9 Years. Forgive?

Last Friday, the 24th of September, I woke with a feeling of something missing. I remember waking up, getting ready for work, and trying to find what was bugging me that I just couldn’t remember. Still confused, I got in my car to start heading for work and out of nowhere I began to think about a conversation I had with a friend a few days prior. Based on the conversation we were having, she told me that I must be a way more forgiving person than herself. It got me thinking about how I reflect myself towards others in moments of forgiveness.

When I got to work and parked my car, I pulled out my phone from my purse and looked on the date it read. Friday September 24th was my late brother Salvador’s nine year death anniversary.

I was immediately overwhelmed with memories and started reflecting back on everything that happened. I find it strange that even after all this time I still feel the same pain I felt when he passed away nine years ago. Throughout the whole day I kept thinking about Chava (his knick name). But it’s a funny thing because I can’t think about Chava without thinking about my late father Rafael who passed away in 1995. All day I kept thinking about both of them and kept wondering what life would have been like if they were still here.

There’s this one piece footage we have on video cassette of the two of them together singing. I’m sure by now my family members reading this know which one I’m talking about. If I had it with me, I would put it on here for everyone to see because it is the most endearing moment between the two them during that 1991 Christmas party. The camera was facing them, they were facing a few family members, and each had one of their arms around each other’s opposite shoulder. I don’t remember the Spanish song they were singing but they were both serenading the family. In sync and in tune, they stood there showcasing their talent when suddenly and coincidently they both get stuck on the same line of the song because they didn’t know the rest of it. They paused to look at each other and everyone busted out laughing. I don’t know how many times I’ve watched it, but everytime I do it still cracks me up.

For some reason that’s when I started thinking about me being a forgiving person like my friend had told me I was. That day I realized that maybe I am a forgiving person. Maybe I forgive more than I should. Maybe I give people too many chances. But I feel as though I learned to forgive in order to move on. I think I learned a lot about myself and grown tolerant of people when mourning the death of my brother and dad. I learned to forgive myself for not saying what I should have said to Chava or Dad. I learned to forgive myself for not spending more time with them before they passed away. I learned to forgive the details of my mistakes when they were alive. Otherwise, how the hell am I supposed to move on?! I think I have forgiven myself for a lot of things but I haven’t forgiven myself completely. And I don’t think I can. Who knows, maybe I never will. Maybe that’s why sometimes I feel stuck in that emotional fear and anxiety to losing a family member. To this day I still fear a single phone call from one of my sisters will be about someone dying in the family. As hard as that is to write, I admit it.

With Dad and Chava’s death, I remember every thought I had after they died. I was only 11 years old when Dad died, but I remember thinking about going to his gravesite at night. It was a few weeks after he died and I remember thinking about taking a shovel to his gravesite at night when no one was there, digging him up, open his coffin, and just hug him one last time. I knew he was dead and wasn’t coming back, but I wanted that last chance to give him one more hug. And the funny thing is, we all actually got a chance to do that at the hospital before the machines were taken away. But my last chance wasn’t enough.

When I was about to turn 15 and was planning my Quinceñera, I remember my sister Lupe taking me and my youngest sister to the cemetery to go see his gravesite. We usually went about once a week. We were there for a little while and when we were leaving I remember my sister Lupe telling me “When you walk down the aisle at church on your Quinceñera, make a little room for Dad so he can join you ok.” She didn’t see me because I turned away, but I couldn’t stop crying when she said that.

When Chava died, I remember feeling very scared. Everywhere I went and whoever I was with, I felt terrified. (I never told anyone and some of these thoughts are all going to be new to my family members reading this so I apologize to you guys if this triggers any old feelings.) I couldn’t identify what I was afraid of but felt fear itself. I remember being very quiet and waiting for him to appear in front of me. It had been a few days after he died and I remember lying down on my bed in my room one night just staring at the popcorn ceiling at my mom’s house. I was 18 years old and I remember thinking to myself “Ok Chava, where are you? Are you there?” I don’t know why but I waited and waited for him to appear out of nowhere as if that’s what is supposed to happen. I remember feeling certain that he was going to appear and I didn’t want to miss it. But he never appeared.

There’s still a lot I can say about Dad and Chava. But I would need more than the space provided here. For now, I’d like to keep them in my dreams and in my prayers. Thank you for reading.