried anymore because I know my mother is somewhere smiling at this, too.
When we part, having had our fill of love and food, content and happy as carefree babies, we hug and kiss with meaning. There is no awkwardness in our closeness. We don’t hug out of obligation; we hug out of pure desire to do so to express love. Our good-byes are tender in so many ways – we linger longer, hold on tighter, mean our words more: “Will see you soon!” “Call you tomorrow!”, “We’ll try to come up in a week or two.” And though our promises are real and heartfelt, inevitably life will get in our way and plans will not come to fruition and when we see each other again, the same excuses will cross our lips: “Got caught up…” “Was sick with the flu..” “Swamped at work…” But there will be no hard feelings because we will nod and agree and say that we too have been stuck, sick or busy. It’s just human nature and who else, but your family, will understand that and still welcome you back with arms wide open?
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