family

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  • nine time two minus one

    She was the runt of the litter and only black kitten in a group of tabbies and her dingus brother Gomez. Found in the wall of a mechanic shop in Philly some time in November and carefully fostered by this lovely girl Rachel, who trusted me enough to take them both. Truth be told, I needed a friend. When you move to the other side of the country, have no local friends and you’re home alone a lot? It made perfect sense and my heart wanted a little shadow. Better yet, needed it. I named her Judas.

    This is the thing about Judas, she took YEARS to come around. Many years of routine, trust, treats and it wasn’t till much later she finally decided who was hers. That’s how it is with felines – they don’t give it up so freely and make you earn it, that’s how they know you’re a real one. In any event she slowly but surely became my desk statue, art supervisor, serial kitchen beggar, work supervisor perched on my desk chair and rib cage warmer.

    Judas loved to bask in the sun, grip my finger with her claws, would never let me pee in peace, waited on the bathmat for me to come out of the shower, smacked her lips when I was preparing food in the kitchen, waited to christen that cleaned litter box, had the fastest poo-phoria zooms and hated a closed door. Frequent were the times she woke me to the song of her people because her food ho-dom knew no bounds, where the purrs carried over into the messages I sent others because she was that loud. There wasn’t a box she didn’t love and claimed before her brother did. She never attacked the Christmas tree, was the queen of side eye, loved to try and eat all kinds of weird shit – especially tape + adhesive, respected our Ofrenda altar and was just this intuitive little beast who always knew when my heart needed mending. She was so quick to offer it with her companionship gold that filled the cracks and fractures. She was there at the end of the day when I laid my head down and one of the first things I saw when I opened my eyes.

    She was the quiet one. The one who never gave problems, she was mannered and dainty, drank water from her paw, covered her shit and never needed emergency vet visits. I truly thought she would be the one that made it to legendary status. Everything was leaning that way until it didn’t. I wasn’t expecting to hear lymphoma and when it got to the point I noticed the changes, it was all too much too late. I always promised myself that if we arrived to the big C, I would make the call because prolongation of suffering is not an act of love. Cancer and time are some of the cruelest of thieves.

    I spent a weekend mourning her diagnosis. I was grateful Bee was here from Japan when I found out, I needed that more than I could have ever thought. The decline was rapid and in fairness to her we made the call that this needed to be sooner than later. I wasn’t going to watch our mamas struggle more than she already was. So I made it a point to bathe her in love, light and all the treats she was willing to have. We sat outside in the sun and I thanked her. It only made it harder because there were glimmers of her former self there for a moment. She had chosen to hide out in the bath tub of all places which considering my connection to water, feels almost poetic that she found comfort in it just as much. That night she came out and climbed up in bed and rested her head on me, as she would. I’d like to believe that was her way to say she was ready. It was her last departing gift between us.

    On the morning of August 5th, I felt my best friend take her final breath underneath the palm of my hand. She was surrounded by her family, in her home – and one of her favorite spots to lounge. It was and is one of the most difficult but beautiful things I have ever had to do. It was the very least she deserved. It was loving, gentle and quick. She was ready. Afterward she was carefully wrapped in a little purrito, Reza and I took turns holding her before I carried her out to the doctor’s car to have her remains ascended into another form.

    Judas was the best familiar I could have asked for. She healed me so many times and in so many ways. Rescues save you just as much, I truly believe that. She saw me go through adventures, challenges, poignant moments of my life: moves to new cities, friendship losses, divorce, insurmountable heartbreak, pandemic quarantine, new alliances and connections, surgery, you name it… she was there. A constant in a world where not a lot of things or even people are. And now my friend is gone. 12.5 years was not enough time.

    I thought we would have had more time michen. I wasn’t ready. How I would have loved to watch your whiskers go white and turn into a baddie feline crone that owned the house (pssst, you already did). It just didn’t work out that way. The other day I saw your shadow in my bedroom window where you always perched and it was a heart wrenching comfort – like you’re still here in some form or fashion, watching over me. You are so terribly missed.

    I look forward to the day we meet again. I will be the one waiting by the water.

  • Judas Iscariot

    November 9, 2012 – August 5, 2024

  • maz

    Another trip home in the books. Between scheduling, logistics, a complexity of feelings and then catching covid so close to departure, this was not an easy trip to make on any level. Choosing to leave Reza behind was a tough call to make – but when we were barely clearing negative tests, I had to make a choice for the sake of parental safety. I was really looking forward to having them come with me. What I wasn’t prepared for was the cruel, reinforcing realization that this parenting thing is really a solo job. Even when the asks are minimal at best and in this case, under circumstances of real duress. I see that and I can only count on myself – well, and the friends who show up for both of us better than blood can, without even having to be asked. It was another layer of hard I didn’t plan for but those wagons circled so I could still go on my own since my fares were not refundable and time with Mom is running out. I am so grateful I have people in my life that I can trust, that are selflessly filled with care and empathy. Ingrid stepping in to stay with Reza was something I don’t know how I will ever repay. Somehow, the universe sees me and continues to provide.

    By the skin of my teeth I managed to get our recovery in, turn in some art, work, have Reza + the cats covered and tie all my loose ends so I could go with a little less stress. I am grateful that the journey was relatively hiccup free and that Mexico is still practicing precautions and covid protocols – cause I sure as fuck do not want to catch this shit again.

    Mazatlan changes more and more with every visit. Buildings get taller, the gentrification creeps in yet in so many corners, the nostalgia remains in the old reliables: the cracked tiles, your favorite ice cream stand still being there and trees growing out of the walls. It was unbelievably warm, swampy, but medicinal in her own ways – gifting me with one morning of a fleeting summer thunderstorm, just like I remembered them.

    Truth be told, the majority of the trip was spent at home. Sitting in the room with Mom, naps, helping where we could without getting snapped at by Dad who in his old age only becomes more set in his ways. Change is not welcome there. Of course the eats are always choice but when I am still in covid recovery, things weren’t as easy on or for me. My sisters and I had a couple days under the same roof before the 3 became 2 and now only 1 remains there. It’s a tough spot for everyone, really. Our nightly outing for a walk/dinner was about as much excitement we got but we savored it nonetheless. It had been 3 years since we could and when the time is fleeting, you soak in what you can.

    I wish I could say that things with Mom are anywhere that had certainty but the nature of this disease is a lot of variables, unknowns and as it slowly advances, the grief only amplifies. And when you’re dealing with so many different personalities around Her, it’s all very complex and while well meaning, can be challenging within itself. My family has been actively mourning the living for 5+ years now and while we were given a rough timeline of 6-12 months, it could be more, or less. We just don’t know and Dad is so mad about us even having asked what that timeline was. I try to give him a ton of grace and empathy where I can, even if I don’t agree.

    We all dance with grief in our own ways and it can be the worst partner ever. It’s so individually tailored and personal and there isn’t one right way to go about it that is right or wrong as long we don’t interject our own process into that of another. There is something so cruel about watching someone you love slowly deteriorate into this shell of the human you remember them to be. A frail and delicate vessel of paper thin skin, a glimpse into the mortality we all face who just so happens to stare back at you with confusion and vacancy, with the eyes of the one that brought you into this world.

    It is something I don’t wish on anyone to have to endure.

    Leaving gets more and more difficult because we have to treat every goodbye as the final one. I have had to have that “final goodbye” conversation with Her and myself more than once. Over and over… and over…. and while I have made a ton of peace with it, and Her, it is not easy and in ways will never feel right.

    I am glad I made it home with a couple days to spare before going right back into the grind. The unwind and unpack is something I will be doing for a good while.

    To everyone who messaged, supported, showed up and listened to me throughout all of this process and journey – forever grateful to it and you for being a part of this with me. I am eternally grateful for all of that kindness and generosity.

  • dia del padre

    Mi Jefe is from the old school. Mexican with roots of Spanish blood. Virgo. One of 7 children. And if you knew the personalities he grew up around, you would know about the bolt of cloth he was cut from. He’s a complex man… stoic, stubborn, set in his ways and guards a lot of his feelings like his life depends on it. A treasure trove of secrets with no map to X marks the spot. He’s softened up in his age and every once in a while we get glimpses of that soft, tender man that was never allowed the opportunity to be such.

    Men of his generation were raised to be providers, backbones, tough and god forbid you ever show anything that could perceive you as “weak”. He has known hardship and struggle. An immigrant who came to this country, that built himself a something out of absolutely nothing, hustling multiple jobs, helped raise 4 kids and still to this day does the best he can with what he was given, even from where his now 83 year old frame stands.

    When I became a parent was when I really came to understand and respect a lot of the things he (and my mother) did for us. I came to see them as humans, flawed and complicated with secrets and struggles of their own. From families riddled with expectations, anger, ignorance, toxicity and broken parts, just as much as there was love, even if shown in very bizarre ways. The Garcia Way. He, like many of our parents, built lives from what little they were given or even allowed to have.

    It’s Father’s Day… and he is home right now, caring for our ailing Mother. Watching the love of his life deteriorate on the daily and still managing to do it with as much grace as he allows himself to show. Mourning the living for years. How I wish things ended a bit differently for the both of them but such is life and the cruel hands she deals out to play. We endure.

    I will say this. I have learned a great deal from Him, far more than he can ever possibly know or understand. It’s from him I got my absolute warrior mechanism from… the one that defends, supports and prioritizes her child above anything and anyone else, just as much as he taught me there are ways not to be and where I can be better so those generational curses are cast off for good.

    This is how I like to see him… sneaking that cigarette he knows Mom hated him doing, taking us out on camping adventures and him standing en Su Tierra, where he feels most at home.

    Feliz Dia Daddy, y gracias por todo.


    (note: this was written last year on a fb post… needed it here, for posterity)