Art: Femme Arbe by Monstror

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Flickers of color dripping from my resistance, forming dark figures of doubt.

illuminated spherical light, reflecting, losing, shape is gone

dimming, cold, lower now

the dream is gone…

-Teresa Bebla

The day was September 24, 2008, a Wednesday to be exact. This day was just like any other day that had risen with the sun and fallen with the moon. My mother was still being consumed by this Cancer they call Lymphoma. I have regretfully been introduced to the fact that there is nothing on the face of this earth or any other planet that can prepare you for such devastating and mind altering news.

I remember the day her daughter Toni called to tell me the news about our Mother. I remember instantly feeling numb, as a huge lump formed in my esophagus. I felt like a character in a horror film, you know the scene where there is a long hallway, and no matter how hard or fast you try to run, you just can never seem to find the other side of the door. Accept in my case, I just could not seem to find the other side of reason. All I could grasp was uncertainty.

How could this be happening to a woman who has already suffered so much? I began to grow sick inside as my mind ran frantic, everything that I had studied, all my research on Cancer, nutrition etc. Just faded into the shadows, everything changes when it is someone you love. My chest grew tight and I could feel those old anxiety symptoms rushing back. I made the mistake of trying to organize the Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda’s that crashed around my brain.

Why was I so stubborn? I had not spoken to my Mother in almost one month. I had told myself that I would let her call me, because every time I would call her, she just never really seemed to want to talk. Little did I know, she was not well, which explains everything. I would sit in my home and ask myself “I wonder why she hasn’t called me?” My husband Frank would tell me to call her but I would say, “No, she will call me when she wants to talk.”

After I received the news I made it a point to call her everyday, once in the morning and once in the evening. I wanted her to know that I loved her very much. So that was one of the first things that I told her. I loved her everyday of her life, and I will continue to love her everyday of mine.

The last time I was able to see my mother; she was in a hospice, just awaiting the moment when her suffering would end. I slowly walked down a white linoleum hallway and entered the door on the left. She was asleep, so I watched her for a while, not wanting to wake her. Each breath seemed so mechanical, so unnatural; the woman I remembered was not in this room.

I couldn’t help but start to cry, as I watched her. This was the woman who raised me; this was the woman I had spent most of my life with. I thought to myself, every action, every thought, every emotion, every path she tread lead up to this, this is where it would all end. I wondered if she had made a few different choices in her life with this still have been her outcome?

As I leaned forward to kiss her forehead, she seemed so calm and peaceful. As I said, “Hi Mom!” Tears streamed down my face. She too started crying and said, “My baby!” This was quite a surprise, because I don’t ever recall her addressing me that way. She had such a huge smile on her face and I was pleased to see that she was so happy. After we talked for a while she asked where my children and my husband were, so I told her they were in the car and I would go get them. As we all walk into the room together, her eyes were closed and on her face was that smile. In the midst of all her suffering she was still able to smile.

We visited for a while, talking about family that had come to visit and what ever else we could to keep our minds off of what we were really thinking. I could tell she was weary, and longed for sleep. At one point, she went silent and just stared at me. She wasn’t looking through me or past me, but she was actually seeing me. I don’t think I will ever forget that look, or even begin to understand all that she held behind it. I just knew that there were so many things that she wanted to say but couldn’t.

My Mother was not perfect by any means, but she did the best she could. I am not perfect by any means, but I do the best I possibly can. I forgive her for every thing that may have not been so good. And I know she forgives me for the same. I have let the past be the past and nothing more, I will not let negative experiences that may have taken place in my life dictate who I am or what I will accomplish. I truly, believe my Mother gave me my strong will, so I carry her with me always.

The day was September 24, 2008, I had been very sick so I was lying in my bed trying to sleep; as this was my only means of comfort. I was thinking that I should call the hospice to see how my Mother was doing, I called everyday to speak to her nurse.  As I lay there thinking, out of nowhere I heard my Mother scream my name in to most unpleasant manner. I can still hear her scream, if I listen close enough. I immediately sat up and became extremely emotional. This was around 5:50 in the evening, I looked at the red numbers on our digital clock that sat on our dresser and  I knew instantly the she had passed or was going to. I attempted to get up to call the hospice but I became so sick I ran to the restroom then I headed back into bed.

It was about 9:00 that evening when the phone rang. As soon as I heard the phone I began to pray and Ask God to not let it be what I knew it was. As soon as my husband came to the bedroom to hand me the phone I knew. Sure enough, my Mother had passed away around 6:00 or so, just minutes after I heard her call for me.

That night I had a dream, it started off like many of my dreams do; for some reason I am always flying in my dreams. But this time my back was to the pavement and I was levitating. In my dream I could feel that my body was numb, I woke myself up to find that my body was actually numb and that I could not move. I felt as though I was paralyzed. This was not something new, as a child this would happen often, but that is a whole other story in itself.

This time while I was in my paralyzed state, I looked to the back of the wall where it meets the ceiling  and there in the darkness was an oval shaped ball of light, just hovering there above our bed. It was not pure white, it reminded me of an X-ray they way the dark plays against the light. I had never seen anything like it before, I closed my eyes and then re-opened them, it was still there but started to fade away, I closed my eyes again and when I opened them and it was gone.

Was that my mother actually calling for me? I believe with all my heart it was. Was that ball of light anything to do with my mother? That I don’t know, but I would like to think it was her coming to say goodbye or hello, or however you want to think of it.

This is by far the hardest thing I have ever encountered, and I know it was by far the hardest thing my Mother ever had to endure. I always thought of myself a tough person, but you never know how tough you are until something of this magnitude finds its way to your doorstep. Am I tough? No I am not. Will I ever be okay? I am not sure. But for now all I can say is “I miss you Mom…”

Okay, where to begin my little journey of “the making of me” My Name is Terri Bebla by marriage, but biologically my name is White. I was born of an imperfect man and women, who I remain, confused by till this day, 25 years later, but have just stopped wondering for my own benefit. As I have come to believe, that there are no mistakes, and that their negative actions have served as a great gift to me, and the wonderful life that has unfolded before me.

I was raised by my great Aunt Called Alice. I don’t imagine that I was ever told the true story of why I ended up left behind by the people who were supposed to nurture and care for me; an innocent 3 month old. I remember a time when this very subject would bring tears to my eyes, and thoughts of self pity would run from my eyes, through my ears and down my throat. I would swallow this self pity and let it fester in my gut where it would take the shape of an insecure, self-conscious, overly sensitive, fat girl, who was afraid of the world and all the people in it. I built strong sturdy walls with Pain, resentment, hate (for myself), Brick and mortar. Each brick of emotion was strategically placed, and methodically created to best keep people away.

I was a success at being the weird fat girl of my family. The one that would be taunted by one of my Aunt’s children (my sister?), being called the “little round girl” or constantly hearing, “What are you deaf, are you mute?” This would take place, as my mother would verbally discipline me, followed by physical discipline, for the simplest things. I eventually learned to hide inside of myself; that is the best way that I could describe it, I would make myself disappear. Growing up this became the norm, each passing day like clockwork… so, I eventually learned to disappear all together, and one day I never came back.

I remember a time when I possibly felt comfort within my own skin, but I’m not sure. I just always remember feeling inadequate, or just lacking in every aspect of being a human being. I remember as a child looking in the mirror and hating the face that gazed back at me. I hated my fat nose, the contours of my face, the skin that protected my internal organs, and the very breath that left mist upon the mirror. I hated existing, but there was nothing I could do about it. So I would stand there just casting evil stares at the ugly fat girl, who mimicked my every movement.

How did I come to feel this way about myself? I believe it was the environment that I was raised in. I was made to believe that being black was a terrible curse. That the less black that one looks the more attractive they are. Well, that meant I was screwed, I mean, everything about me screamed Black girl. I remember in elementary school constantly trying to convince other Mexican kids that I too was Mexican. But I would always get responses like, “You’re not Mexican, you’re black. You don’t even speak Spanish!” I would quickly respond, “Yes I am, my mom is, and you don’t speak Spanish either!” “Well, you can tell I am Mexican, I don’t need to speak Spanish!” That was the response from one of my classmates. Self hate became a part of my everyday routine, just like eating, sleeping or breathing.

Oh yes, did I mention eating? I had the most insatiable appetite, as a young girl, and it showed on my swollen face, and thighs that would rub together. If ever I wore shorts they would become practically eaten by my monstrous thighs, I would have to stop walking to my destination spread my legs slightly and pull my shorts out from the unknown. Sounds mysteriously fat, doesn’t it? What about the raspberries? No, not the bright colored, succulent fruit packaged in the plastic containers, I mean the rash that would develop on the inside of my tree trunk thighs, painfully creating the illusion of “Raspberries”. This would always occur if I had the crazy notion of denial, envisioning myself in pretty little dresses like normal little girls.

Daydreaming became my refuge from the reality of whom or what I was. I have such vivid memories of recess at school; there I would be swinging my fat clustered heart out, secretly paranoid that the swing set would break. Children can be so cruel, and if you are a weak individual like I was, it can stick to you, like an unwanted piece of bazooka Bubble Gum, on the bottom of your wide width shoe; no comic included.

I would swing my legs back and forth with such gusto, smiling inside at the wind as it caressed my fluffy red cheeks. I always felt so light and free when I was swinging, like nothing could touch me. I was completely happy on the swings, although surrounded by the loud screams of children, I heard complete silence. All I knew was, I was up here and they were all below me for once. There on those swings I created an alternate universe, where I was beautiful and accepted. I was just like all of those other little girls who I envied; in my mind of course.

In the blink an eye, my alternate universe was collapsed by three other children who joined me on my swing set. My peaceful bubble of silence, was broken by the words, “You better be careful, Terri’s gonna break the swing set!” Somewhere within that sentence, I would once again disappear. My swinging would cease, and my feet would touch the sand, then reality would set it. I would slowly get up off the swings, all the while feeling nervous, as I adjusted my clothing, feeling their mean spirited eyes on the back of my neck. I was instantly reminded how much I hated me, but mostly hated my life. I knew that the mean comments wouldn’t end here, but that they awaited me at my place of supposed rest…my home.

A Note From Me:

I wrote this a few years ago, as I have come to believe that writing is without a doubt therapeutic. I wrote this to release it, if something is in me that is emotionally poisoning, so to speak, I write it down to get it out of me. Things happen in our lives that may not be so nice, but like I said they happen, and I believe for a reason. I spent the majority of my life disliking myself, I missed out on so much. But thank God I found my way eventually! I just hope and pray that others do not let negative occurrences that take place in their lives cling to them and dictate who they will be or what they will accomplish.

Finally, at the young age of 31 I have come to find peace, joy, beauty & most of all love within myself; and I sincerely hope you find within yourself also…it is absolutely liberating.

Wishing you Whole Truth & Happiness!

The word honesty has been weighing on my mind with such intensity that it keeps me awake at night or rises me in the early morning, such as now. 3:52 am, my husband is sound asleep in our seemingly small queen size bed, and my children are so peaceful in their slumbers. I love to creep into their bedrooms and kiss them on their tiny cheek or forehead and tell them that I love them; I would like to think that they can hear me amidst their tiny little dreams like a loving voice in the sky.

I pray that they stay illuminated with the gift of innocence and honesty, so that their hearts can remain free and weightless, not cast down with grief or envy, like most adults are trying to conceal.

I Stress the word “trying” because I can see through you, I see all of the places where you hide your jealousy, your sadness, your hypocrisy, your diluted religious beliefs. I see the place where you hide your insecurity painted over with false arrogance. I have always had such an alpine respect for individuals who displayed a natural sense of humbleness. I would always think as a young girl and even now, how wonderful it truly is to just be content in yourself, your God given talents and your natural abilities. To not need to constantly point out your own talents or meaningless accomplishments, just to provide yourself erroneous praise. How sad you must be…does the forced validation act as a sleeping pill? Does it make you look in the mirror and approve of what you see? I think not…you are consumed with your own anguish, yet you make others in your presence suffer for it.

You are but a half empty glass, which is only able to acquire sustenance from those surrounding you; leaving your company lethargic and drained of their happiness. Why make others suffer for your choices? How selfish and unfair…but life, it is unfair.

Back to the word honesty, such a simple word with such a complex meaning for adults. I remember as a child telling such fibs, but it was my poor attempt to find a sense of belonging somewhere, anywhere. But the outcomes were always the same; negative actions result in negative effects. I have often heard that happiness is when your heart, your mind and your mouth are truly in sync. And sorry Justin I don’t mean you. By this I mean, when you are happy, you are able to really feel what’s in your heart and say what is on your mind. You are not thinking one thing and saying another, this is purely liberating.

I pride myself on my honesty, I often say what I mean and I mean what I say, I don’t need to swear that to God or a plastic Virgin Mary, because I am at peace with who I am and what I am, no questions asked. But don’t get me wrong I have not always been this way; it has taken me a while to get to this point. So I know the game, the act, the facade.

I read your body language, feel your energy, and absorb your facial expressions, and I have read this book before. I often thank God for the gift of intuitiveness, I feel everything you do not say, see everything you do not show, but I harbor no feelings of ill will, although you have them aimed at me.

I do however feel a small amount of foolishness, or maybe even sadness, as I thought that I possibly could belong here, but needless to say, I do not. But if that is God’s will, so be it, I will not question anything that has unfolded here. Because in my world everything is as it should be.

“The man who cannot endure to have his errors and short comings brought to the surface and made known, but tries to hide them, is unfit to walk the highway of truth” -Tad Williams

“Some people will not tolerate such honesty in communication. They would rather defend their dishonesty on the grounds that they might hurt others. Therefore, having rationalized their phoniness in nobility, they settle for superficial relationships.” –unknown