14 Minutes a Day by Anna Martinez (brene brown rising strong .txt) đź“–
- Author: Anna Martinez
Book online «14 Minutes a Day by Anna Martinez (brene brown rising strong .txt) 📖». Author Anna Martinez
My mother and I had never been particularly close. We had what you would call a love/hate relationship - we loved to hate each other. It’s not that we didn’t love one another. The truth is that my mother didn’t grow up in an open-arms, let- me-give-you-a-kiss-to-make-it-all-better kind of environment. It was more…oh- good-you’re-home-from-school-fetch-me-a-beer kinda home. So, you see? It’s not that she didn’t love me - it’s that she didn’t know how to love me.
Although, that hadn’t stopped her from loving my dad…
It was summer, 1976 and she loved him so much that on their third date, she ran off with him to Mexico to elope. I don’t want you to picture some ten-hour drive through the desert. They were from El Paso, Texas - and Juarez, Mexico actually sits along the border. So, in all actuality my parents drove about twenty minutes to their destiny. My mom was so afraid to face her parents that she and her groom rented a motel room right after the ceremony and consummated their marriage - for two nights, three days. And on that third day, I was conceived!
My mom said she knew I was in her belly the second it happened and when they got back to El Paso, they went straight to see her parents. She had my dad wait out in his lime green, 1971 AMC Gremlin while she went inside to announce that she was now a married woman.
Five minutes later the front door banged open, and through it ran my mother, arms raised to Heaven, screaming, “I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant!”
My grandmother froze, broom in mid-swing. My grandfather…well, let’s just say, never feigned surprised even when it hit him square in his moneymaker. He sprinted straight to my dad, without missing a beat. Rifle in hand, fire in his eyes, he yanked open the driver’s side door, pulled his new son-in-law to his feet and spat out, “She’s your problem now!”
My mother went into the home she grew up in and threw all of her most prized possessions into a garbage bag, kissed first her mother and then her father on the cheek, got into her new husband’s Gremlin and never looked back.
My father had joined the ARMY about a year before; his bride had just graduated high school. His meager salary was enough to allow my mother to get degreed in Real Estate. She’d had a job lined up before receiving her certification. On her first day of work, she showed up with baggage – me. She begged and pleaded with her new boss to let me stay just one day. Her boss reluctantly agreed. One day turned into one week, which turned into one month, which ultimately turned into her company implementing an office day care. That must have been my purpose for existence because shortly after, every employee began bringing their own baggage to work. This was great because my mother would now spend nearly 24 hours a day with me. Maybe that’s what eradicated our relationship…
“Missing Him”
“Mom?…Mom!”, I yelled pushing through our heavy front door. Why my father installed thick, steel doors on our house, I’ll never know. I asked him once and he mumbled something about hurricanes and tornadoes. I had to remind him that we were in El Paso, not Kansas. He just told me to quit being a smart-ass and ordered me to get him a Big Red.
I searched every corner of our house looking for mom, but she was nowhere to be found. The one place I didn’t look was her bedroom - because that’s the one place in our household that is off limits. Now, as I stand outside the “forbidden” room, fist upright, ready to knock, I hear familiar sobs. They’re my mother’s sobs. She cries every day for 14 minutes. They may be at various times of the day, but for 14 minutes none-the-less. For five months she’s been mourning my father.
My father left us nine months ago, right after their wedding anniversary. He didn’t leave us like most husband’s leave their families - by saying they’re going out for milk and instead running off with some floozy they met at a bar or work. I wonder if they actually do buy milk - because its one thing to run off with another woman, it’s entirely something different to leave your family without milk. Maybe they leave it at the doorstep, then run off with the floozy?
Anyway, that wasn’t my father. My father was deployed to Iraq, to fight in Operation Desert Storm. He had been there for 4 months when my mother got a visit from Officers telling her that my dad had been traveling in a light armored vehicle when it hit an explosive that sent my father soaring into the air. My dad’s remains were never found.
A funeral by it’s own right is sad to begin with, but it’s awfully depressing when you know the coffin that everybody is pawing at is void of a body. I sat through the memorial service, then the burial and finally the wake, motionless. I tried to cry for days – I really did. But, each time I tried to push out tears, I’d just end up with a red face and a headache. Somewhere deep inside I held on to the hope that an empty coffin meant my father, my only ally, would find his way home. That was five months ago. I’m still waiting. My mom, on the other hand, has accepted reality and every day since, she mourns him for 14 minutes - no more, no less. One minute for every year they were married
I drop my fist, realizing that what I need to speak to her about isn’t so urgent after all, and I walk away. It’s now up to me to get dinner taken care of and to put a load of laundry to be washed. I hope tomorrow she tends to her sorrow while I’m at my Summer Gymnastics class - by the time I get home, she’ll be back to being my mom.
“A Real Beauty”When my mother was my age she was a real gem - “a timeless beauty”, is how my dad’s sisters often referred to her. She was 18 years old when she met my father and he said he fell head-over-heels in love with her the nano-second he laid his steel grey eyes upon her. She was reluctant to go on a first date with him since he was so good-looking, not to mention a couple years older. Add to that the fact that she’d never had a boyfriend and you can understand her apprehension. What would a GI want with an inexperienced teenager? But, my father was relentless. He also loved a challenge. Finally, after 5 months of courting, my mother agreed to a date. That lakeside picnic was exactly the push Cupid needed to make her realize that this was the first of many dates with the man who was to become her Soul Mate.
Now, as I stand staring at my mother’s red, blotchy face and watery, swollen eyes I am reminded of the love she had for my dad. I am reminded that when I lost my father, I also lost every tiny molecule of hope that my mother will someday spread some of that love to me.
I almost had it once. Love, I mean. From her. I was 7 years old and the three of us - mom, dad and I - were having a picnic in our backyard. My mother loves picnics. We had them whenever weather allowed - which is nearly year-round in El Paso. My dad ran into the house to fetch the pitcher of iced tea my mom had made. She makes the best iced tea. She lets a container of water and tea bags sit in the sun for a day, then adds the perfect amount of sugar and touch of lemon. As my dad went into the house, I bit into my hot dog and looked up to find my mother staring at me with a look I’d never seen before, at least directed at me: she wore a huge smile and her brown-sugar eyes sparkled.
“What’s wrong, Mami,” I asked, cautiously, “Do I have something on my face?”
She reached out for my arm, pulling me into a tight hug. Then she cupped my face in both of her hands and replied, “Nothing but beauty, My Love. Nothing but beauty.”
She kissed my forehead, stood up and went into the house to see what was taking dad so long.
“How was gymnastics, today?” Mom asked me now, realizing I was in the room. She dabbed at her eyes with the tissue she held in her hand.
“It was fine,” I replied. “We worked on back handsprings. Nearly sprained a wrist, but I’ll live.”
Immediately, my mother jumped out of her chair and grabbed the wrist I was holding. “Mijita, are you okay? Show me where it hurts.”
“I’m fine, Mom. It was nothing. Just landed wrong. That’s all.”
She looked into my eyes to search for clues that I wasn’t being honest, but dropped her gaze when she realized I was.
She let my wrist fall and stepped around me. “Dinner will be here in about 10 minutes. I hope you’re in the mood for pizza,” she told me as she headed for the stairs, straight to her bedroom, where she will spend the next 14 minutes.
“No Stress”
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