My mother and I were very close. At one point, I made a decision. It seemed like the least I could do. It was about ten years before she died. I thought I’d just check in and speak to her every day without a miss.
For 10 years — I missed three, maybe four days. I spoke to her almost every day. By the time I started this reaching out — this connecting — her life had slowed down considerably. It wasn’t her health, and it wasn’t her attitude. My mother was a doer and very sharp till the very end. She would have done something daily if it had been up to her. But life had thrown her a considerable amount of curve balls (as it does), and now she parked it in front of the television set watching Telemundo tu canal español. She hated it but became resolved to take it. What else do you do? I guess if you’re a drinker, you drink and watch television. So, I thought, why not speak with her and give her a little connection, some care, a few laughs, and maybe a feeling of compassion and love from her beloved Carlito?
A friend who discovered I did this said: “You’re a good son!”
It was mostly a phone call. She’s not much of a phone talker; most conversations last seconds, maybe a few minutes, sometimes longer. But it happened almost every day. Well, I’m happy to report that this daily connection — this checking-in — has carried on into the afterlife!
I speak to my mom every day (still) even though she is dead. She passed on April 21st, 2022. Aside from my birthday, it’s one of the only dates I know by heart. Knowing something by heart is a lovely expression. On the surface, it means learning something so well that you can repeat it from memory. But there’s a deeper meaning. It suggests that the heart, rather than the brain, is the center of emotions, thought, wisdom, and memory. In Ancient Egypt, The heart was considered the core of the soul and intellect. In Ancient Greece and Rome, Philosophers like Aristotle posited that the heart was the seat of thought and sensation, while the brain was secondary.
My mom taught me a lot by accident or its adverse effects, as in what not to do. The one thing she taught me directly through her actions and how she saw the world was to love and, whenever possible, to give. To do for others. Talking to my mom when it started and still (while she’s dead) is one small way to make my love for her active.
The talking goes like this.
“Hola Mamita.”
And she responds!
A little context. I’m not insane. At least not any more than any of you are.
Why is this happening?
My mom loved checking in with me every day and didn’t want to stop. She had told me I had become like her father, and as she aged, she became very much like my child.
Maybe this will help explain it…
I’m an actor. I play characters, and I speak like them. Maybe there’s something there?
I’m also a writer, and when I write, characters speak to me, with me, and with each other through me. When it’s flowing, I just become the scribe and write it onto the page, which is another way of speaking like someone else.
Peter O’Toole once said, “We actors have more people living inside of us.” Is that it?
I also performed in a solo play called No Parole. A few thousand people saw it. It’s a play about me and my Mom. So, yes, this is very important… I channel my mom. In performance, I sound just like her. When performing the play, I played her as a young woman as an older woman. There is no difference between my performance and the real woman when I’m playing her. So maybe that’s why this is happening? Or why can I hear her so clearly?
As of this moment, I have initiated all of our interactions.
With “hola mamita”. And she always responds.
She has surprised me on numerous occasions. This means I never know what she will say, and sometimes it’s very unexpected, but it’s always quintessentially her.
One time, weeks after she passed. I was in my car, and I was suddenly bereft with emotion. I heaved in heavy, rhythmic sobs only to hear her say…
“Ya! Ya! Ya, CARAJO!” Yes, she was annoyed that I kept crying about her.
One time, my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer, and I kept asking my mom, “Is Lupetta going to be ok?” She assured me she would be fine, “I got it!” Yes, I asked her multiple times. I was scared. At one point, my mom rolled her eyes, shook her head, and said, “u, yu yui ustedes no escuchan!” “You don’t listen”.
That time, it was very much like a dream. I don’t remember seeing her roll her eyes, but I knew she had done it. After saying “u, yu yui” she didn’t answer for a few days. But then she came back.
“Hola Mamita!’
So, we’ve established that I know my mom innately. I know what she sounds like, and yes, I can mimic her cadence, tempo, sense of humor, and emotional states. Is that why she speaks to me? A part of me wants to understand how this is possible, how she talks to me every day from the other side.
I’m not a medium. I don’t see dead people. Raise your hand if you’re dead. Again, I can't see you, but I thought I'd ask. You never know nowadays!
I’m not religious. I’m a spiritual person with a practice. There is more than we can see, hear, and feel. I believe in the other side. And I know that my mother talks to me every day. I speak to her, and she speaks back!
I have faith, trust, and hope. And however this is happening, I don’t lose sleep over it. I’m so happy it’s happening. I feel it’s a remarkable thing — a wondrous gift.
My mother lived a life where giving was all she did and wanted to do. My mother was a doer. Yes, she was a renowned international con artist, so she would take from everyone to give to everyone else. But that’s not what this post is about.
Let’s say my mom was like the giving tree, and here again, even after her death, she continues to give.
She gave us a finger drawing in the clouds on the morning she died.
She had just passed, and my little brother took Luna, our beloved dog, for a walk. It was a little after four in the morning, and there was no plane in the air or a cloud in the sky.
Seconds after stepping out, my little brother came back in and said, “What the fuck is that!”
We all looked outside into the sky; my mother had drawn a heart.
I can rationalize what that was, but there is no need. It’s unimportant. It’s like trying to explain love. You try to explain it to someone… love comes from the heart, not the brain.
The heart in the sky was my mother reaching out and connecting. Back then, she didn’t want to leave us, so she chose something more dramatic and meaningful, like finger painting in the sky, like the little girl we’d all come to care for, trying desperately to reach out to her loved ones, she’s left on this side.
My mother and I were very connected — that’s the right word. We were connected, and she continues to make contact. It’s as if she never left.
I mostly share this because… my siblings don’t hear her like I do. I tell them to start talking to her. But as of today, they haven’t heard from her yet. I think this… while unorthodox, it feels normal to me. It feels like home. It feels right. I wonder how many people from the other side call out to us, hoping we will listen. Hoping we will continue to share our days, thoughts, fears, joys, and stories.
I once heard a medium say, “The dead love it when we think of them.” If they love us thinking of them, how happy would they be to hear from us? Speak to your dead. They might respond.
Gracias Mamita.
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