inherent resilience
I received news that a friend had given birth to her son, stillborn, just days after discovering his heart had failed. I was six months pregnant then. Distraught and overtaken by grief and fear. At first, sadness consumed me as I reflected on the family’s loss and emotional state. Then, came a sea of doubts over my own fate. It was hard to shake. What made me or anyone exempt from this? Are there signs to tragedy? Quarantined and isolated from the world, I wallowed in silence for days. Humming H.E.R.’s “Hard Place”, one of her favorites, just to feel a kick and shift around the body when anxiety swelled.
Spiraling into a rabbit hole, I felt prompted to call mom — an uncommon response. If I know anything about my mother, it is her capacity to deliver an encouraging speech. Positive, sure. But, at times, too rough for extremely vulnerable moments like these. I needed reassurance, a tender embrace, more than an aggressive pat. Nonetheless, I went for it. Opening the conversation with a pointed question: ¿Tuviste duda cuando saliste embarazada de mi? (Did you experience doubt when you became pregnant with me?) “No”, she answered, not a break in her breath.
“La mente es una cosa poderosa.”
She spent eight years trying to “catch me”, she says, as though I’d been playing a game of tag with her heart. After my brother, she was ready to try again. As one of seven, she dreamed of having a big family. She wanted six, to be exact. But despite her attempts at the family dream, life continued to deliver a hard NO. She persisted; through miscarriages, silent years, and many tears. Instead of shrinking back, she grew bolder and more specific. She dared to bring her requests to God once more, specifying her wishlist items down to the strand. “Como yo”, she’d say, “Que sea linda y tenga el cuerpo de sus tias” (Just like me, pretty, with curves like that of her aunts’). I’ve heard the story about a hundred times and each time she laments not having asked for my brother’s eyebrows. Considering my brows’ faint and conservative state, I’d have to agree.
Proceeding to recall the details, she reflected on the challenges of those eight years and the joy she experienced upon finally getting her wish. There was something about her joy that made no room for fear or doubt. She refused to make time for it. Awestruck, I leaned in to hear the familiar voice of a woman I’d known for a multitude of anxieties and fears. Her resilience serenaded my mind, as it had countless times before. It was comforting, though not enough to free me from fear’s grasp.
“An immigrant’s resilience doesn’t die with citizenship. Tried and purified, it is an invaluable inheritance.”
The next day I received a call from my dad. A man of few words, he proceeded to confess that he’d been eavesdropping on our conversation the day before and had some words of his own to share. “La mente es una cosa poderosa”, he began, “uno de los regalos mas grande que Dios ha dado” (The mind is a powerful thing. One of God’s greatest gifts). He continued on, sharing how the mind possesses power to motivate and inspire. But when left to doubt, angst, or fear, it can wield its power to devour all hope. He encouraged me to wrangle my thoughts, to think of and speak life over the pregnancy, and bask in the joy of its present existence. His words were the final push to a tilting bucket, dousing my heart with the peace I’d been longing for, for days.
An immigrant’s resilience doesn’t die with citizenship. Tried and purified, it is an invaluable inheritance. My parents, like many, have experienced their fair share of disappointment and loss. They’ve endured many-a valleys and deserts that I have yet and hope to never tread. In their humble existence as American citizens, broken English and all, the gains of their hard journey have never left them. They resolve to live joyously while we, the privileged, conjure fast ways to absolve ourselves of struggle.
