My Origin Story: An Essay from “Life, I Swear”

New Beginnings…
I wrote this essay for the book Life, I Swear: Intimate Stories from Black Women on Identity, Healing, and Self-Trust, by Chloe Dulce Louvouezo

I was born soon after my mom's high school graduation. Despite being very young, I can remember a tireless work ethic, a permanent task of goal setting, and her striving to achieve aims without ever sacrificing to be such an amazing mother.  Through new careers, she flourished, returning to school, alongside a successful climb up the Department of Corrections, where she operated as an acting Warden. At work, she was intense, resolute, and in command, but at home, we saw a gentler side where she was the ultimate caretaker: sensitive, a good listener, and dedicated to every hat she wore. 

Mom was a Mexican woman, born and raised in California, pregnant by a Black man, at a time that had yet to accept her decision socially, and it was a big deal for my family!  As she was the first to explore an interracial relationship that would birth children outside of her race.  (My father's side of the family understood, through experience, how to live with diversity).

Faced with struggles at home, my mother realized the challenges that lied ahead.  My grandmother wasn't accepting of their relationship either, but once I was born, she became able to move beyond it. We now share a very deep and meaningful connection, especially when it comes to our intuitive dreams.

I had a very traditional Mexican upbringing, yet my mother was also

sensitive to my identity as a black woman. Tremendously ensuring culture existed on both sides for my three sisters and me. Awareness of our identity inspired confidence in a world not yet designed for mixed raced children. Still, it was challenging growing up biracial in a mostly white community that was also unaccepting of my mixed ethnicity.

My mother died in a fatal car accident in January of 2018, leaving a doctor's appointment. It was the first rain of the season, so the roads were slippery. A five-car collision ensued, and she lost control of her vehicle and found herself in the direction of oncoming traffic where she hit a truck head-on.

Everyone else walked away from the accident.  My mother was the only fatality. Life stopped when I got that phone call.  I struggled with how this could happen and why.  I felt lost, angry, and so traumatized that the reality of my mother's death didn't resonate with me. Instead, it was a bad movie. I remember seeing my mother's name in the newspapers written as "the deceased," and it felt unreal. 

There wasn't any time for grieving.  Naturally, I assumed the maternal role, as my mother was the matriarch of our family, and I was the firstborn, so I decided to display that strength and support for my sisters. Recalling memories of my mother, she imparted her resilience onto me like an ancestral right of passage.  And that fortitude flows down our lineage to my sisters, cousins, tia's, even my grandmother.   It's our connection to this strength that keeps me fighting each day after her passing.  Between her funeral, organizing fiscal responsibilities, dealing with the accident's legal aftermath, and her house, I felt the weight of two worlds on my shoulders. The thoughts of the strength my mother would act out during a challenging time like this continuously played out in my mind.

My daughter Siena was just four months old when mom died.  I was barely adjusting to motherhood. But when Siena was born, she came up to Oakland to help me as a new parent. I was nervous about maternity, but she gave me the determination to handle it.

Our mother-daughter friendship taught me how to have the same relationship with my daughter. We joked around and said that we grew up together because she had me so young and was still growing into the woman she wanted to become.

Looking back, I learned the value of a family bond and celebrating life from her. As a mother myself, her passing puts more importance on time with my daughter so that I can support her as a mother and friend just as my own did.

I have conversations with my daughter about her grandmother. It keeps the memories of her alive to awaken the many stories and photos we have of her.  My mother is very much present in our home, and even though she's not here physically, she is very much a part of my daughter's life.

Since those early months after her passing, I have allowed myself the space to feel and sit with my emotions—whatever they are, without feeling pressured to deal with them any particular way.  Some days I'm full of gratitude. Other days I write her letters as though she were still here and share things with her or cry if I need to, and it keeps me tethered to my mother's voice.

I know she would be proud of me.  I've grown much through my experience(s) as a woman, mother, wife, and sister, allowing me to open up and get more comfortable with emotions than ever before.  Even now, she is leading me to my healing work.

For as long as I can remember, I had visions of my late grandfather.  Every time he would leave, I would wake up crying because it felt otherworldly yet still real.  I would share these dreams with my mother over the years, and she always welcomed them without judgment.

Growing up Catholic, it was incredibly taboo to have visions, but I became very comfortable with them because they were frequent.

When my mother passed away, she started speaking to me in the same manner, through my dreams, which brought me peace because we all have our day to go, and there's nothing we can do to change that. When it's your time to go, it's your time to go. No matter where you are, where you're going, what's happening in your life, or how much you love someone.

I felt like she was telling me to keep listening and follow my intuition as I moved forward. I have always been leery of medium readings, but after my mother's passing, I decided to connect with a Berkeley spiritualist.

Without offering any context, she immediately recounted direct messages from my mother and details about the accident. My dreams began getting stronger after that, and I can't help but think it was my mother steering me toward the healing work I now perform in grief therapy.

Communication with ancestors takes us to another vibration by allowing open connections beyond the physical. When we can get to that space energetically in our meditation and breathwork, it's enlightening. This level of understanding opened a new realm for me.  Before this insight, I hadn't paid much attention to my gift in any way.  I was going through the motions of life without having any presence of mind. Until one deals with sorrow, you don't have a frame of reference for processing it. 

Never in a million years would I have thought that intuitive/mediumship work would create a life change for me, and because of it, I am mindfully walking down a new road.  It's made me question everything I was sure about before, including my faith (Which I lean into even more than before). 

I'm scratching the surface of this ability, but it arises in you when you're open to receiving a greater peace.  I've endured much loss in the past few years. Yet, I feel a lot more connected to my mom than ever before, which I know may read strange for some, but it's a newfound intimacy we share.

There is a summoning at work, a call to aid others in their healing journey, recognizing that grief and loss look different for everyone.  Allow me to help you understand the ending of something is not the ending of everything.  It's a challenging moment in time, but there's more life ahead.

I want people to know that some things have to come to an end to reap new beginnings.

 No mud, No lotus flower.