Between life and death lies love

Published: September 24, 2022 / Updated: September 24, 2022 Vilma Life in Europe: Back Home

I don’t think I have ever before thought that I had been at the right place at the right time at the exact moment of being there.

But two weeks ago I was fully aware of it. I was the right person to be exactly where I was. At that exact moment in time.

It was the last Sunday of the summer. We were on the way to the park near our home. There was a playground there (my daughter loved it) and there were a couple of ponds with ducks there (I loved those). We had bread handy for the ducks and were enjoying the beautiful morning walk.

As we were approaching one of the benches, we saw a young woman walking towards us. However, the second I laid my eyes on her, I realised she was crying. It wasn’t just a few tears running down her cheeks. She was weeping, howling and whimpering all at once. She was holding on to her chest and holding on to her belly. And she did not stop. She almost collapsed on the steps near the bench, just as we were approaching it.

‘I can’t just watch her and do nothing’, – I thought to myself.

I don’t remember what I asked her. I hope it wasn’t something ridiculous, like ‘Are you ok?’, when she obviously wasn’t. But I did say something to her. And she replied with the remark: ‘Take care of your families and of your children’.

Something was terribly wrong.

So I just took her in my arms and let her weep.

‘My husband killed himself last night’ – she said after a while. She nearly collapsed again. ‘And I have a two year old son’.

Life is so cruel sometimes. But almost 3.5 years later I felt strong and confident enough to share my story, trying to comfort her and calm her down. I held her close for as long as she let me, and I kept caressing her long hair and patting her back, repeating: ‘It’s ok, I know’.

I did know. I had been there. It took a lot of time for me to pull myself back together, it will take her a lot of time as well.

I motioned my head to my daughter: ‘Look, here she is, after 3.5 years.’ The woman looked at my girl. ‘You will be there for your son and you will be strong for him’.

I’d like to think I helped her some. And I’d like to know how she is today. But there, by the pond, we talked about moments, fights, and not getting a goodbye.

I think of Beno so often. I revisit the places, the conversations, the feelings. Everything that I felt immediately after his loss has mellowed, moved to the background.

I’m left with the immense feeling of overflowing love towards the little girl we created. The one who is my life and my biggest love.

That crazy crazy world

Published: September 9, 2022 / Updated: September 9, 2022 Vilma Life in Europe: Back Home

‘We are in prison’.

No kidding. I never thought I’d see a message like that from my sister. My sister! Who is a well behaved, intelligent lady, way less attracted to risky activities than I am.

‘You are?’, – I texted back incredulously. I wondered what on earth could a family of 5 do, to end up in prison. I did not come up with one feasible explanation.

‘Yes, the tour is about to start’, – she came back to me minutes (longest, full of tension) later.

Phew! On one hand, I was so incredibly relieved. On the other hand, just wondering, what COULD a family of 5 do to get locked up?

As you see, that was quite the start of the week.

‘She was 3, and she was pregnant’.

That was Karla, my seriously good friend, currently touring Europe with her son, a.k.a. Mia’s Mexican boyfriend.

‘I had the weirdest dream. Your daughter was pregnant’, – she went on, as if I had not heard her the first time.

Now that unsettled me. I found it…. creepy, ew, to say the least! I know we can’t control what we dream about, but, Karla, can we at least try, eh?

At the end, I did not want to hear more, and, luckily, my friend did not elaborate too much.

Truly bizarre.

‘I want to live in a tree’.

That, of course, was from the lips of my little angel.

Say what now?

‘Do you want to live with me? In a tree?’, – she persisted.

Then, naturally, I had to ask: ‘Which tree?’

‘That one!’ – she pointed to the one from the balcony. ‘Or that one’, – she pointed to another one and looked at me with the biggest smile. She obviously had it all figured out.

‘Maybe’, – that was me being diplomatic.

‘Mommy, why do you have to go to work every day?’ – my daughter suddenly changed her tone, became all serious.

‘Well, my love’, – I started explaining, – ‘I need to work so we can buy food and pay rent for this beautiful place’.

‘But if we lived in a tree, we wouldn’t need money to pay rent’, – she delivered her closing statement.

And she was so right.

Published: August 20, 2022 / Updated: August 20, 2022 Vilma Life in Europe: Back Home

Mine

‘You are not still restless in love, are you?’ – he asks me after reading my blog.

Yes, there is a ‘he’ in my life. And yes, I still am.

Although it’s been a few good months so far, since I came back, not wanting to run away, just being happy… being here. 

Then he whispers something, while gently kissing my forehead.

‘What was that?’, – I am not sure I heard it right. I thought he said the words that every girl wishes to hear. But I have to double check. It hasn’t been long enough, at least not long enough for me.

Instead of feeling like a calm sea, the way I did before he showed up, I feel gentle waves, now that he’s in my life. Sooner or later they will either turn into bigger waves, bigger still, maybe even a storm. Or they will simply disappear.

Nothing lasts forever.

The funny thing is, I don’t believe in ‘forever’ anymore.

All the times in the past when I’d get involved with a guy, I’d want us to be together forever, no other way around it.

Now, I just want us to be together, for as long as it lasts.

My daughter asks me why people die. I tell her they do because that’s how it is in this life. I do tell her too, that nothing lasts forever.

‘People are born and then they die. That’s the circle of life’, – I explain. ‘Everything sooner or later comes to an end’.

Life has showed me that there is no ‘forever’, and the fairy tale endings should be left at ‘they lived happily’, without the ‘ever after’.

She may not understand it yet, but she repeats it back to me.

‘One day you will die, too?’ – she’s curious.

‘Yes, I will’.

‘One day I will die, too?’ – she’s getting it now.

‘Yes, you will, but not for a very very long time. We’ll be together for many many years’.

‘When we celebrate death, we celebrate life’.

Sometimes at night, when I‘m stroking her hair while putting her to sleep, my girl in return caressess my  hair. ‘Sleep, mommy, sleep’, – she shushes me.

‘This is what my extraordinary life is all about, and she is all mine’, – I think to myself at moments like that. ‘I would not exchange this to any other kind of life’.

And even though in many ways I could never be like Carrie Bradshaw, I have a passion for writing just like her.

‘Maybe one day I’ll write about you in my blog’, – I tell him playfully.

‘But I don’t want to die’, – he objects. ‘The men you write about die’, – he looks a little bit worried.

‘They do’, – I silently agree. That is my story before you.

 

 

 

 


 

Ubuntu

Published: August 6, 2022 / Updated: August 6, 2022 Vilma Life in Mexico

Life is beautiful because looking back you can see the path you’ve taken, from the very beginning to the exact place where you are now. It seems that sometimes we make small, insignificant steps, but they may grow into a wonderful path, and reward with lifelong relationships.

‘Yo soy porque nosotros somos’.

It was another ordinary day, a couple of months before the tragedy. I was walking outside our house with my baby, pushing her in the pram, enjoying the slightly cooler weather of approaching evening. There was a basketball court just steps away from the house. Beno used to play there, I used to watch. And there was also a tiny park with a couple of benches, where I’d sit and just be quiet for a while.

On that day I saw a bunch of moms there. Moms, because they all seemed to have their babies in tow. There seemed to be a couple of dads, too.

‘They must be about to do some yoga’, – I thought to myself.

And as I had nothing better to do, I settled down on one of the benches and watched all those moms and babies mingling around.

Then suddenly I heard music, and the moms, together with their little ones, started dancing.

‘Ok’, – I thought to myself. ‘This is something different’.

So I watched the moms dance. I even received a couple of invitations to join them. But I felt a little bit shy, not really knowing what this was all about.

However, they seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves, and that was contagious. So when they were finished and packing up to leave, I asked if I could join them next time. The answer was a big positive ‘yes’.

This is how I met the moms from tribu Ubuntu. By accident, but I believe it was meant to be. They used to practice in a different park, but that time, when I happened to be where I was, tribu was there, ready to welcome me.

The moms became a tight knit group of friends. We had a lot of fun dancing together, getting ready for the IMAsivo of that year. Finally the steps were perfected, the clothes were ready, the baby carriers were decorated, the hair and makeup were discussed and agreed on (that was a long and heated discussion, by the way). However, just days before making the video for the contest the tragedy struck, and I had declined to participate further.

I received a huge support from the tribu. Even though afterwards I didn’t see them as often as I wanted to, and I stopped dancing, they were always there, ready to take me and my baby back.

From those days I took away beautiful relationships. My daughter now has at least two Mexican boyfriends (or brothers, as the mothers of the boys keep reminding me). With some of the moms, we cried together, we worked together, we explored together, we had sleepovers together, we laughed together.

The tribu today is miles away, but the memories are warm in my heart and the friends remain easily reachable.

Knowing that este is mi tribu, it’s not suprising, that when asked to make a presentation about myself at my new job recently, I said: ‘Some know me as a traveler, some know me as a dreamer, and some know me as part of tribu Ubuntu – a mother, dancing with her baby in her arms…’

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.

Not afraid

Published: June 18, 2022 / Updated: June 18, 2022 Vilma Life in Europe: Back Home

‘You are the best mama’, – my daughter  just  whispered in my ear. And even though I know that, many times us, mothers, are so hard on ourselves, often too hard. Hearing her say that simply melted my heart.

A few days ago my mom was less forgiving.

‘You don’t look like a 41 year old. But you do dress like a teenager’. Still, I took that as a good thing.

I turned 41 a week ago, and I’m not afraid to say my age out loud anymore. It does seem scary, seeing the number. But you know what? My daughter keeps me young and lighthearted (when she doesn’t worry me to death).

I am also not afraid to admit that I am as naive today as I was 20 years ago – when it comes to men. The only difference is that now I understand that I’m naive. Still, it allows me to take things easy and have some fun along the way.

Take London boy, for example.

‘ I wonder what your blog will say about me if we ever get to meet’, he wondered one day. Trust me, boy, I’ll dedicate the entire chapter to you.

Every once in a while he says he’ll visit me. Every once in a while I believe him. He gets me excited and then he backs off. It’s a typical game that men like to play. But I got used to it and I enjoy it and I no longer expect him to keep his word.

‘Two girlfriends down and you are still talking to me’, he wrote. Surprisingly so.

I am also extremely busy, so I don’t have time to even think about men, let alone do anything about it. The past two months have been crazy. Not only I left Mexico and moved back to Europe, but I found a gorgeous place for us to live amidst real estate crisis, and landed an awesome job. I did so much in so little time, I’m surprised I’m still alive. It would not have happened if not for my perseverance, a big chunk of good luck and continuous support from my family and friends, especially my mom.

Of course, it all doesn’t just stop here. But I am so excited to have reached the point where I currently am.

I got asked by my new colleagues recently whether I had a man, a child…

‘Yes’ to a child, the most beautiful almost four year old, and ‘no’ to a man’, I replied.

And there was not even one grain of sadness as I said it. It was a beautiful summer day and the sun was shining bright in the blue sky. My girl was safe and happy, and the absence of a man in my life seemed to be just an irrelevant detail.

Which made me wonder – have I finally found my inner peace?

My riches

June 5, 2022 Vilma Life in Mexico

And there she was… To be more precise, there she was somewhere two floors above me.

‘Nothing makes you feel like a woman till you squeeze a baby out of you’, – I announced, an expert after my daughter was born.

Nothing makes you feel in as much of a loss untill your newborn is taken away from you. For the right reasons, but still, she spent her first three days in this world without her mama.

I won’t bore you with the details of childbirth. I’ll just tell you that it started quite innocently.

The night before our daughter was born Beno and I were watching stand up comedy and were laughing out loud at Kevin Hart’s performance. I love that dude. Coincidentally, he was talking about babies, and I had the funniest night in a long time.

What started with laughs, turned into my water breaking down, continued with me pacing down the hospital ward for hours and ended up with me seeing our baby for the first time.

When I was able to visit our baby girl, after three restless days, I found her in what later became her signature sleeping position: lying on her belly, booty high up towards the sky, the cutest face to the side. And I finally had that feeling of what it truly meant to be a mama, when I picked her up for the first time and held her tight to my chest.

I’d definitely do some things differently the second time around, but I’m extremely grateful to the medical professionals who took care of us.

The days that followed were all hazy. Ask any first time mama and she’ll tell you that the first months after a baby is born are all about the sleepless nights. There are exceptions. I have heard (myths?) about newborns who slept through the night. But I’d rather miss out on the sleep myself than let my baby miss out on the precious milk. However, to be completely honest with you, breastfeeding every two hours day and night was not much fun.

Beno had taken a few days off to enjoy our family and help out. I loved having both daddy and baby around. Eventually Beno left for work again, and upon his return I met him with a starved look on my face.

‘I didn’t have time to eat’, – I admitted through the tears.

‘You eat first’, – he told me, ‘then feed the baby. I don’t want to hear about something like this again’.

And he didn’t. I moved into the routine of feeding, playing, cooking, eating and waiting for Beno to come home after work. My happiest hour was the hour when our baby was peacefully asleep and I could give Beno a hug and a kiss after a long day apart.

When people ask me what’s my biggest achievement in life, it’s this – it is getting this little girl to see the light of this world, and raising her as best as I can.

The shades of grey

Published: May 12, 2022 / Updated: May 22, 2022 Vilma Life in Europe: Back Home

As I write this, I see the grey sky. Which is perfect.

You know how some things in life are a grey area? I’d say grey is my least favorite color, dull and boring. I’d much rather choose white or black, or better yet, all the rainbow colors.

But some things are just too intricate to be labeled as one or the other.

I may not know much about it, but let’s look at the definition of ‘gender’ nowadays. It sure has changed from the time I was a little girl myself. Some of us just don’t belong, or belong to all, and can’t be labeled as ‘a man’ or ‘a woman’. Call it what you wish, but that’s a reality. By the time my daughter is old enough to talk about this (she may already be, actually, as she is very curious and we try to talk about everything openly) I hope to be able to explain things better to her, instead of just saying that it’s a little bit of a grey area these days.

It’s kinda the same when you have a thousand questions and the only person capable of giving you the answers is not here. You can make up the answers yourself. And you can make yourself believe those answers, be it good or bad, because there is nobody else to prove you otherwise.

Or simply don’t question it. Let it rest in peace. What I learned is that when you ask a question, you have to be ready for an answer, which may not necessarily be the answer you wanna hear. And if you are not ready, it’s best not to ask.

Which brings me to the following questions:

  • Do I really do myself bad if I refuse to believe something? If I bury it as deep inside as I can, because it hurts to think about it, do I do myself a favor?
  • How do I know what is the truth and what is the lie? We can only be sure of our own actions and our own words. What’s inside anybody else’s head, your guess is as good as mine. Only you know what’s in your head, why you said this or did that. And whatever comes out of your mouth is not always the truth. But who’s truth? Mine or yours?

I had always wondered why people believed in something/someone. And in the recent years I came to realize that we believe in something because it makes us feel better.

My life in PG with Beno was full of surprises. The biggest one happened one Sunday. As I had mentioned previously, the house of Beno was always full of people. Most of the time it was filled with the blaring sound of the R&B music. There was always loud talk and laughter, it rarely was a silent place.

On that particular Sunday one of local lads stopped by. The house was full of young men and somehow the talk turned to God. The man who came started reading the Bible. And then suddenly the house turned extremely quiet. The only noise was the voice reading. I was mesmerized. I had not seen all of the youngsters grow quiet so suddenly and so completely. They were paying full attention, they were listening to every word. They believed in God.

And I believe in whatever makes me feel better. Can you blame me?

My three or so months without Beno were not easy. I was missing him very much. At the same time I had a little girl growing inside of me and being surrounded by my family felt so very special.

Beno was back in Mexico. We kept in touch as much as we could (not enough for me, never enough).

In reality, our time apart is a grey area. It used to be black or white, depending on how I looked at it. But then one day it became the story of ‘he said, she said’, and the person who could tell the truth is not here. But who’s truth, mine or yours?

I painted this chapter a thousand shades of grey and I continue to believe in whatever keeps me at peace. As I write this, the sun is out and the sky is blue. Which is perfect.

Time

Published: May 4, 2022 / Updated: May 8, 2022 Vilma Life in Europe: Back Home

‘I love daddy’, – says my daughter.

‘I love daddy, too’, – I feel my eyes swelling up.

‘I love Spiderman, too’, – she adds.

My face instantly breaks into a smile. The ways of my daughter never seem to amaze me. Our time together is precious.

Call me a hypocrite.

For someone who has zero patience and can’t stand to wait, for anything, I sure am happy that time exists. Time heals. Time softens the sharp edges and helps us forget.

What happened in London four years ago does not seem as dramatic to me today as it did back then. Maybe because I had been through worse, and still, today, I am ok. Time does heal.

I had not been in a detention center before. I do not see myself having the need to be in one for anyone else but Beno. He was that kind of person – he’d find himself in the worst and the best situations, and he’d always manage to take it easy and smile.

I had gone to see him the next day. I was allowed to swap the heavy backpack with the rolling suitcase, which was much easier for me to handle. I had to go through so many security checks I stopped counting them. Beno was on his way to visit my family, yet he ended up in the stone cold building surrounded by barbed wire.

It felt like a movie. Never ever had I thought I’d be in a place like that. But there I was, amongst the other women, having come to see their men.

I broke down when Beno finally came in. I expected him to be equally crushed. Instead, he was close to smiling. How was that possible?

‘Baby, I just finished the game with the boys’, – he told me. I had seen him down, but this was not the occasion. It really annoyed me that he seemed to be ok.

He had a roof above his head, he had a bed and he had food, and he had plenty of time to work out. He told me that many men staying at the detention center had nowhere better to go, so they kept coming back there and play basketball all day long.

Seeing Beno did not cheer me up. I wanted to be as close to him as it was humanly possible, as I felt that ever since we were ripped apart, I could not manage to feel whole without him. Unfortunately, we had to sit on the opposite sides of a plastic table and we were not allowed to touch each other. Life during that hour did seem cruel.

I left in a worse mood then when I had got in.

In a couple of days they were sending Beno back to Mexico. What was I supposed to do?