To my mother

How do I start telling my story about my mom?

I guess starting from the beginning.

Mom had my twin and me at age 41, after her first encounter with cancer, the first of several.

It was because of this history, cervical cancer and the intervention it required, that the doctor recommended my mother not to get pregnant again since it was most likely that the pregnancy would not be viable and would end in a spontaneous abortion.

However, what has to happen always happens, and we finally arrived, my twin and I, making our way through life, despite the odds against us.

But we had to get here, it was all part of the plan.

The thing is, when the soul decides to come to this Earth, it chooses the souls that will accompany it on its path and those that will appear throughout its life.

We choose the souls that will be our parents, brothers, uncles. We choose the souls that will be friends, the souls that will teach us through difficulties.

And we also choose in detail what will happen in our lives, from the happy moments to the most painful ones.

I imagine the reaction when reading this is: why would I choose "this bad thing that happened to me in life"? Why would someone choose "to have cancer"? Why would someone choose to be the daughter of someone who has cancer? Or why would I choose this person with whom I have an incompatible bond? Everything has a reason, and many times the reason is not the most important thing to understand.

The soul comes with a plan, a plan created from love and wisdom.

During my childhood I felt a little misunderstood by my mother. I felt that she didn't see me, that she didn't love me the way "mothers are expected to love." And during my adolescence the bond was worse.

We used to have disagreements in our opinions and big conflicts and fights, especially as I grew older and became more rebellious towards her, to who she "was".

Sometimes, we children, feel the need to choose a role model in our parents, because we have to learn from someone, how to grow, how to create our life. And, by choosing, we may become more allies of one than the other, even causing the bond with our siblings to suffer.

We forget the unconditional love from which we come, to live under the condicionated love establish by patterns, family beliefs and loyalties, and ultimately, the terms of society.

I believe that in all families there are roles in which, with more or less awareness, we choose to participate. These transgenerational roles, patterns and beliefs (which are repeated from generation to generation) are often inhabited without questioning, because is how it has always been, forcing them on us, like rigid molds into which we feel we must fit at all costs.

Many times family beliefs are transmitted almost without being said, they are there, in the way we are raised, in the way they speak to us, in the way our parents relate to each other or to others, in the way they educate us, in how they explain to us "what life should be" or who we should aspire to be.

I don't think any of this is passed on with the intention of hurting us or consciously limiting us, it is simply "copy and pasted" to the next generation. Unless, eventually, one day, we get around to revising it.

In my case, and perhaps because of the lack of understanding I felt from my mother, I chose my father as a role model. I became so loyal to him and to the beliefs that came with him, that I never questioned whether what I chose for my life was what I wanted.

I was demanding with myself, effective, an excellent student, an "excellent daughter", avoiding making mistakes, trying to control even what I felt. Punishing myself when the result was not excellent, I was, by standards, "successful".

That's what I thought I had to do to show loyalty. A loyalty that, in truth, he never demanded of me, a loyalty that I chose, so that I would be sure that he loved me.

But, when I moved to another city to study at university, at the age of 17, and with that physical distance, the air between my mother and I began to clear.

My anger at what I felt I had missed from her as a mother began to diminish. I began to judge her less, and I opened myself to knowing her more, to understanding her, and to see her with different eyes, with the eyes of love.

When I went home on the weekends, usually to go out partying with my friends, my mom and I would talk more. She would share stories about her life that I hadn't heard before, I would accompany her on errands, we would sit down to drink mate and talk. It was really about enjoying our meetings in a closer and loving way.

It was during one of these visits home during a weekend, that I experienced an episode at night that scared me so much, that from that moment on, and every time I was going to stay, I tried to make plans with my friends and return home when the sun had already risen.

I was so scared by that "paranormal" event that I experienced, that before I came back from the club, my dad would lift the window blinds so I could enter the house, already illuminated by the dawn sun.

My father was Catholic and was always very religious and devout.

My mother grew up in a very religious family, and although she believed in God in her own way, she was also more open-minded to other possibilities, some less rigid than those preached by religions.

She had a friend who was a medium and who she sometimes asked to do "house cleaning" or a reading. Another time she went to see someone who gave her a past life reading.

I always took these things of hers as "eccentricities."

However, just a few days ago, all of this fell into place so clearly and I understood my mother in such a way that I was amazed and deeply grateful.

After the horror episode, my mother took me to see her friend, the medium, who diagnosed that I did indeed have the gift of perceiving disembodied souls. Needless to say, the idea of perceiving souls scared me so much that for many years afterward, I decided to deny any kind of gift and simply erased it from my life, or tried to.

I continued with my life focused on my career, on "being successful," on fitting in, on trying to change everything I believed could be judged by others as inadequate.

I ignored my eating disorder as an alert of deep struggle, I ognored the symptoms in my body that told me something was not right inside, I denied the pain of changing who I was, to be someone who "fitted" better.

I chose a path of great suffering.

If I'm not mistaken, it was during my first year of university that my mother was first diagnosed with breast cancer. This cancer was treated with radiotherapy.

This was followed by a second diagnosis of a different, much more aggressive breast cancer, which therefore required an even more aggressive intervention: surgery, radiotherapy and chemotherapy.

That time my mother lost all her hair.

However, no matter how much she showed the challenge and exhaustion of going through this, Mom never gave up.

You see, my mom was always a person who was very connected to life, with a lot of energy. Wherever she went, she lit up the room with her presence, her humor and her joy, speaking loudly with her passionate energy. A passion that I identify with today and embrace with great pride, but that was not always the case.

My mother was always a warrior and fought great battles with laughter, with joy, with vulnerability and with determination.

My mother was not afraid to show herself as she was, a great, brave and fighting woman, who did not tolerate injustice, who had great acts of spontaneous kindness. My mother is a great soul.

A few days ago, almost 8 years after her death, my mother continues to be a great teacher.

She taught me a bold, passionate, and courageous way out into the world.

I finally saw with complete clarity that she was showing me that there was another path to choose in my life. That I could choose the path of leading a "successful" life based on other people's beliefs or parameters, or that I could embrace who I was, regardless of what others judged, and live aligned with my most real version.

I chose to "fit in."

Today I understand that I often rejected her, because she came to show me everything about myself that I was afraid to embrace.

But in the end, my soul's plan was to remember who I am in my true essence, and with several detours, and after having taken other paths, today I see myself walking back on the best path for my spirit. And this too, is thanks to "my mother's gift".

With the first diagnosis of breast cancer, my mother's life began to revolve around that disease, and in some way, it became her identity. She paused and postponed plans in her life, because appointments with doctors, studies, interventions, chemotherapy, took up most of her energy.

Finally, when she beat her second breast cancer and after the following years of routine check-ups to ensure that the cancer did not return, the doctors declared her "disease-free" and told her to go and enjoy life. At last my mother was freed from appointments and studies. She finally felt that she could start living her life, traveling, planning, she felt free.

But it took a fourth and final cancer for my mother to completely transform.

Two or three months after being declared "disease-free," she began to feel ill.

Within 4 months, the new cancer, of unknown origin, had spread to her entire body. And quickly, my mom was facing the end of her life.

I still remember the day he called me to tell me that he had finally decided not to fight this time.

I was living in Capital Federal, where I had started my specialty in Family Medicine a 5 months ago.

And at that time, I was doing a Palliative Care rotation. It was a very distressing rotation for me, considering that my mother was going through a cancer that was even more aggressive than the previous one.

She called me and told me that she had made her decision and that she hoped I could understand her. She was too tired to start again with the doctors, the chemotherapy. This time, she decided to let the disease take its course.

The pain inside me was very great.

Although I had already received the premonition that this time she was not going to live, her call confirmed what I feared and did not want to accept: that my mother was going to die.

At first I refused it, it seemed too painful to me, however, I understood and accepted her decision, she had already fought too much in her life, like a warrior.

I returned to my hometown in early December, when I realized that the disease was progressing so quickly that there was not much time left.

I believe it was the acceptance that her body was dying and that her life on this Earth was coming to an end, that such surrender, without resistance to what it was, enlightened her.

My mother was illuminated. Her appearance was very withered, but her spirit was whole, and at times she seemed to radiate Light.

She no longer carried the things that had bothered her before, and she let us stroke her hair, or let us eat on her bed, let us all be in her room, that sacred place to her. She was no longer bothered by the little things, she just enjoyed what there was, nothing more.

My dad, my siblings and I shared the last days of her passage through this life, with great pain in recognizing her inminent departure, but supported by all the love that was present.

We shared the last Christmas, which for the first time was not about the food we were going to eat, or the clothes we were going to wear, the schedules, the gifts. It wasn't about that. It was about being able to share that last moment.

Two days later, I saw the ambulance take her out of the house to the hospital. I remember my impulse to bring her one of the books she enjoyed reading so much, or her glasses, or a change of clothes, when someone said to me: "What for?" Right, my mother was going to the hospital and not coming back.

On the morning of December 28th, I woke up around 8am because I felt her passing by. I didn't see her, I just felt her presence, a great Light, and a great peace. I knew my mom had died.

A few minutes later my dad came to wake us up to tell us that my brother had called from the hospital, confirming the news.

My mother died with a very sick body, but a healthy spirit. That was a great lesson.

It was 3 months later, already at my home in Capital Federal, I was lying down during nap time one afternoon, resting, when I felt a cold breeze on my leg, a caress. I knew that Mom had been with me during that difficult time, and I knew that this was her way of letting me know that she was "continuing her journey."

I always say that when a soul leaves the body and returns Home, when a person dies, that moment is very important for the one who leaves as well as for those who stay. But since we have free will, choosing to open ourselves to the transformation that pain brings is a choice.

I am sure that my soul agreed with hers, that her death was going to be an important moment in my life.

Finally, after hiding it for so many years in places "that wouldn't bother me", I felt so much pain that I couldn't hide it anywhere.

Finally, I had the opportunity to choose again which path to choose.

This time, I chose to listen, I chose to feel, I chose to transform myself from the greatest pain I have felt in my life.

Today I am on this path, so aligned with my true essence, thanks to the "gift from my mother" of leaving when she did, because for me it was a turning point in my life. Giving me the opportunity to choose to reconnect with all those parts of me that I covered up and rejected, those pains that I had refused to attend to.

My mother's grief reminded me that, this time, I could open the door and finally let the Light in, to every corner of my being.

I choose to feel, to heal, to build again that bridge to who I am, body, mind, soul: Spirit.

Thank you beautiful mom for choosing me, for teaching me, for showing me the courage to Be.

I love you like the first time I did. I feel your love, which was always there, with my soul. And I honor that love that continues to unite us today and forever.

Thank you for coming to visit me, to send me messages, to remind me of your love, to give me words of encouragement in difficult times.

People who "move away" leave us longing for that hug, that voice that "can no longer be heard." But they leave us with a heart full of memories, imperfect as life is, to lighten the chair that was left empty.

But the soul lives on, no one disappears, and death is not the end. It is simply the moment when our task here is over and it is time to return Home.

And if, in the face of so much pain, we are brave enough to keep our hearts open, we can receive the signals they send us, letting us know that they are okay, and that they are still with us.

We have, with the souls we love, that unbreakable connection, which echoes into eternity.

And one day, when it is our time to return, we will meet again and embrace in the most unconditional love.

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