Gone

Published: July 24, 2022 / Updated: July 24, 2022 Vilma Life in Mexico

‘I wish I had two legs like everybody else. But God must have had his plan. I am happy’.

That is the post that I had seen on Facebook. It touched me. Not only because of the person who had said it, who had no legs. But also because only recently I managed to say it myself: ‘God must have had his plan’. It took me 3 years.

I don’t want to remember the rest of that afternoon, the days to come. But some memories are extremely vivid in my mind.

  • I remember Beno’s aunt asking me if it was true that Beno was dead. Why would she ask such a crazy question, was my first thought.
  • I remember feeling fear.
  • I remember tears.
  • I remember grabbing my baby and running to the neighbors and telling them Beno was dead.
  • I remember calling my sister and telling her Beno was dead.
  • I remember calling Kristina and telling her Beno was dead.

Beno was dead.

Many things happened. So much uncertainty followed. One thing was certain, though. One minute he was here, another he was gone.

And how does one recover from something like this? How?

Talking from my personal experience, slowly. The 3 years I mentioned earlier, remember?

‘Maybe it had to be either you or him’, – somebody said.

‘Maybe it would have been all of you, or just him’, – someone tried to comfort me.

‘It happened for a reason’, – friends told me.

‘God must have had his plan’, – was sometimes the answer.

But why? What reason? What plan? Why did anybody had to die? Why would an innocent baby lose her father? How is her not seeing her daddy ever again part of some grand plan? How?

I was full of questions, and I didn’t take any answers. I know friends and family had only the best intentions, they only tried to help. But all they said bounced straight back from the wall I put around myself.

It was not fair. Not fair for my baby, who was only 6 months old, who has never done any harm to anybody in her life. And here she was, without her dad. Not fair.

After many many days I do allow myself to think: maybe, just maybe, God did have his plan.

Beno’s biggest dream was to have a baby. It was a huge desire of his. And here she was. Our lovely daughter, 6 months old. Maybe after that there was nothing left for him here. I don’t know. Nobody knows. All I know is that he’s gone.

A nightmare

Published: July 8, 2022 / Updated: July 9, 2022 Vilma Life in Mexico

I open the door of our apartment and slowly walk in. I see two people, a man and a woman, holding guns. They don’t say a word. Neither do I. I walk from the hall to the kitchen to the bathroom, seeing more people inside, feeling them follow my every step with their eyes. More men with guns. The place is a mess, and I sigh to myself as they motion me to the bedroom. I know better than to scream or try to escape. This has happened before, so I know the drill. I sit down on the floor by the bed and look from the man to the woman. They won’t hurt me. They are not here for me.

I start waiting for the door to open. This time it will be Beno coming home. And I know that as soon as he’s in, the bullets will start flying. They will not kill Beno. They want him alive. They want answers. But it will be bad. I imagine Beno hurt, his face in my hands, and I taste blood in the back of my mouth.

That’s the dream I had recently. I bit of a nightmare, wouldn’t you say?

Sadly, in reality some nightmares happen when we are wide awake. They happen when we least expect them. Scratch that. They happen when we don’t expect them.

It was an ordinary day with some unordinary details. Usually, Beno would get ready for work and leave me and our baby girl at home. That day I needed to take her to the hospital for the vaccine, so I had sent Beno early to get the number for the line. That’s how we did it on those rare occasions when our baby needed a vaccine shot at the hospital. Beno came home and I started getting ready to leave. I remember that we kissed. We always kissed before saying goodbye. Always. And then I left.

The rest of the day passed as usual. I came home from the hospital, ate, fed the baby, slept, I did all the ordinary things. But there was something… something unusual.

Our baby had turned six months the previous weekend. We were in the park close to home and I took loads of pictures of her and Beno.

He seemed distant, sometimes even sad. That whole week he was quiet, like he had a lot on his mind. Whatever it was, he didn’t say a word to me. But the sadness was right there on his face.

That night, when I asked if he was soon coming home, his reply was simple:

I had no doubts that he did, but he very rarely said something like this, if ever. And that wasn’t exactly the answer to my question, no matter how sweet it was. I soon got tired of waiting and went to sleep. I woke up a couple of times during the night, but Beno was nowhere to be found.

Next day was Saturday. I woke up seriously annoyed. He could have at least told me he was not coming home! There was no message from Beno. I tried calling, there was no answer. I tried texting, my messages did not reach him.

By Sunday morning I was extremely frustrated. Why didn’t he call me? I was sure if his phone had died he would have managed to charge it in two days. I was not worried, I just could not understand it.

And if I thought it was bad, soon it became much worse.