It’s been three years since you’ve been gone from us … you would have turned 91 years old today. I know you are celebrating the best birthday ever. On this day, I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday in heaven.
I hope you know you are sorely missed. It’s no secret we’ve been through some hard times together. Although you weren’t the perfect mother, I wasn’t the perfect daughter. Perhaps, we were perfect for each other. I pretty much miss everything about you! Never thought I’d say, even your bickering over something or about someone. I miss buying you trinkets, pretty blouses, and taking you to a nice restaurant. It was good to help you forget problems and enjoy your special day. Making you smile meant everything to me.
In the end, it hurt to let you go, but seeing you suffer in pain was worse. I asked the Lord that you’d still be around on Mother’s Day. And God called you home in time; it was on Mother’s Day at 3 pm. You are totally healed now. You have no more pain. There is no discomfort, or tears, or worry. You are with your Savior and loved ones who have gone on before you. Please send them all my love.
I will never forget you. Sending you kisses and all my love, Mama.
As a young girl, I knew I had the best Daddy in the world. Although my parents were divorced, he’d come for me throughout the years.
I loved it when he took me to the parks. My daddy may have been short, but he was a big kid at heart and loads of fun. He had a knack for mimicking different sounds. Children laughed whenever he cried out like Tarzan on the jungle gym. He wouldn’t hesitate to push me high on the swing. I squealed with delight when he ran in front and scrambled away right in time before I could kick him. He’d twirl me on the merry-go-round until we couldn’t go anymore and tumbled on the ground from exhaustion. Me from laughing hard; he from running in circles.
Daddy worked as the produce manager in a huge grocery chain store. He was a hard worker and a model employee. A friendly and robust people person, he never grew tired of chatting with his customers and telling them jokes. His dark eyes twinkled with glee. The mirth in his thick Puerto Rican accent, mixed with his animated personality, charmed all.
Sometimes Daddy caused havoc, but always in fun. He often mimicked the sound of a kitten near the produce stand at work to see the children’s reactions. Once, an elderly woman hunted everywhere for the pobrecito. Then another time, while whistling like a bird, he had customers looking up for one. He even imitated a newborn’s cry.
“Excuse me, sir, but don’t you hear a baby crying somewhere?” a worried customer asked.
“A baby? No, no,” he answered. “No baby over here.” Daddy chuckled as he related to me how he watched the mystified customer walk away, shaking her head.
Daddy told me another story about a little boy in a shopping cart. The boy kept staring at him the whole time. His mother was across the aisle, weighing her vegetables.
“I smiled at da boy and asket his name, but he dun say noteen,” Daddy explained. “He just keep lookin’ and lookin’ at me, like I’m ugly or somethin’.”
“Then what did you do?” I asked and chuckled.
“I dun do noteen . . .” Daddy’s eyes twinkled.
“Go on,” I persisted, knowing of his pranks.
“I just smiled big and stuck out my bottom dentures at da boy.”
“No, Daddy, you didn’t!” I laughed, remembering him doing that very thing before, enough to startle anyone.
“Yeah, but then da boy started cryin’, so I got outta there fast,” Daddy said guiltily. “I dunno where I get these jokes. You got a funny papi, eh?”
“Yeah.” I giggled. “Muy loco, all right. Tell me the story about the goat sucker in Puerto Rico,” I said, wiping my eyes.
“¡Oh, si!” Daddy exclaimed, slapping his thigh. “¡El Chupacabra! Dis thin’ dat went round to all the animales suckin’ their blood dry.”
“Yep, that’s the one,” I said.
“Man, da people get so scared and say it’s some kind of diablo. They say, ‘sierra la puerta’, close your door, El Chupacabra is goin’ to suck your blood!”
“Ya ever see one, Daddy?”
“No, no, I never see dat thin’ in my life.” He chuckled and added, “I dunno if I believe it.”
“Well, it’s sure an awful, scary story.” I shuddered at the possibilities.
Yes, my daddy has always been a natural-born storyteller. I could sit and listen to him for hours. “Tell me again about the first time you left Puerto Rico on the plane.”
“When I left my hometown Utuado in 1952?” His eyes flickered miles away, as he mused. “Flyin’ in dat two-engine airplane made me so scared. I needed to go to el baño so bad. The stewardess want to tell me somteen. Pues, I dunno what she say; I dunno any Inglish then. She talk louder but I dun understand; I just wanna go. I try to make her understand me, so I jell to her, ‘I no spic inglish! I no spic inglish!’”
As I listened to his broken English, I laughed until my sides ached and my eyes watered.
My Papi, Benjamin Pérez
“Daddy, you didn’t know how to speak English when you were nineteen?”
“No hija, I didn’. Later, my cousin in New York explained to me that da stewardess just wanted me to put my seatbelt on. Ay bendito nene,” Daddy laughed. “I didn’ understand noteen.”
“Hey Papi,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Ya know what?”
“¿Que mi vida?”
“Ya still have an accent.”
“Ju tellin’ me, man.” He laughed.
This is a story about my father (who recently turned 92 years old). His character is one part of the tapestry of Running in Heels: a Memoir of Grit and Grace. Now, I’m translating the memoir into Spanish to honor my Puerto Rican roots and reach hearts that need this story. I can’t do it without you! Help me bring grit and grace to new readers. 👉 Support the Translation Project >>> GoFundMe <<<
Creative Director – Charlie Duggar featuring artists: Evan Craft, Danny Gokey, Redimi2 – “Be Alright” Tercer Cielo – “Yo Te Extrañare” Boyz II Men – “A Song for Mama” Elvis Presley – “Take My Hand, Precious Lord” Josh Groban – “You Raise Me Up” Mercy Me – “I Can Only Imagine”
We had to say so long to Mama 6 1/2 months ago … on Mother’s Day … at 3 P.M. to be exact. After much prayer and reflection, I tried to brace myself for the end. It still shook me to the core. As a Christian, I know she received the best Mother’s Day gift and no longer suffers. I have no doubt she is in a much better place without pain and illnesses. She is dancing on the streets of gold. She is seeing her Savior face to face. She is reuniting with loved ones who had gone on before her. I am thankful to the Lord that Mama finished the race. And I know that I will see her again. But the pain of missing her still lingers on.
Sadly to say, two of her sons–my half-brothers–were constantly on her mind. They had lived a hard life, incarcerated. Her youngest barely made parole after 27 years. I’m glad he was able to spend some time with her. He saw Mama at the end and attended her Memorial Service. The next-to-youngest wasn’t so fortunate and didn’t have that luxury. Although he is now out of prison, he is in the beginning stages of grieving for Mama, trying to process it all.
If I’m to be honest, I didn’t feel up to it. I didn’t want to have Thanksgiving with them in my home. I certainly didn’t want any more drama. I just didn’t know what to expect! Too many years had gone by. The two brothers hadn’t spent quality time together for over 30 years. Yet, I knew Mama would have wanted this for them: for us to all be together again. And so, I asked for prayer at my church, for the grace and the strength to carry it through. You see, I knew in my own strength that I was powerless.
I wrote out the holiday menu, went grocery shopping, and did lots of prepping. That afternoon, my daughter and son helped with some of the recipes. I spent 6 hours in the kitchen the night before! Hubby got up at 2 am to smoke the turkey, and I finished cooking that morning. Daughter and son scooped up the brothers separately and brought them to our home around noon.
We all embraced, and the brothers were surprised to see each other. Heated words were exchanged. It felt awkward at first. But, as my son said, some things needed to be spoken and released. We reminisced as serene conversations commenced. Pictures were soon taken, and we found ourselves laughing. The smoked turkey, ham, and side dishes were spread out on the dinner table. Then, we stood in a circle, united. We took turns praying for both of them. When it was time to grub, my goodness, can my brothers eat! They devoured every morsel until they couldn’t. Afterward, we played a board game and then dug into the desert.
At the end of the day, I think something afresh ignited in our hearts.
Google says gratitude is the quality of being thankful. It also means readiness to show appreciation for and return kindness.
Sometimes you must put your feelings aside and do something out of love and gratitude. The Lord has been so good and blessed us in countless ways! This selfless action made a difference on my part – my pettiness had to get out of the way. Lord knows I had prayed enough, so it was time to put my faith into action. The Lord has blessed me to be a blessing to others. It was time to be a blessing, a time of giving, a time of love.
Life is made up of moments. I am thankful for my family and the gift of life. God has a perfect plan for each and every one of us. We all come from different walks of life; no one is better than the other. May we find joy in the simplest of things. Easy? Not always. Possible? Yes! Because He lives, we can face our tomorrows!
Someone said: Instead of living in the shadows of yesterday, walk in the light of today and the hope of tomorrow.
One of my cousins from across the miles posed a couple of great questions, giving me food for thought. He asked:
Why do you write? And why do you write about the family?
My answer to him:
First of all, I write because I know I have a story to tell. As a kid, eventually, I discovered we were dirt poor. In my teens looking back, I realized that I was neglected and forced to grow up too fast. I was ashamed of my childhood and bitter for being my mama’s mother. As I “matured,” settled down, married, and had children of my own, along the way I found I was a stronger person because of some of the things that I endured as a child.
Once I embraced the God of my grandparents, I became a much better person, too. NOT that I had it all together; I still had a few things to learn. But I learned that it was much better to let go of the bitterness and to forgive than to hold onto the junk.
I also learned that I didn’t have to be a product of my environment! I could rise above the ashes like a phoenix and become so much better. That was my freedom — still is — and God has called us to liberty, not to be in prison. Sure I made some mistakes along the way, but I learned from them as well. It starts with a made-up mind! While I’ve managed to confront my past, I believe my past hasn’t spoiled me, but has prepared me for the future. I may not be perfect but whenever I stumble, I can wipe the crud off and walk on. I share my story that I might help one person – and if I have done that then I have done a good thing and God gets the glory.
I mention family because the little girl growing up — although she may have felt like she was alone most times — she was not an orphan and did not live on an island unto herself. There were others around who helped to nurture her in one fashion or another, even, the antagonists in her story. And yes, some were heroes. She cannot tell her story without mentioning those she looked up to. For it to be truthful, she had to address some real and raw emotions and mentioned the flaws — the good, the bad, and the ugly.
The story is not fiction. It is written about how she remembers the events that took shape in her life as a child, a teenager, and into her adulthood. All the memories do not take her to a happy place. She has had to dig deep to find them. To some, those “happy” places may be simple and insignificant, but to her, they were her lifeline.
His response:
I am keeping this to remind me what it takes to be selfless.
I would have stopped the clock and savored every precious moment.
Instead, I found myself encumbered with the daily task of trying to keep afloat in being a mother.
If I had known then what I know now, I would have frozen time just to gaze upon your little chest, rising and falling with every heartbeat while you slept peacefully in your crib.
If I had known then what I know now, I would have sung more lullabies while rocking you on my lap, nestled in my arms, given you more kisses, and chased away all nightmares.
I’d have tickled you harder, squeezed you tighter, laughed with you louder, and played silly games with you longer.
I would have taken more walks in the park, built many sand castles, eat more ice cream cones with sprinkles, dug for the best sea shells, rode on all the merry-go-rounds, climbed every rock, smelled every flower, played catch more, run through the rain puddles, taken more photos and captured every single moment with you!
I was needed when you were small; you relied upon me then. If only I could now, I would hold you closer still, wipe your every teardrop, chase your every fear, and never let you down.
But the tide has turned, and I could only watch from a distance. The sun has set and is hidden beyond the horizon. My silent tears serve as a constant reminder that times are fleeting. With every hour. Every minute. Every second.
My heart swells with pride to see that you, my children, have blossomed and matured.
But if I had known then what I know now … I would have done things differently. I would have hushed the madness with all the hustle and bustle sooner, and cherished those magic moments when you were small, to cradle you in my arms forever and never let you go.
I would have stopped the clock and savored every precious moment.
Instead, I was encumbered with the daily task of trying to stay afloat as a mother.
If I had known then what I know now,
I would have frozen time just to gaze upon your little chest, rising and falling with every heartbeat while you slept peacefully in your crib.
If I had known then what I know now,
I would have sung more lullabies while rocking you on my lap, nestled in my arms, given you more kisses, and chased away all nightmares.
I’d have tickled you harder, squeezed you tighter, laughed with you louder, and played silly games with you longer.
I would have taken more walks in the park, built many sand castles, eat more ice cream cones with sprinkles, dug for the best sea shells, rode on all the merry-go-rounds, climbed every rock, smelled every flower, played catch more, run through the rain puddles, taken more photos and captured every single moment with you!
I was needed when you were small; you relied upon me then. If only I could now, I would hold you closer still, wipe your every teardrop, chase your every fear, and never let you down.
But the tide has turned, and I can only watch from a distance. The sun has set and is hidden beyond the horizon. My silent tears serve as a constant reminder that times are fleeting, with every hour, every minute, and every second.
My heart swells with pride to see that you, my children, have blossomed and matured.
But if I had known then what I know now … I would have done things so differently. I would have hushed the madness with all the hustle and bustle sooner, cherished those magic moments when you were small, cradled you in my arms forever, and never let you go.
As I reflect on my vacation this year, I focus on the glitter of the glue in my family. The stuff that makes them glow through difficult circumstances, yet not fall apart. It is the Strength in their sails, the Laughter through the tears, and the Light in the darkness. The waves may beat on the boat called Life, but their faith in God is the anchor that keeps them from drifting afar.
Through my lens, I observed how one can remain playful and young at heart, laugh at themselves silly, and enjoy the simple things in life. Through my lens, I saw how one so small can love so big; remain warm and engaging, lovable without reservations.
Through my lens, I noticed that when the going gets tough, the tough get going! They refuse to sit down, roll over, or give up on life. They know tomorrow is on the horizon, another day for new beginnings.
Through my lens, I observed that age is just a number; it doesn’t mean one ceases to exist, learn, or do.
Through my lens, I got to witness such amazing selfless love. The sacrifices and serving of others: putting themselves last, while thinking of others first.
I heard the cry of their heartbeat. Thump. Thump. Compassion. Thump.Thump. Forgiveness. Thump. Thump. Passion. Thump. Thump. Sincerity. Thump. Thump. Tenacity. Thump. Thump. Love. Thump. Thump. Puerto Rican heritage.
What did I learn in my ten days of vacation? If I can be just one example of what it means to love and to be loved, I’ll overcome what life may throw at me. I’ll face each trial with the certainty that God is still God of the ages and He continues to work on our behalf. No matter what.
Plans don’t always work the way we think they will. Situations may take a turn that differs from what we planned. We aren’t always prepared for the what-ifs. We aren’t perfect. But we are family. And the greatest gift of all is family.
Do you remember something as a child that stood out? I have plenty! Here are some of mine mentioned in my memoir, Running in Heels:
“I remember the unpleasant chalky taste of Phillip’s Milk of Magnesia and the fishy tasting cod liver oil by the spoonfuls, administered for any complaints or discomforts given to me for cures by Grandma. Those included the green rubbing alcohol, Vicks VapoRub, and Mercurochrome for fever, colds, or scrapes, respectively. They were Grandma’s tried-and-true remedies coupled with a prayer or two.”
“Fascinated with ant piles, I liked to dig apart their colonies to watch the different activities of the workers, the soldiers, and the queen ant that I read about in books. I never developed a fear of grasshoppers, even if they spat “tobacco” on my fingers, or of handling caterpillars that pricked when they crawled on my hand, or of sneaking up on lizards that left their wiggling tails behind, wondering what the funny red thing on their throats going in and out was all about.”
And one more:
“As a treat before bedtime, Grandpa always gave me a cup of eggnog made with warm milk, an egg yolk, and sugar. He said it would help me to sleep after a hot bath. He was right. Sleep came like a welcome friend.”
As a memoirist, I find that one word can trigger an event. I dig deep and write some pleasant ones as a child: bubbles, puppies, balloons, swings, ice cream, Easter...!
Definition of memory: 1) The faculty by which the mind stores and remembers information. 2) Something remembered from the past; a recollection. The mind is fascinating and stores a lot of information and images. We know that there are two types of memories – pleasant and unpleasant.
My precious granddaughter, Grace, celebrating Easter! 2011
YOUR turn!
Everyone has a story.
Take a walk down Memory Lane and focus on something pleasant to share.
The Spanish translation of Running in Heels is complete—but the journey isn’t over. This memoir of grit and grace is being prepared for publication in Spanish, to reach hearts across cultures and generations. From family setbacks to divine provision, every step has been a testimony.
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One of my cousins from across the miles posed a couple of great questions, giving me food for thought. He asked:
From Heart to Heritage
Reflections From the Heart 