love in high and low places
Was 2024 a good year? Probably. I'm always hesitant to label any year bad, even the ones I hated (except 2011, which belongs in the garbage heap). To anyone reading this, I hope this year is treating you kindly so far. And if not, don't worry; it isn't over yet.
I took an unintentional but necessary hiatus from substack. I was glad to do it, even if there were plenty of movies, books and other stories in songs I wanted to write about. I did have the idea to commit more to my fiction and may have succeeded. (I'm joining an MFA cohort in the summer)! Substack hasn't ever distracted me from life, and there is always a lot of that to live.
Last September, my family and I said goodbye to a loved one who was struck down by ALS. His name was Jose. We visited him on new year's day last year, when he could still talk.
Jose was one of my mother's many cousins that she grew up with in Cabo Verde. In America, he lived on the third floor of our apartment, along with his wife, mother (my great aunt, a very dear old lady), and his daughter, Josie.
I have possibly over idealized that house of my childhood, but my life there in our old neighborhood was truly magical. Like the second Mrs. Dewinter, I dream and dream of returning. "Last night I dreamt I went to Marshfield Street again..." Our strawberry garden, the tall grass that seemed to go on for miles, the candy floating through the air and into my eager, outstretched hands, summer nights spent on the front porch, neighbors who were also family, though not by blood. Jose was part of that life, too. He bought me my favorite chair: fuzzy pink with a cartoon face. Josie had the same one. Little me was so lucky to be living with a friend, a cousin, so close in age.
Our multi-generational household makes me draw a parallel to my mother’s own childhood, living with her cousins in the same house. That always was my dream.
This year, on January 13th, the bravest person I know went to meet his Lord. His name was Christian, and he was only two years old. I'm good friends with one of his aunts, and his parents were my Sunday school teachers growing up. I even traveled to Australia with them for World Youth Day.
Christian was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer just after his first birthday. Neuroblastoma is so rare in fact that it affects 800 children in the US per year. Christian was a high risk patient. On January 13, he was supposed to receive antibodies, but his body was too weak from the valiant fight he'd put up. "For one so small, you seem so strong."
It's the cruelest thing in the world, parents burying their children. And with such a tremendous loss, one I can't even fathom, they have continued to praise God. Our Catholic Church teaches that baptized children immediately go to Heaven. It’s a gift to know that, to have such a strong assurance of his salvation. I’m so grateful for Christian’s brief life and for the bravery of his mother and father, and all of his family. He leaves behind three brothers and a sister too.
“We recognize that we would be short sighted to only focus on the loss of his physical presence and not rejoice in the memories and love we shared with him. His life mission was just more intense and took on a different trajectory than most of ours.”
I am someone who gets angry at God for the dumbest reasons. How much more right does a parent whose child died have to rage at God.
I'll never forget his aunt wishing me a happy birthday when I greeted her at Christian's wake. Why was she even thinking of me? How did she have room to remember, to be so kind? Nor will I ever forget Christian's mom telling me that I know better than anyone that he's in Heaven now.
Dear Christian, pray for us.
To God be the glory, always.