It’s hard to wrap my mind around the fairness of why my mother lived such a short life. She had an endless supply of goodness to bring to this world; she deserved to live a healthy and long life. I would say to God, «Please heal her, we still need her. You have the power to restore her body. All she ever prayed for was to see her grandchildren grow up. We need more time. My daughter needs more time; her future grandchildren have yet to meet her. We love her too much to lose her so soon.» Sometimes I’d say, «I will take her place. Take me, not her. She does not deserve this.»I pleaded every way I could to ultimately pray with my face on the floor «My God, please take her with you. If you will not heal her, please don’t let her suffer this way any longer. I trust you. I accept your will.» And after this prayer, I drove to her home, took her side, and whispered in her ear. «It’s okay mami, it’s alright, we will miss you, but we will be okay. We’ll take care of your baby, I promise Dennis will be okay. Please stop fighting. We are all so proud of how hard you tried.» And a few hours later, we surrounded her as she exhaled her last labored breath.
For some time, we lived in a house in ‘Barrio Alegría,’ a neighborhood with colorful homes and unpaved roads. I lived there from the ages of 3 to 6, and I somehow remember this period very clearly—especially when my mother would host the neighborhood kids in our backyard for Bible study sessions. I also remember walking miles from our house to the main street to try to catch a taxi to school, along with Fania and my mom, who taught Kindergarten at our school.
Our next-door neighbor was a man known as ‘El Pingüino’ (the Penguin), notorious in the neighborhood for being a thief. He was married to a very kind woman whom my mother adored. She always made an effort to show kindness to Pinguino and his wife.
Around the time we were preparing to move out of the rented house, we learned that Pingüino was HIV positive and had knowingly infected his wife; both were terminally ill. While we were moving, and when we weren’t home, Pingüino broke into our house and stole heirlooms that had been passed down from my late grandmother, Miriam. Although there was little monetary value in her jewelry box, my mother lamented the loss of pieces that held immense sentimental value. I remember how upset my sister and I were about it, but my mother, with a smile on her face, said to us, «That’s okay, girls. That jewelry is now his. I give it to him, and I forgive him.»
My mother decided to visit Pingüino. She said to him, ‘Pingüino, I know you took my jewelry. I want you to know that I forgive you, and you can keep it. But what concerns me most is that you haven’t made peace with God. I want you to find salvation. What more do you have to lose now?’ She sat next to him while he lay in his hammock, as he was too weak to stand, and Pingüino agreed to pray with her, turning his life over to the Lord in that moment.
After this conversation, my mother spoke to Pingüino’s wife, telling her, «You are a woman of faith. Trust that God can heal you. I believe with you that you will be healed. But once healed, if God brings you through this, I would like to see you start your life afresh. Let go of your old ways and begin anew.»
About a week later, Pingüino passed away, and miraculously, his wife was healed and she did start a new life.
I am not sure why I am sharing this story now. It just stands out to me how, at that time, my mother had only been a Christian for a few years. Yet she had the spiritual maturity to see someone who most would have discarded as a thief, unworthy of our time. She chose to see him for who he could become, with love and compassion and offered a bold invitation to make things right with the Lord and with his family.
If justice worked my way, then only «bad people» would die young. But aren’t we all just a decision away from being a bad person? I recently sat next to someone who refused to speak to me or even look me in the eyes. I thought deeply about what I could have done wrong to anger her so much. Then I remembered—I couldn’t make it to an event she had invited me to a couple of years back. If her version of justice prevailed, I’d be struck by lightning right now. It’s a bit comical how everyone we meet has a different version of us in their heads, shaped by their own impressions. But God knows who we truly are, and He knows who we will become. He didn’t see Matthew as a corrupt tax collector; He saw him as the disciple who would one day write one of the most important accounts in the New Testament and ultimately be martyred for his faith. God saw Pingüino as His son, who would join Him in heaven one afternoon with a clean slate.
I always thought that justice would be for a person with a pure heart to get to live a long and healthy life. Perhaps being here longer is not really a reward; reaching heaven sooner may be an abundance of His mercy and justice. God’s will was for my mother to fight Mesothelioma for 7 months, and ultimately take her so quickly. I trust this was God’s mercy towards her. I trust that He loved her more than all of us did. We fasted, we prayed, and we cried out to God to heal her body. His will was to take her home with Him, to give her an eternal body, to hold her so tight. I have a list of acquaintances that left us too soon. I often think about them, I think about the void that was left when they left. I think about how present their absence is still at their homes. I have no answers as to why they all left us so early.
I am going through waves of grief. Some days nothing has meaning; some days I am so angry; some days I just want to be surrounded by those I love; and some days I want to be alone. Sometimes the memory of her body failing and her little lungs working so hard haunts me, and I say, «Thank you, God, because she is not fighting anymore.» My daughter asks me where her Bubu is, and I tell her, «Bubu wishes she could be here, baby. Bubu is in heaven, and she loved you so much.» She fought so hard, and I will forever be so proud of her for trying. This pain is as heavy as the love I have for her. I just miss her even more as the days go by.
Camilleon 
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