Miss You Already! Thank You For Being My Guide In This Lifetime
For Eli and Amaya only...
Eli, as you are about to embark on a new journey, I'm reminded of myself at your age — at a time when I still had the safety net of my parents, but also where I had to figure out if everything I carried within would hold true amongst many others.
Needless to say, I'm already missing you. I started crying exactly one week before your graduation, and I continue to do so. And I'm disobeying Abuela's orders to only cry at her funeral — I had maintained that record until now.
As you step into this next chapter, these are the stories that keep playing in my head. Amaya, I know you are reading along too, and you'll find pieces of our heart in these stories, but today let’s look back at your big sister.
"Let's make a play!" said 5 year old Eli.
I figured you had been learning about theater at daycare. Before I even said yes, Eli started assigning roles. To my surprise, Eli made Gaby the princess. It was my misguided belief until that day that all little girls wanted to play the part of the princess in a story.
I was assigned the role of audience, lol! Amaya happily accepted the role of prince. And then little Eli said, "Go!" What comes next will forever be engraved in my memory. I'm re-telling the story with the hope that 5-year old version of Eli will forever guide the beautiful young lady you have become.
"GRAAAARRRGH!"
Thump, thump, went Eli's little feet.
Thump, thump, with each step as she walked towards the prince...
There was a quick fight with the prince, where of course, the prince won and the princess was rescued.
I couldn't help myself, I laughed so hard! You might have thought I was laughing at you, but I was laughing at myself. I certainly didn't want to be the princess either—at that age or ever—but social programming had snuck inside me, and in that moment, you set me free.
You also made me proud, not only in your recognizing Aunt Gaby's disability and vulnerability, but in seeing her like a princess. In my eyes, princesses are beautiful; you saw your aunt Gaby as beautiful, and my heart soared.
Let's back track a little to when you were about 18 months old or so.
My biggest pleasure was to share my world with you, especially my love of reading. I started taking you to Barnes & Noble the moment you could walk. Did I say walk? I'm not sure if all children are the same when they start walking, but while I was expecting nice strolls browsing the shelves in the children's books section, you made me run! You saw the stalls as an opportunity to play hide-and-seek.
I wanted nothing more than to walk out of Barnes & Noble with a handful of Children's books that we could read together. Selfish I know! You became the permission slip for an aunt who still loved children's stories and colorful illustrations.
But during those hide-and-seek marathons, where not only my heart raced so fast (not from the running but from the pure fear of losing you! I never told your parents, and if they read this I guess they are now finding out) but my mind raced as well with horrible scenarios — the only thing I walked out with in my arms was little Eli, who then decided she was too tired to walk. "Up!" is all you had to say for this Godmother-Aunt to have her tiredness fade away.
Eventually, we discovered a tucked-away section at Barnes & Noble, dedicated to seasonal picture books and toys, which you were the least interested in. You were only interested in the train table (which, to tell the truth, if it had been for sale, I would have bought for you). If the table had more than two children playing, you would patiently wait for them to leave so you could have the table to yourself. Then you would play until I was the one ready to leave, and that is amazing, since I could have slept at Barnes & Noble if given the chance.
But there were many times when other children would join the table, mainly boys. While you were incredibly social, when it came to the train table, you were more focused on each feature of it — the stations, the stops, the lifting bridges, etc. Boys are rough! Their form of play was crashing the trains and making either train noises or explosion noises. Boys would some times try to push their way past you, and aunt Paty, always ready to jump in, would be stopped by your Abuela, who would show me how incredibly you held your ground. While your softness was the most obvious to me, your Abuela made me see your strength, pure and empowered. So little, yet, you held your ground without a word — just a calm look at the boys, who then retreated.
One more memory...
A secret pleasure for me has always been window shopping. You may have thought it was shopping, but my life had ups and downs, so I decided early on in my life that circumstances would not dictate my internal joys. During down times, window shopping would lift me up, thinking what I would gift myself when the up times would come. During up times, window shopping was curating — yes, deciding what would come home with me. Your Abuela would torment me in those times by saying, "Do you need it?" I had a fiance that would ask me the same question. Well, since he is not around, guess what I did to the fiance! Could not do the same to your Abuela, lol!
You came during a financial up time, which I think may have somewhat impacted your view on shopping. And for that, I apologize. While my wish is for you to always have financial ups in your life, do I have the time to transmit to you that joy is internal?
Yes, we never walked out of a store empty handed. Yes, I bought you the same doll quite a few times from the Disney store, to me it looked the same, to you it had a special feature. "But this story is more about your 'do you need it' Abuela!" Who would also take you to the mall and let you have whatever you set your eyes on.
To excuse her I say, she must have felt what I did. And it wasn't just about seeing the joy in your eyes. It was that when we got home you would play with each and every toy over and over and over. Your routine was to empty the buckets of toys on the floor, and you touched each and every toy and played by yourself for hours if we let you. As if the toy would be offended if you did not play with it.
Then Amaya was born. What a lesson she taught us both — not about sharing, but how easily we can lose our quiet strength and softness with family, lol! While your daddy always saw it as "She has to learn to share," I saw you as an incredibly sensitive person, you had imprinted every toy with your essence, with your vibration, with your joy; having anyone else touch that was allowing them to enter into your world! And permission needed to be asked.
I think you know that you came into my life in the precise moment that I was about to pull furthest away from who I am. Life had taken me in a direction that I didn't know how to navigate without growing a harder shield. With you I felt safe, with you and Amaya there was never a need for a shield because there was never judgement or misinterpretation. There was only acceptance and love. Thank you for helping me remain soft, full of hope and courageous.
When I see you, I will always see that beautiful child who clearly brought softness, strength and calm confidence into this world.
I can clearly see those big beautiful dark eyes, long eyelashes and bow tie lips, smiling at me and whispering to my heart: "See Paty? It's easy. Playing a bear is my way of practicing my autonomy, exploring the world and breaking gender stereotypes. While I 'GRAAAARRRGH' and thump on the outside, I'm still me. Besides, bears are comfortable, cuddly and soft." I always believed you were sent to Earth as one of my guides to keep my light going. And for that, I thank you!
PS - My beautiful Amaya, this is not the first or last time Eli takes center stage. Such is the role of older siblings. But life does this for a reason, and if you look at my life now, I'm sure you can see that being the eldest is not just about doing things first, but also about carrying responsibilities before our siblings do.
Love you!