My mother’s last advice

“We were in a shopping center with my mother buying the last things for my baby who would be born in three weeks. We had walked a lot, so we decided to stop to rest and eat something. In addition to my mother, there was the father of my baby (currently my ex-husband) and our 11 year old daughter, Pascale.

I remember, out of nowhere, my mother looked at me and asked, “What would you do if I died?” Surprised, I responded almost out of inertia: “I would die with you, Mom.”

She took my hand. “You have to be strong and always trust yourself,” he advised me. He also told me that I was not going to die because I had to raise my daughters and also my younger brother who was suffering from severe depression at that time. I didn’t understand why he was talking to me about all that, I took it as a comment like any other, like those things that we sometimes ask without much basis.

The next day was my baby shower. My mother got up early to prepare ceviche and some canapes for the guests. He was doing this when he started feeling bad. I don’t remember the exact time, but I received his call. He asked me to go to his house.

I don’t know if there is such a thing as “girl instinct”, but as soon as I hung up I knew she wasn’t okay. I thought about the question he asked me that day at the mall. I got in the car and drove to his house. These minutes were eternal.

We left immediately for the nearest clinic. I could barely coordinate my feet and hands to drive. He took my hand again. This time it was cold. He told me to be careful, I might crash. He said it for me. She knew her time had come.

Once at the clinic, they immediately transferred her to intensive care. I heard people say she had a heart attack, apparently she had been like that for days and we didn’t realize it. I stood in the waiting room and watched people in colorful dresses come and go. Until I heard my name. It was the doctor who came with the news: my mother had died.

I fell defeated to the ground, alone, knowing no one there as I complained to God for taking her. Ironically, at the wake, they served the canapes I had prepared for my baby shower.

A few days later, my second daughter, Fernanda, was born by cesarean section. And since then – five years ago – life has only tested me: I had to help my brother who couldn’t get out of his depression; My marriage ended because of my ex-husband’s infidelity; and a recent two-year relationship ended overnight without me receiving any explanation.

But here I am, moving forward again and again for my daughters.

Every time life hits me, I think of that day in the mall cafeteria, where my mother took me by the hand and told me in a gentle, wise voice that I had to be strong and make myself trust.