This is part two of Raven's En La Vida column. Part one was in the Jan. 20 Windy City Times.
I stopped talking to my mother in 2002. Having absolutely no relationship with her whatsoever made it difficult to maintain one with the rest of my family so for years my wife, our daughters and I lived in a bubble … one that eventually burst.
My then-wife and I split up in 2005. The demise of my marriage had nothing to do with my mother or anything that was going on with my extended family. This was something altogether removed but it was still a difficult situation to be in without having family to fall back on.
I had honestly been more than prepared to never speak to my mother again. After all, she had spent her lifetime becoming who she was. The odds of her changing were not in her favor. We Latinos are a stubborn breed and the Rivera women … pfff! Forget it! I'd have better luck expecting her to change eye color by sheer will. So I went about my business getting over the deterioration of my marriage.
A couple more years went by and I slowly recovered from the breakup and was once again out and about, doing the things I truly enjoyed. One of those things was singing backup for a band called Pulsation and as we were performing at Northalsted Market Days in 2009, with my youngest daughter in the crowd with one of my sisters, my mother made an appearance.
I was caught completely off-guard as it had been years since I had last laid eyes on her. From the stage I saw her conversing with my daughter and I became flustered. Thankfully with two other backup singers, I was able to feign that my microphone had gone out ( when really the words to the song had escaped me ). There was nothing to be done in the moment other than rehearse in my head the tongue lashing I was about to give my sister for allowing this. Once the set was over, I leapt off stage and walked right up to my mom ready to remove my youngest from her presence. However, the minute I saw that lady, my heart softened.
She was different, somehow. Her demeanor was unfamiliar to me. She was humble and not aggressive, meek and not arrogant, almost apologetic and open. This woman before me was not the woman I stopped speaking to seven years ago. This woman was human, and not el demonio I had run from for the last seven years.
We made small talk and she asked if she could visit with my daughters sometime. I told her I would think about it. I asked my daughters if they were comfortable with that, and they were. So little by little I began visiting my mom and bringing my daughters around. Little by little I began the process of getting to know this woman. This woman who now not only welcomed me but also insisted I bring the woman, which has turned out to be my soul mate, with to family events. This woman who was lighter, no longer angry, bitter or broken. This woman who was, by all accounts, a stranger to me.
At first it was a bit difficult, especially when she would tell me she loved me. I could not say it back. How could I love her? I spent seven years forgetting the woman she was and had only just started getting to know the woman she had become. Some will argue she was still my mother. I will argue that that didn't matter. That mother-daughter bond never felt like it existed anyway so it wasn't a stretch to say I could not love someone I didn't know.
As we became closer, my mother opened her heart to my new wife, to my happiness, accepting that her definition of a good life was not an absolute, and that she could follow her God and I could follow my Mother and we could still co-exist in peace.
I won't lie, at first I always waited for the catch. Like someone suffering from PTSD, some little motion or word would make me think I was going to be tossed back into the pit I had worked so hard to crawl out of. I was always on edge.
Soon I learned to relax and one night while at one of my sisters' house barbequing and drinking, my mom took shots of Patron with me, a HUGE deal in and of itself and not because she was drinking, as the Rivera women can go just as hard as the men in our family, but because it was with ME. This was what she needed to completely let down her guard, and she called me out to the back porch and everything changed.
Through tears she asked me to forgive her. She apologized for everything, from birth up until the day we stopped speaking. The woman was so overcome I think she even blamed herself for the curse on the Cubbies! Had I been holding a grudge all those years we went without speaking, this probably would have brought me to tears. Instead, through chuckles, I hugged her and explained I had already forgiven her years ago so not to worry. She cried into my shoulder as I held her tighter. Then it happened.
"I love you mommy."
And with those words, all the emotions of a child longing to be loved by her mother came pouring out and soon I was in tears as well because I meant it. I had a mother. Not just someone who gave birth to me, not just someone who fed and clothed me, but a MOTHER. I knew she would never again make me feel less than what I was. I knew she realized that losing her daughter and granddaughters was not worth whatever darkness she clung to that created the animosity she had toward me. She would be my MOM!
Since that moment about five years back now, our relationship has only gotten stronger. The transformation has been nothing short of miraculous. She has become someone I can turn to, someone I can rely on emotionally and spiritually. I learned that people, when aptly motivated, can change and she learned to love me por lo que soy.
Raven Rodriguez grew up in the Humboldt Park area as the oldest of six sisters. She has two daughters of her own, happily married and working full time for Northwestern University. She still finds time to pursue her passion for sketching pencil portraits and playing volleyball.
