WordSisters

Author: Elizabeth di Grazia

  • Change is Certain

    Crystel - Age 6. 2008
    Crystel – Age 6. 2008

    Whether it’s our kids growing up right before our eyes, the seasons changing, snow needing to be shoveled, or Christmas coming. It’s happening whether we embrace it or not.

    Change is certain in all that surrounds us. Work people coming and going. A new job, or a new assignment. People moving in or out of the neighborhood.

    I’ve decided to embrace change. It doesn’t mean that it is without tears.

    A couple of weeks ago, I learned that my boss was leaving for a new assignment within our corporation and would be returning to his home in Texas. Later that evening I cried. I was still crying in bed when Crystel ran upstairs to jump up and down on me. I explained to her that I was having a personal moment. That didn’t deter her exuberance. It gave her more fuel.

    I was crying because this boss was so healing for me. The company I worked with prior to this one was nothing short of terrible. It was a challenge to make it through each work day. I started laughing during the day because it was the best way to get through the hours. I became an observer of what was going on around me. For many reasons, I chose not to quit the job but to see how long I could last.

    Crystel - Age 14. 2016.
    Crystel – Age 14. 2016

    My goal became to keep my dignity, my truth, and to be proud of my actions, regardless of what was happening.

    It almost seemed like the company wanted me to quit. What I said to myself was, you people don’t know who you’re dealing with. Where I’ve been. Where I’ve gone. You could never make my work environment as bad as what I have lived through.

    My current job is all that that job wasn’t.

    By the time Crystel got done jumping up and down on me, I had decided to be thankful for the 1 ½ years I had with this boss. With that decision, I felt lighter, happy, and joyful. I went to work with a bounce in my step, and a smile on my face.

    If nothing else, change is certain.

  • Be the Good You Want to See In The World

    Be the Good You Want to See In The World

    14570430_10154728863962384_4945550604691041982_n1I’ve been afraid of blogging ever since the election. There has been such hate between Hillary and Trump supporters. There is fear.

    I had a blog ready to go about wearing a safety pin to signal that I would stand up for the vulnerable.

    The essence of the piece was that others would see me as an ally regardless of who they were. I also emphasized that I had friends, high school classmates, and neighbors who voted for President-elect Trump. The election hadn’t changed my feelings for them. More than anything, I was thankful we lived in a country where we could vote.

    My WordSister, Ellen, read the blog (we edit each other’s work prior to posting) and she said that it didn’t speak of the fear that people had. I reread my blog and it was true. My children who are Latinos hadn’t spoken of any fear. Yet, others around me have told me of instances where their children, both young and adult, have.

    The proportion of Richfield residents who speak a language other than English at home (26.1%) is higher than the overall percentage for Minnesota (10.9%). 34.7% of students in the Richfield schools speak Spanish at home. 3.5% speak Somali. I decided to enrich my piece by asking a Latino friend to tell me how the Richfield community was feeling.

    Instead of editing the blog, life happened. Both of us, especially my friend, was caught up in the planning of a funeral for the two Richfield students who were murdered by their dad. Being present and available to our children and others was paramount to the election results.

    14440642_10210326956788272_3891113084642446291_n1Juan Jose, Crystel, and two of their classmates helped carry the white caskets into the church. They huddled with their friends and watched Luis and his sister, Nahily’s life roll on the wide screen, which of course included all of them from preschool to eighth grade. My Latino friend worked hours on this video and cried for many more hours for the loss of these two children who she knew so well. During the service, Crystel and other RDLS and RMS students sang the Prayer of St. Francis that they had practiced all week. At the cemetery, Juan and some of his friends shoveled dirt onto the caskets. Other friends were too distraught and couldn’t bear to do it. After we returned to the church Jody and I helped serve the food that was donated. Not once during this day did I think or worry about President-elect Trump.

    The following week at work, I planned a coworker’s funeral. He died alone. He had been estranged from his two children for over 20 years. His work was his family. Even so, he kept the people he had worked with for over 30 years at arm’s length. He was proud. He was private. I called the police to do a welfare check when I didn’t receive an expected call from him. They broke into his house. He had succumbed to illness. The biggest fear of his coworkers was that his body would go unclaimed. I told them that wouldn’t happen. We would claim him. We would give him a funeral. We would bury him. I contacted the medical claims examiner and asked if his children who were 24 and 26 were notified. They were. I told the claims examiner to tell the children that his work family were here for them and would do whatever was needed.

    A supervisor and I met his children at his house. We led the way in, pointed to the framed photos on the wall that were them as toddlers. Talked about how his dad never forgot his children. We gave his children a tour of the plant. Showed them his office, and his tool box. Opening the box would reveal, again, their pictures as toddlers.

    Together, we held a funeral and reception for their dad.

    Not once during this time did I wonder or question who voted for President-elect Trump or Hillary Clinton.

    Instead of a safety pin, my smile, my hello, and my service to others will let people know that I’m an ally.

    I’ll be the good I want to see in the world–you can count on me to keep showing up for the hard stuff.

    Regardless of who you voted for.

  • The Joy of Tears

    The Joy of Tears

    OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

    Before I even start the sentence, because I can’t start the sentence, because I can’t find a way through what feels to me a rushing creek frothing at the banks, forcing its way through a thin singular tube to my voice, I squeak, “This will make me cry.” Tears leak out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks. Now, I can speak.

    Sometimes, Juan and Crystel pre-empt their conversation with, “This will make you cry.” And, it does.

    I’m so lucky.

    DSCN0210I quit crying when I was 9. I know the exact day. I stood next to my mother. She was sitting at our dining table holding her book open. A cold cup of coffee in front her. A Pall Mall between her fingers. I was there to tell her that a brother had hurt me. She didn’t lift her eyes from the page. She inhaled deeply on her cigarette, placed it in the ash tray, then picked up her coffee cup. Red lipstick lined the edge.

    I turned and walked away.

    When I was 19 years old I swore something was broken in me. I had reported the sexual abuse in my family. My parent’s response was to tell me that I was disowned. That I could never come home.

    I knew a normal person would shed tears. Though I tried, I couldn’t do it.

    OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA Juan Jose’ and Crystel gave me the gift of tears when I was 44 years old. They were seven and eight months old when Jody and I brought them home. I felt safe with these babies. When Juan cried because he was left at daycare all day, I cried with him, knowing the sorrow of abandonment. When they were ten months old, all three of us, the babies and me were crying. Me, because I didn’t think they would ever grow up. Those two because they looked at each other and Juan could see that Crystel was sad and he just couldn’t stand that.

    I felt safe because the babies couldn’t talk. They couldn’t tell anyone that Mama Beth was crying. My tears became normal.

    When they were little, I’d read to them, “Love You Forever” by Robert Munsch. We’d sit on the couch, Juan on one side, Crystel on the other. Their heads resting against my body.

    Crystel and Antonio June 2008

    I’d read, “A mother held her new baby and very slowly rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she held him, she sang I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”

    They’d snuggle a little closer when I reached that same spot we always did where my chest filled up and the tears started. “The son went to his mother. He picked her up and rocked her back and forth, back and forth, and he sang her this song: I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living my Mommy you’ll be.”

    Playing games on McGruff (me).
    Playing games on McGruff (me).

    “Let me see,” Crystel would say. “Let me see.” She’d lift up my glasses and touch my tears. “Read it again, Mommy, read it again.”

    I continue to have the joy of tears.

    I cry when Juan is playing soccer and the players take  a knee when a teammate or opponent is hurt.

     I cry when Juan and Crystel are warming up before running a cross country race.

    I cry every time someone says something good about them, which is often.

    IMAG0013The kids know me so well. I had just picked Juan up from his work shift at Davanni’s. He said, “I thought you were going to cry when you watched me walk into work.”

    I thought about it. Felt the creek starting to froth at the bank. Then said, “Well, I still might.”

    I love my tears.

    They make me alive.