Lily

 I was born and raised in Mexico. 

My dad was originally from Oaxaca, a graduated architect. My mom was originally from Mexico City, and met my dad when he was in college, they got married before he got his thesis done, at the same time he was working, so they hardly spent any time together.

 

My mom graduated as a “fashion designer” and lived most of her life with her family before getting married at the age of 22.

 

For two years, my parents lived in Mexico City, in a small apartment. Mom had two miscarriages before she had my brother Sergio, me and later my youngest brother Jose Luis. 

 

My brother Sergio was born in Mexico City, while my parents were living there. After my brother Sergio was born, my dad decided to return to Oaxaca and be closer to his parents, to take care of them. He has a stepsister but she has always lived far away. 

 

Before I was born my dad decided to build an extension to my grandparent’s house, where Mom and Dad were living already; the “new house” was almost done by the time my Mom went up to Mexico City to have me.   Mom decided to have me in Mexico City because the medical conditions were much better there than in Oaxaca. So I was born in a private Hospital called: “Mosel”.

 

My parents brought me down to Oaxaca a month after I was born. Dad registered me as if I was born in Oaxaca. For him it was very important the place a person was from and this meant also the place you are born.  During my childhood I used to tease him about this subject, I would tell everyone that I was from Mexico City, and I was proud of it!! He would tell me, “You are Oaxaquena!”

 

To me it seemed that everything outside Oaxaca was much better, cities like Puebla and Mexico City, had all the novelties a child and teenager would love to see and get.  So every time my parents would take me there, we would stay at my grandparents’ (my mom’s side) huge house, and go shopping, with my aunts and uncles. My brother and me were so spoiled with gifts all the time.

 

During my stays there I could watch tons of TV, cartoons, and programs like HULK, WONDER WOMAN, BIONIC WOMAN, CHIPS, HERBIE, etc. Actually, it was Mexico City where I watched the original Superman movie for the very first time. I liked it so much that I didn’t want to leave the theater! I was just having so much fun!!  When it was time to go back to Oaxaca, I made a drama; I would always cry. I decided I didn’t like good byes!  I would always question myself when would be the next time I’ll see my cousins, my aunts, uncles, and grand parents. The only close family we had in Oaxaca was my dad’s parents.

 

My life was routine, boring, for many years. I usually went up to visit my mom’s relatives once a year, since I would have to see the Rehabilitation and physical therapist doctor. The visits to the doctor would last forever, but I always tried to cooperate with my behavior and do as I was told.

 

Let me tell you why I needed to see a doctor all the way to Mexico City.

 

In July of 1976, my mom’s relatives came down to Oaxaca and we all went on a trip to the Istmo of Oaxaca, which was about 4 to 5 hours by car. We all rode together in a Volkswagen van. (I still remember it’s color, it was like a bluish light green)

 

On our way back, my grandpa (my mom’s dad), decided to drive. My parents were next to him in the front of the van. In the back were my other grandparents (dad’s side), my grandma (mom’s mom), my two youngest aunts, my brother Sergio, and me.

 

Mom remembers many times asking my brother and me to go with her, but we wanted to be with my aunts playing. My mom says that a big old truck wanted to pass us since the traffic was going very slow, and that the road was narrow and curvy.  My grandpa decided to move over a little; to let the truck pass, but the person who was driving it was drunk, so when he did pass us he pushed us off the road. Since we were driving in the mountains and since there were no guardrails, the van fell down the hill, rolling over and over until it eventually stopped. Every body except my mom was unconscious. She tried to wake up everyone else. She went to find my brother Sergio. She found him on the ground, bleeding from his ear. She knew that it was bad, so she carried him with her and took him to my dad, who was waking up and realizing what was going on. Then she looked for me. She said she couldn’t find me for a while, and that she started screaming my name in desperation. Until now she cannot explain how in the world I was so far away from the rest of the family, severely wounded but alive.

 

She noticed that my right arm was bleeding tremendously and saw that it was broken badly. She assisted me like a professional rescuer, and performed a series of things to stop the bleeding and to hold my arm to my shoulder. She carried me and took me where the rest of my family was.  By then everybody was awake, in pain, injured, and in shock.

 

Several hours passed after the accident, until my parents and me received medical attention. My parents had to ask a stranger from the road we were on, to take us to the closest town. My brother was already dead, and I was fighting for my life. The accident occurred around 6pm, and hours later I was flying to Mexico City in a small plane.

 

(From all of this I just have flashbacks. Most of everything I am telling you I remember from writing it all in a diary that I had with me in the hospital, from my mom’s story and the vague recollections I have. I can’t help crying while I am typing this, but I was asked to write the story of my life, and I have to put this sad part of it in as well.   I do this in the hope that you can praise God for what He has done for my loved ones and me.)

 

My uncle (the doctor) took me in the small plane with him. As we arrived to the hospital they put me in a bed with wheels and I just remember a bunch of people next to me running, and my uncle Tono, telling them what to do.

 

My parents had to stay at the scene of the accident in order to drive back to Oaxaca to bury my brother Sergio. Sometimes I imagine that scene - a dark sky, and rainy. Since it was July, it probably was like that.

 

Several of my relatives were injured as well. My grandma Tere (my father’s mom) broke her knee. Since then she always limped, (and of course complained too) blaming the fatal accident. My dad broke his right clavicle. Other minor things happened to the rest of my relatives. But what hurt us the most with the loss of my brother Sergio, the firstborn.

 

My dad’s world came apart. He said that he wished that everyone else had died but my brother. I can understand his pain, because Sergio meant so much to him and to all of us.  Back then in my culture, to have the firstborn child being a boy was a great thing because the family name would last longer. Having men in the family was very important in Oaxaca. It meant respect to your family. 

With all the pain my parents had, they still had to face my situation in Mexico City.

 

My mom says that my aunts were with me since the time I came out of surgery.  The doctors decided to amputate my right arm because I had a big infection going on and they didn’t want my bone to get it too. 

 

I have memories of being on the bed at the hospital, with the rest of my arm covered with bandages, and with pain. I remember writing and drawing in a notebook with a brown shiny cover. My mom said that I asked one of my aunts for a radio because I wanted to listen to music. I still have it; it’s small and green. It’s my favorite radio. 

 

My parents arrived two days later, and I asked them for Sergio my brother. My mom told me that he went to be with God. I don’t remember, but knowing my dad, I bet it was hard for him to answer this question. 

 

This all happened when I was three years old. I was in rehabilitation and physical therapy for many months in Mexico City. Mom says that before the accident I was left handed and very independent. So my progress in the hospital was fast. I had two psychologists working with me. One worked in ludotherapy (game therapy) and the other as a personal post trauma clinician. I just remember playing a lot in this special room, and talking to both of them. They were very nice. I think that’s where I got the desire to become a psychologist. 

 

My parents were also in family therapy, facing our tragedy. They both experienced it in different ways since their backgrounds were so different. 

 

In the middle of my parent’s pain and confusion, with my recovery going so fast, the doctors suggested that I wear a prosthetic arm. They said it would help my appearance, and also it would help me pick things up like other kids. Since everybody was trying so hard to cover my loss, I did as I was told. The doctors said it was the best for me. My parents didn’t have a lot of money, but some how they were able to afford this ”fake arm” for me. 

 

Before I knew it, it was time for all of us to be back in Oaxaca again so that I could attend kindergarten. 

 

I would have to wear “the arm” (I know it sounds weird, but that’s how I used to call it) for school and as soon I would get back home I would change clothes and throw the arm off. I remember those years; I was living a double life every day. At school I was quiet, shy, without many friends. At home I was the opposite; I was myself. I think it was because home was a safe place, everybody accepted me the way I was, no matter how I looked. 

 

For 12 years I wore “the arm”.  As my body grew pieces of it had to be renewed to accommodate the actual size of my body.  Back then it would take us like 9 hours by car to get to Mexico City, so it was better for us to fly.

 

I fought all the way through the end of junior high to be accepted, included, and heard. Most of the time I was considered the weirdo. “She is neither a girl nor a boy, ’cause she doesn’t look like one of us”, the children would say. Or things like, “Look at her arm, she is faking to have one, is not real, go touch it and see, try to pull it off!”  The rubber hand piece of the prosthetic arm would always have to be tightened up, other wise it would fall off. In other words, I was their entertainment.  During my time at school I focused on my grades. I did pretty well, and I always was a fast learner. 

 

I would hurry to get my homework done and would go with my mom to her shop.

 

That is where I grew up. For 24 years my mom owned a stationary shop. It was the first one on the north side of town, and was pretty successful. My parents named the stationary shop “LYLY” which is the short version of both my mom and my names. Everyone would know where the “LYLY” would be. 

 

In October of 1979 my youngest brother Jose Luis, well I call him Pepe, was born. So we both grew up together at the stationary shop. We played, slept, ate, watched TV, did homework, and of course assisted the customers there. 

 

I began to study English, French, music and painting at an early age. All these extra private classes were “to prepare me for the future” my parents would say.  But learning English in Mexico compared to speaking it in the US was a lot different. 

 

Everyday would be the same thing over and over. The shop would close on Sundays, but my parents just wanted to rest all day long!  I don’t know about Pepe, but I wanted to do something different. I wanted to explore new places. My life needed something NEW! But, I would get so frustrated with those around me that didn’t want to do anything. So this is when my creativity was born. I would talk to myself or play alone (my brother was 6 years younger than me). Two of my favorite things to do were: to pretend to be the owner of a deli meat shop where I would give free samples of ham to all of my customers. I would pack the amount they wanted and charge them. All this happened in my mom’s kitchen, with real ham. At the end of the game the ham was almost gone! I would be every customer!! . The second thing I loved to do by myself was to sing with a “microphone”. I would always picture myself performing for people, being in front of large audiences. I would play my long play records of famous Mexican teenager groups and sing along with them.  I would do this for hours while Mom and dad would be resting. I would also play with Pepe. We would build tunnels with pillows, or watch TV together. 

 

As the years went by, I realized I was the oldest child. I imagined in my mind Sergio was still the oldest, and that one day he would come back to us again. It took me time to realize that he wasn’t going to come back.  I felt that I stole Sergio’s first born right. I don’t remember too much about him, and it makes me feel bad that only I got to know him through pictures. 

 

I hope I am a good older sister for Pepe, as Sergio would have been for me. 

 

My dad loved parties.

 

My dad would ask mom to organize 3 or 4 parties for his birthday every year. Normally, he would hire a trio to play for everyone at the party. Sometimes he didn’t have a reason for hosting a party but he would still do it. For Pepe and I, party time meant fun time: chilling out, eating whatever we wanted, and watching TV until late at night. Our parents would not care as long as Pepe and me wouldn’t be in their way. Mom would cook wonderful dishes like Cochinita Pibil, black refried beans with cheese, and pozole. Dad would buy the most delicious desserts. Pepe and me loved those times. For mom it was different. 

 

Most of the time she would not have the help she needed around the house. Sometimes we would have a maid living at home and it was awesome for her.  My dad never liked the idea of paper/plastic cups, plates, etc.; he wanted to give the people the best we had. 

 

Like I said before, parties would mean for us a fun time, and I loved them. At least every weekend we would host one.  I always wanted parties because it was so much better than the bad times I saw and lived at home the rest of the time. You might think, “Well, we all have our crisis”, but in our home stress, anger, frustration, and sometimes violence was part of our daily lives. 

 

In Mexico the male figure is very important. The head of a household normally is the husband, the dad. I grew up with the idea of authority being that of control, that no one else’s opinion was good but my dad’s. I always liked it because it made me feel secure, that I didn’t have to worry about tomorrow because dad knew more than me, or mom, or Pepe. But when I started to see how much it affected my family, and me I began to dislike authority figures. At that point in my life I was living under so much rejection from kids at school, while at home what I thought and felt was not important. 

 

My dad had his own issues. He grew up lonely, with a lot of resentment toward his parents because they dedicated themselves to work and left him to figure life out by himself. They’d just send him money; tell him where to eat, and where to sleep (different homes). He never had a close relationship with a father. He didn’t know what that was like so he became very angry inside. 

 

Dad would wake up every morning, and everybody would wait to see what kind of mood he was in that day. Every day would be different. Most of he time he was mad. His character was very strong, and his personality would intimidate anyone. Many times mom would tell us to be quiet at the table while we were having dinner. She would have to do her best to cook 3 different dishes, plus two soups, salads, and fresh fruit water. Everything had to be perfect other wise dad would explode in anger! 

 

Because of that, we learned to live with tension all the time; if he was happy, we were too. 

 

I love my dad, don’t take me wrong, he was a great dad, but what I just described to you was like a disease that stuck to us and through the years we believed that was the way life should be. We didn’t know any better. 

 

I have heard that a person who hurts inside will hurt others. He would throw all his anger at his family because he knew we would still love him.  I don’t like it when others hurt me, but sometimes we have to see beyond the wound and understand the pain that causes it.   

 

I eventually became an angry, moody, unhappy, and selfish person myself. But I also learned that nothing could stop me from reaching out for my dreams because my parents believed in me when no one else did. 

 

It is good to find out that people are able to live in different ways. 

 

At the age of 14 my parents sent me abroad as a 15th birthday gift. I went through a Rotary Exchange program that only lasted a summer. It was my first time abroad; finally my dream of getting out of Oaxaca became real. I would see other skies, cities, and people. 

 

Two years later I applied for a longer period as a Rotary Exchange student once again (my parents were Rotarians in district #4200). I spent a whole year in Galesburg, IL, with 4 different host families. 1990-1991 was an unforgettable year that changed my perspective on life. Going abroad when you are growing up can really rock your world.  I believe that God used Rotary International to plant seeds of change in my life. It was just an AWESOME lifetime experience. I still keep in contact with my host families, brothers, sisters and international friends. 

 

Going abroad helped me notice the difference of lifestyles, not only culturally speaking but also within the family dynamic. The first time I saw Don Brown, my first host dad, helping in the kitchen I was shocked. I woke up everyday without worrying about the mood of the parents, and that would give me peace.  All was good but I still wasn’t free or healed from the hurt I went through, I was just in a safer place. 

 

After my year abroad I returned to Mexico, finished high school, and got into a University. I returned with the determination in me that I wanted a different life, and I was going to start to have that. 

 

At home things didn’t change too much, but at school I started to be myself – the person I was at home. My parents asked me to decide if I wanted to continue to wear “the arm” or not to school. I decided not to. When I made that decision, I felt like a huge weight was lifted off me (physically and emotionally). I felt free. I became more outgoing, talkative, gave speeches in public, etc.

 

6 years at the University went by so fast, and was so relaxing compared to the years I spent in high school. (The High School I attended in Oaxaca was private and I had to maintain an 8.5 average to be there and graduate - this grade is like a B - I attended 3 years, with 12 to 14 subjects per semester) Because the learning rhythm was so different, I was bored the first 2 years in the University. I would eventually attend more advanced classes, which kept me interested. By the way, I studied Clinical Psychology and later I returned to study Vocational Orientation and Psychological Pedagogy (education field). 

 

I learned a lot during my internship. I saw every kind of painful situation you can imagine, even my own. 

 

In 1996 I began my internship at a General Public Hospital. I always dreamed about being the hospital’s psychologist, and it happened. In the middle of 1996 my dad was diagnosed with stomach cancer, and within 6 months he was gone.   

 

Thank God that He prepared me for this. Because I had been working at the hospital, I had all the support I needed from the personnel there. They performed the first surgery there.  I was like numb, hearing the diagnosis of my own dad, and trying to figure out the best treatment for him.  My dad was so strong in character and also physically that I thought he would overcome his illness and be ok. My mom didn’t sleep for 5 months. What was coming was going to hit us all, especially her.

 

All kinds of people visited us at our home. Being an architect and having a construction company, my dad was very well known around the city and the state. Everyday he would have visitors; many times they just sat in silence. Dad would be sitting on a chair in the living room, thinking for hours. 

 

We respected those times.  He was a warrior with a very tender heart. In spite of the daily issues within my family, I grew up very close to my dad. At some point I wanted to be like him. I could talk to him about everything. I guess he would identify himself with me some how; he gave me more freedom, as I trusted more in him. 

 

We had all kinds of people visit us at home: friends, doctors, nurses, priests, people involved in witchcraft - you name it! All tried to encourage dad, and provide him healing, acceptation of his future death, etc. Dad would say that none of them really knew anything, but I admire that he kept waiting for a special visitor that would be different.

 

That turned out to be a guy named Cuhautemoc. He was a Christian that came to our door one afternoon. Dad listened to him, and then invited him to stay for dinner. He accepted the offer for dinner and afterwards prayed for dad and all of us too. Dad hadn’t eaten so well since he became sick. He was happy and wanted to do so many things after that visit. What was so different this time? 

 

I didn’t know this at the time, but dad and mom received Jesus in their hearts as their Savior. Mom started to sleep again as she put all her trust in God; so much so that dad thought she was taking sleeping pills. 

Pepe and me were in our world, but were also wondering what happened. 

 

Most of the people in Mexico are Catholic and believe that the Virgin Mary can help you out in times of difficulty and perform a miracle for you, but there is a price you need to pay.  They call it  “una manda” (a promise to keep).  I would say it’s more like a negotiation between the “godly figure” and you, “if you do this for me…I promise I’ll do this for you”.

 

As a new Christian, dad had still a lot to learn, we all still do. He wanted his healing, to be with his family longer. So he tried everything, but after his encounter with Jesus, the rest of the ”other help” just didn’t happen.  He was about to go the route of “a manda”, but he decided not to. He said something inside him didn’t give him peace about it.

 

Then we went for a doctors’ second opinion in Mexico City. He had a second surgery, and for him this one was devastating. Not only because of the diagnosis he already knew, but also for the medical treatment he received in the hospital. Mom said, “they treated him like guinea pig and told him to go back to Oaxaca to die”.  After this, it was so hard for dad to physically recover. The cancer spread out so quickly because the doctors took biopsies, and it’s like when you prune a tree, it grows back again. 

 

Dad prayed that he would not die choking but in peace, like in a dream. May of 1997 arrived and it was like everyone was waiting for dad to leave. I felt bad about this, but everyone, especially Mom was so tired. My birthday came and I got a letter from dad. He wrote it when he still was able to. In his last days, he couldn’t talk, eat, stand up, walk, nor write. But his eyes would tell us everything he was going through. I had the chance to say bye to him, to thank him, and I asked him to forgive me for all I did wrong while I forgave him.  He did the same thing with me. 

 

I still remember his voice so clearly. Every word he spoke in those days means a lot to me. 

 

One of the things he said to me was: “Lily, love a lot! ”, I told him, “What am I suppose to do when you leave? I am not close to mom, nor Pepe, don’t leave me here”, and he looked at me and repeated, “Lily, you need to love a lot.”  

 

He passed away on May 15th of 1997 at 4pm. He was on his favorite couch at home. Mom and I were next to him, and our lives have not been the same since then. 

 

When God prunes a family, what comes later is greater.  

 

I didn’t mentioned this before, but my family and I lost close relatives so often, that we became afraid of the word death. 

 

After my dad passed away, I was like numb, living in my little world, and hit bottom the same year. 

 

When I dated, my relationships wouldn’t last more than 5 months. Normally, I would end them. I would always date guys that were machos and alcoholics (a little bit like my dad). 

 

I was in a romantic relationship, not doing so well, when the greatest event of my life happened.

 

This time the guy broke up with me, treated me pretty bad, but I was still trying to hang on to him. It was like I was desperate to be loved and cared for, especially after my dad left. 

 

When everything came to an end, I had an encounter with an amazing person, JESUS.  He let me know how much He loves me, what I mean to Him and what He did for me.  He walked me through those difficult times, and still does. He healed my heart and brought forgiveness into it.

 

I had visited beautiful Catholic churches, attended bible classes, but I never felt the way I did December 1997. Jesus found at where I was, and spite of all the huge mistakes, sins and trash that I had with me, He still loved me with a different love that I didn’t know until then. I just wish I could of had known Him before. 

 

Since then, my life has been so different from what it used to be. It was a new beginning for me.   Jesus is awesome, He is not only God to me, but He is also my Savior, Encourager, Best Friend, Refuge, Counselor, Shield, and more.

 

I didn’t know I could have a relationship with God!!! In my mind that was so impossible, so weird, hahahahahaha.  But He is so real!!! I just love Him! 

 

During Labor Day weekend of 2000, I met Derek.

 

We met in an “only God could do this” kind of way. You see, I never liked computers that much, and barely had knowledge about the Internet, but somehow I had managed to meet him online.

 

After a week he asked me to marry him. We didn’t exchange pictures right away. I believe God heard our prayers, and let our hearts met. So we dated online for about 4 months and then we got married on December 23rd of the same year in Mexico.  I know that I barely knew him, but God brought great peace inside me, and gave me His green light. I trusted God and did it.

 

Derek is awesome and knows Jesus, too, so it makes it even better. It’s such a beautiful moment when I wake up and he is next to me.

 

I thank Jesus for being with me always, for what he has done, is doing and will do in my life. He rocks! 

 

Lily

 

P.S. In case you would like the extended version of this story, let me know.  :P