My fear

It is going to be three years since my Johnnie passed, before the passing of my Johnnie I was taking medications for depression but since his passing my doctor has increased my antidepressants and anxiety pills to the maximum dosage with the hope that it will help me have some peace. I have also been taking therapy and finally, I joined two chat groups online for Mothers who have lost a child.  In that chat, I am surrounded by females now I call my sisters.  We don’t share the same blood but we all share the same pain; the loss of a child. We understand each other pain.

 Every day I wake up with the hope that I will not feel this pain in my heart. I wake up with the fear that my Johnnie will be forgotten, in my head, I can hear him saying “Mami please don’t forget me”. My head is a can of spaghetti so many things go through my head. I have failed to give my other two children the love and attention they deserve, but I can’t control my emotions.  I had three children and I never thought that the number three would become number two. I hope they find in their hearts to understand that I have not stopped loving them nor that I loved their brother more than them, It’s that I am broken, my heart aches every single day. My sister who has become a widow, I hope she can understand that I truly wish from the bottom of my heart that I could give her emotional support but I  can’t because I can’t even help myself. I feel lost and I can’t find my way back. I am drowning.

Around two months ago I was watching John Wick, my Johnnie used to love that movie.  Every time he would watch a movie that he thought was good we would talk about it. Sometimes he would call me when he was on the John and tell me “Mami you got to watch this movie” and I would, then I would call him and we would become critics of the movie.  After I saw the last chapter of John Wick I found myself looking for his number on my phone to call him and talk about the movie.  I looked at my phone in my hand I became full of rage, and pain in my heart I wanted to scream Johnnie where are you? Come back, please. So I did what I always do when I feel desperate, I locked myself in the bathroom and shower to cry my eyes out.

Until the day I exhale my last breath of air I will always tell the world “I had a son called Johnnie”.

 Spotted Love

 

Dry cleaning can be expensive, when living on a budget.

My son John's dream was to become a chef. When he was just a little boy, he would be in the kitchen with me, helping me peel garlic, grind them in the Mandel, or go outside to pick cilantro. He loved the kitchen. As he grew, the kitchen became his passion, so I enrolled him in a culinary school when he was seventeen. We couldn't afford it, but with the student grant and two student loans, we were able to pay the course. The course included a culinary knife kit, his chef hat, his uniform, two black pants, and two white chef coats with the school's emblem.

The course was for two years, consisting of constant washing and wearing his two chef coats. He was excelling in the classes. The proof was on his chef coat. Every day he would bring home something he had made at school. I could see the happiness in his eyes; he was genuinely enjoying the culinary arts. He was so excited when the internship time came. He was finally going to feel the live experience of working in the kitchen of a restaurant. The fast pace would motivate him to become better at what he had learned at school.

Finally, the big day was approaching; Graduation Day!. He was excited, and so was I. At the time of the graduation, things were not the best at home; there were rent arrears, utilities were unpaid, and we were struggling. The graduates to be were all purchasing new chef coats for the graduation, but I couldn't afford one at the moment. Humble as always, my son told me not to worry that he would wear his chef coat.

I was heartbroken; what could I do? His chef coat had so many spots of food. Two days away from the graduation. I took a deep breath. I went to his room and got the chef coat. I looked at it; so many stains of oil, frosting, and other things on it; how can I get this all out? So I went to the kitchen and grabbed a can of Easy-off Oven cleaner; the can said it removed tough grease. So I sprayed it on every spot and let it sit for a while; then, I put the coat in a bucket with hot water, Tide, and Clorox, not any bleach. I used Clorox. I left it overnight in the bucket. The following day, I put it in the washer. Once washed, I aired dried the coat and ironed it with starch. My son was amazed at the results. He thanked me so many times and kissed me. He even offered to promote my cleaning services as a specialist in cleaning chef jackets to his classmates.

My chest was complete with pride; there was my Johnnie dressed as a chef on the stage among the other graduates; he had accomplished his dream. I felt comfortable to see that you could not distinguish his jacket was a two-year-old chef coat; it looked bright white and new. Sometimes It takes the power of love to make miracles happen.

 Going Back To Work

 

Since I was twelve years of age, I always tried to earn a dollar, regardless it was washing windows, cleaning houses, or helping to babysit. I remember my grandmother giving me five dollars for polishing her furniture; five dollars to me was a lot. So I grew up to like working to earn my own money.

As I grew up, I had the compassion to help other people; sometimes, I could see a senior grabbing dishwashing liquid in the supermarket. I would approach them and show them another dishwashing soap and tell them how good and less expensive than the one they had in their cart. They would smile and change the dishwashing soap to the one I recommended. If I saw someone who didn't understand English, I would translate it to Spanish even though I walked out of the store. And that is how I was at work; I enjoyed helping others, regardless it was my co-workers or the clients, it was a sense of satisfaction to know I helped someone.

I was blessed the day I moved to New York. I arrived in New York on May 17, 2001; I started working on June 27, 2001; by December the same year, I already had my place, Thanks to the Lord.

I have been twenty-one years at my job; the City hired me as a Temp worker, then the City hired me. I received two promotions at my job. It was my ideal job. I was helping others, and as a supervisor, I was able to help the team I oversaw. When someone from my team was going thru rough times, I was there to try to lift them. I recall this young lady named Felicia; she was a lovely young lady. I can't say we interacted a lot, but the day she left the agency, she gave out certificates of recognition to the team at her farewell get-together. Every certificate she handed out, she would recognize the person's strength which I thought was thoughtful. Although I was the last person to receive my certificate, I still have my certificate, and I still remember her words when she gave me my certificate "Darlene, the Momma Bear of the team."

Now present, the joy to go to work is non-existent. The loss of my son Johnnie has changed my whole life, I am lost, and I feel like I will never find the way back to happiness. My baby left this earth on August 7, 2021. Three months later, I went back to work. I thought the drive to work would take me to another state of mind where I would not be hurting, but unfortunately, it didn't. As I drive thru the FDR, memories of my son sitting next to me in the car taking him to work, memories of when I had surgery he got a cab, helped me get in, in the cab he would wrap his arms around me, for I could sleep on his arm. I hear a song play on the radio, and it's one of his favorites. When I reach my desk there, he is smiling on my mouse pad. When I leave my job, I see him outside the building waiting for me. Twenty-one years at my job and now I can't focus, I can't retain or comprehend sometimes.   

The other day one of the team members was having difficulty with a client on the phone. They transferred the call to me to assist the client. The client on the phone was upset; I tried to calm them down. I tried to explain to the person because of COVID; we were short on staff which was the cause of the delays in the unit. Like a slap across my face, she responded, "You guys need to get over COVID; it's been almost two years, lady. Life goes on". As she said those words, I pressed my eyes shut, trying not to cry. I tried to take a deep breath, but I still felt like I couldn't breathe. Between struggling with the knot in my throat, I took down the client's information for further research; I promised her I would get back to her the following day, which I did.

My heart aches for my baby; I miss him so much. Not too long ago, a dear person told me to "Move On Johnnie is not coming back by crying you won't bring him back!". I know my tears won't bring my baby back. But how else can I take this pain out of my chest?

Sometimes I wonder why this happened to me, I prayed for those who asked for prayers, and they were healed, but when I prayed for my baby, the Lord did not hear my prayers.

 

My Name is Steven

 I was sitting on my stairs, taking a break from bringing my luggage up the stairs. I had one more flight to reach my apartment. I was sitting between the second and third floors^. The neighbors on the third floor have teenagers; their son has never spoken to me, not even a Hi or Good morning.

While I was taking the break, he came out of the apartment; when he turned, he looked down; and saw me and said, Hi Neighbor do you need some help? His words were like music to my ears; it seemed the doors of heaven opened. I would appreciate it -I told him. He came down, took my luggage, went up and, placed it in front of my apartment door. He came down and stopped in front of his apartment; I was still catching my breath. He looked at me and asked You don't have anyone to help you? I smiled and said No. Then, with a knot in my throat, I told him, my son, left to be with his family, died of COVID. 

I saw the flyer of your son next to the mailboxes; he was a nice guy. Yea, my baby, was a good kid. He looked at me and said, moms suffer a lot when they lose a child; I can tell you are suffering. I see it In your eyes when you pass by.

Yes, we do suffer, sweety; very much. I got up and started walking up the stairs. How was your Christmas ? he asked. It was pleasant and loving. I was with my children and family in Florida. And yours? I asked. It was ok; things were not like before, he said. By the way, what is your name? -  I asked. My name is Steven, he said. For a minute, my heart wanted to come out of my chest. I felt like I was going to collapse…That was my baby's name. His name was John Steven Ponce, I said. Steven's are good people, he said. They sure are sweety; they are the sweetest people. Thank you, Steven, for your help. I walked into my apartment to sit in my chair, look at Johnnies pictures on the wall, and cry myself to sleep. Waiting to see my Johnnie in my dreams.

My Puzzle is incomplete

 My child, my baby, my son is gone. 

Suppose you have read my blog. I shared that I had birthed three beautiful children. My children all together did a perfect puzzle. But unfortunately, my ideal puzzle is broken; now, it is incomplete.

On August 7, 2021, I lost my youngest child to COVID. My Son John Steven Ponce earned his wings.

John was humorous and a loveable person.  He was 32, married, and a father of an 8-year-old boy. My son, John, was a good loving son. His heart was full of love and kindness; so many people loved him.

I never thought this could happen to me. But then, my worst nightmare came true. I have lost a child.

COVID is the cruelest disease… while hospitalized for COVID; John could not have visitors.  Still, thanks to the technology, we could speak via video chat.  But chatting through a camera is never the same then holding your child's hand, kissing his forehead, or being by his side to comfort him.

That is the cruelty of COVID besides the physical pain the person undergoes! He was thirty-two of age, a big teddy bear. To my eyes, I saw him small and defenseless.  I needed to be by his side, but it was impossible.  I know COVID is contagious, but I wouldn’t care. I just wished I could have been with him in his last moments.  I cry every night, thinking, "did my baby suffer" or "was he scared?"  “Did he die knowing how much I loved him?”, Did he know had I been given a chance to exchange places with him, I gladly would have done it. Oh, Lord! My heart is hurting so much.

I carried my baby for nine months; he was half an ounce away from being ten pounds. Such a beautiful baby he was.  Not too long ago, I carried a portion of his ashes with me from Florida to New York. A part of his ashes are with his widow in Florida, and an amount is back home with me. I wish I could have had a locket of his hair, but again, because the cause of death was  COVID, I was denied a locket of his hair.

Days after he died, I would go to bed wishing I would wake up, and it was all a bad dream; now I go to bed hoping he will visit me in my dreams.

 

Mommy misses you

Rest In peace, my baby.

 

 

Being a Supervisor

During the years I have worked, I have always worked at a supervisory level.  I have worked as a supervisor, not because of the pay rate but to interact with others and treat others as I would like others to treat me. 

As a supervisor, the expectations of your superiors are high; they want supervisors cold-blooded, not to have close interaction with staff, and not to be too friendly.  So they send you to all these trainings like " How to handle difficult Staff" or how to "Make Meetings be Effective" and many more,  which most of the time what you learn does not take place at your job. 

Supervision is not an easy task; well, at least for me, it has not been easy. When you work with a group of people for so many years, they become part of your circle. I,  been criticized many times when I had referred to my team as my work children.  However, if you think about it, they are like my children.  As a supervisor, I train and address things with them; I will stand by them even if they are wrong, just like a mother would and, then address the issue behind closed doors. 

Without a degree in Psychology, I have supervisor many people with diverse personalities.  I have learned to listen to them, help them get up on their feet, treat them humanely and put a smile on their faces in the most crucial working moments. I have shown them respect and have received the same in return.  I have apologized if I am wrong and have given the benefit of the doubt.  I feel their sadness and worry about them, and I celebrate their achievements. How can I not care and love these people? They have worked with me through thick and thin. They take time to text me or call me to wish me a Merry Christmas or a Happy Mother's day. 

Today my heart is broken. I learned that my co-worker Angel Campos, whom  I supervised for approximately ten years, has passed away. My heart is hurting in thinking how this man was sick and still would push himself to work.  This man was a big teddy bear.  He always had a "Good morning" to say, he loved to prank people on April fools, and today he has left this world.  He was a number one fan of Godzilla movies, oh and how he loved salsa music. He had the corniest jokes but, you did not have any other choice to laugh at his corny jokes. 

I remember when we started working together, he was full of energy, always happy and alert.  Then when his mom passed, he stopped taking care of himself and started deteriorating. Sometimes, when I would leave work, I would see him struggling walking down the street; there were times he was black and blue because he had fallen.  However, every time I would bump into him, I would ask him the same question "Angel, when are you going to retire?."  He would always say he was saving money to retire to Costa Rica; with a wink and, a smile his response was he just needed one more year. 

The last time I saw him, I was no longer his supervisor. He was sitting outside client services waiting for Access-A-Ride; when I saw him bruised again. He looked at me, knowing what I was about to ask, and quickly said he was going to retire.  All excited, he showed me some flyers of where he was planning to retire.  His plans to retire to Costa Rica had changed; he was planning to retire and live with his brother in this fantastic development for retirees. Angel didn’t like to be alone. 

The next day I was told he was in the hospital he was under life support. After weeks in the hospital, Angel left this earth before COVID made its grand entrance to NY.  Angel had underlining conditions.  Due to his medical issues, he would have been a victim of COVID; thankfully, God called him. 

Even though he was not blood-related, during the years we worked together; he became family. 

RIP Angel

 

Parent Hood

I am not one to call myself Christian but I do believe in the lord.  Do I read the bible daily? No, I do not.  Do I go to church every Sunday? No, I do not. However, that does not stop me from believing that God almighty has watched over me all these years.

When I was young I did mistake, because I was young and ignorant, I was not perfect.  Now that I am older, I try to share my mistakes with my children, they will teach their children from their mistakes, and it will go on and on.

Everybody knows that being a parent is not easy.  When your children are small, you teach them the good and the bad, you love them and you protect them, and you pray and hope that no harm will every come to them.

Even when your children become adults, you fear for them and still protect them. My opinion is when your children become adults it is even harder to be a parent.  When your children were small, you could protect them, put them under your wings and watch over them closely.  Once they become adults they have a mind of their own, they live their life their way.   Once adults you can give them advice but there Is no guarantee that they will follow your advice. When they fall on their knees be there to lift them up, when they get married you wish that the marriage last forever, when they become parents you pray that they be good parents and so on and on.

Some marriages after some years of marriage break up.  That is when you become the mother of a divorced child. That is when your ex-son in law or ex-daughter in law title changes to “The mother of your grandchildren” or “father of your grandchildren”.  The love you have for them will not change only the marital status they had with your child. That is when you are caught up in the middle of the break up.

Being the mother of a divorce child is not always a piece of cake, especially when there are grandchildren involved. Children are blessings, and don’t ask to be brought into this world therefore we protect our children and try to keep them safe from any pain and hurt they can receive from a broken marriage. In most divorce, children remain with the mother and the mother will vow to stand by their child for every step they take. The mother will carry the weight of the emotional part of the life of the children. And she/he is always ready to say anything negative of the child’s father/mother.  This only create bitterness for the children.

The love of a mother is incomparable; we can see it in the bible when King Solomon of Israel ruled between two women both claiming to be the mother of a child. Solomon revealed their true feelings and relationship to the child by suggesting cutting the baby in two, with each woman to receive half. The true mother preferred to give up her child to the other woman instead of having the baby cut in two.

My heart belongs to my children, and I will always stand by their side even though they are wrong or right if they are 20, 30, 50 years old it doesn’t matter because they are still my children. I ask the lord to give me wisdom, and to keep them safe and keep them away from all that can cause them pain and harm to their hearts. I guess what I am trying to say is that even though I don’t hear their laughter in the house, I don’t see them sitting by me I will always love them and protect them against those that want to cause them harm.