The Girl with Blue Eyes

My mother suffered from depression and anxiety.  Her disease started when her second daughter died at the age of three.  

As a small child, nobody told me what happened to my mother and why she was always sad.  I overheard my aunts and grandmother talk about mom’s attempts to kill herself. I didn’t understand what suicide was but I knew it was bad and I was always worried about her.  

Growing up, I listened to my family talk about my sister, Mari Angeles.  My grandmother told me how much Mom wanted another girl with blue eyes, and how she asked God for one, and her prayers were answered.  I was born, a girl with blue eyes. My grandma said I was mom's little miracle. 

I heard stories about Mom’s sacrifices to have another baby. One was following the Virgin Mary’s procession, sometimes on her knees. The Virgin Mary of the Valley.  In Spanish is 'La Virgen Maria del Val'.  I was named after her but I go by MariVal.  

All my life, I thought my blue eyes are were my best feature, and the only thing I love about myself. Due to abuse, I have a low self-esteem. The only time I feel beautiful is during my manic episodes. 

I remember seeing the pictures of my sister and hearing stories about her.  My family said she was beautiful and a precious little girl, everyone loved her. They also talked about the way she died.  She got very sick and the doctor gave her antibiotics.  She was allergic and had a deadly reaction.

As far as I can remember, my mother was always sad and many times she sat on a rocking chair looking at nothing in particular. 

I inherited the disease.  I am bipolar with long depression episodes and intermitent short manic ones.  I had a hard life due to horrible circumstances and depression but now I take medication and I live a normal life.

When my mom was forty years old, she had a brain hemorrhage, and fell into a coma.  She never woke up.

I didn’t visit her at the hospital but when she died, my father made me go.  He told me to kiss her goodbye. I was afraid to touch her but I did as I was told.

Her body was as cold as marble and I knew she was no longer my mother, her body was an empty shell, and her spirit was gone.  I was terrified and in shock.  It was the scariest thing in my life. I was ten years old.

After the funeral,  I slept most of the day, for a week. I dreamed about my mom. I believe she knew I was not ready to let her go, it was her way to say goodbye. I know she is in heaven and in my heart. 

The following day, her dead body was brought back to our home.  She laid on her bed.  Family and friends came by to pay their respects and see her one last time.

The room was full of white chrysanthemum flowers, even now, they smell like death.