Yes. The second time. The first time I met Sandra Cisneros I completely fangirled over her and was every bit socially awkward, which for those that KNOW me, I am not a socially awkward person. My unGracefullness was at about a 30 out of 10. Yeah... it was bad. To make matters worse, it was her birthday! DOH!
But I'm digressing.
After an emergency trip to my hometown in Mexico to see my mom almost 2 years ago, I ended my 12 year marriage. About a week or so after that, my mom passed away. Unless you are estranged, or have had a very difficult relationship with your mom, I don't believe anyone is ever "ready" to be momless. EVER. We had our issues, but I was never blind to her struggles, to all the things she did for me, to her unbreakable strength. I am at peace with her death. I was able to say goodbye, our last words to each other were "I love you". She had been drifting in and out of our conversation but when it came time to say goodbye, she was as clear-headed as could be. She passed away on the morning of September 9th.
October 1st, in the middle of a meeting at work, where the CEO of my company was involved, I realized I was not going to get my "before the ass-crack of dawn birthday phone call". It took me a minute to collect myself. Pretty sure no one at the meeting noticed. I think that was the first time that grief snuck up on me. That bastard.
Fast forward to October 14th. Sandra did a book reading at the National Museum of Mexican Art. It was not a ticketed event, first come, first serve. I was very lucky to have BARELY gotten a seat. She opened the event by speaking about grief. Telling us how she still mourns her mom after several years of having lost her. How you learn to live with that grief. Don't ignore it, but learn to move on with it. Her words were a balm to my soul. They were EVERYTHING I needed to hear at the exact right moment. Don't get me wrong, I've heard other cousins that have lost their moms say pretty much the same damn thing. I was not listening, not then. I was also never more grateful to be in the very back row, very end seat.
At the end of the book reading, Sandra did a meet and greet with fans. She signed books, took pics, had conversations with everyone that wanted to have a moment with her. She gave her time to willingly. It took me about an hour to get to her and she was still very involved and giving EVERYONE a respectable amount of HER TIME. Yes, I waited for what seemed like forever to see her, AGAIN, but ultimately, she gave a lot of herself and was incredibly respectful of everyone there that just wanted to have a moment with her.
I had THE BEST moment with Sandra. I thanked her for her talk about grief. I told her that her words were just the ones I needed to hear. She asked me how long had it been since my mom passed away, just over a month, I replied. It's still so soon, give me a hug. Out of all the hugs I received from my friends and family, the comfort I felt from hers is unequaled. For that brief moment, I wasn't a fan and she wasn't a hero. We were two people that understood the same pain. I don't think I will ever be able to thank Sandra properly for everything she gave me in that moment, in that hug.
She also told me that if I haven't read Have You Seen Marie, I should. It is the book she wrote to cope with her mom's passing. Well, it took about a year and a half and a pandemic for me to screw my tits on and decide to read it. I'm glad I was alone when I read it. I still carry it with me. And dammit, as I'm typing this, one of the songs that brings one of my most favorite, happy moments with mom, just started playing on my Pandora station. Thanks, mamí. Te extraño y te quiero mucho. I could say a bit more, but I think this song is my cue to wrap things up. Even now, almost 2 years later, my encounter with one of my heroes continues to be magical.
I leave you with a song. A song that my mom enjoyed, it kept her young at heart. It also exists as a moment that we shared where we weren't arguing, just enjoying a lunch we wouldn't have enjoyed had she not struck it big at the slot machines during the fair in our hometown. In that moment we were complicit in having fun and spoiling ourselves. More friends than mother/daughter. We talked as friends, we drank like teenagers hiding from our parents, and flat out had fun. Like a teenager, she asked we not tell anyone (her sisters) about it. It was our secret. Sorry mom, it's not much of a secret moment anymore, it's too beautiful not to share.
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