Say, “Yes.”

Mother’s Day- Sunday, May 12, 2019, 9:38 a.m.

My text to Beck: “Happy Mother’s Day!”

Beck texted back: “Happy Mother’s Day love u”

Later that night, we watched “Game of Thrones” together. After a while, I got up and said, “Good night”. She stayed in the front room for a few minutes after and then went upstairs.

Monday, May 13, 2020

Christina wanted to take me out for dinner for Mother’s Day. I picked her up around 6:35. She said, “We should pick up Rebecca and take her with us.”

I said, “Yes.”

I texted Rebecca at 6:42 p.m. “We’re outside.”

She came outside and we went to the Olive Garden. We sat, talked and ate together. Christina and I sat on one side and Rebecca sat across from us at the table. She had shrimp alfredo, I think. I had lasagna. Normally, I take photos of everything and everyone. I remember thinking that I didn’t want to use my phone.

I said, “Yes” to being present.

We left the restaurant on 76th street, and Christina suggested that we pick up Tony who was working down the road at Red Robin.

I said, “Yes.”

We picked him up, and we drove. I remember thinking that I wanted to take the long way home. When it was just the four of us, and we had no money, I would put them in the car when they were little and we would just drive and listen to music.

So I drove down Layton avenue, and along the way, I saw each road that would take us home sooner, and I chose to go just a bit farther because we were together. I went towards the lake, drove down Lake Drive.

Doris Day died that day, so we played a few songs of hers. Rebecca had control of the music. She decided to play 90’s music. She said that 90’s music was the best.

We drove to Christina’s house on K.K avenue and dropped her off. I waited to watch Christina cross the street. She met up with a friend. Rebecca and I watched her talk with the friend, and I said to her, “What’s up with that?” and Beck laughed, “No.”

We then drove down Lincoln avenue. She saw a house on 23rd and Lincoln that was destroyed by fire and she was surprised to see it so.

We drove to the house and went in and sat in the front room. I played some Dave Chappelle/Charlie Murphy videos on the T.V. while she sat on the couch. She was sitting there half-watching and half-looking at her phone. We were mostly quiet. After a few videos, I got up and said, “Good night.”

This was the last night we were all together, and it was because we all said, “Yes.” We chose well. It was a night of laughter, conversation, and togetherness.

I didn’t hear any voices or see any signs that told me what to do, but there was a pull for me to drive just a bit farther down the road so we could be in the car as one unit once again.

 The Road Not Taken 
By Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I

The Story of the Giver

Rebecca signed up to be an organ donor. The transplant team asked me if I wanted to write something about Beck that the team could read out loud in the operating room. They felt it was important for them to reflect on who Rebecca was and honor the gifts she was giving–the gift of life. Her lungs went to a single father of two boys–who is also a teacher. Her liver, kidneys, and heart saved lives as well. I wrote the following about her.

My name is Regina, and I’m the mother of Rebecca Maria Gonzalez. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to tell you about her.

Rebecca is a giver. She always has been. She gave joy, friendship, and love to many people. She gave us a beautiful child, her son, Elijah.

Rebecca is a brave person. She faced challenges and boldly overcame them. Sometimes she was scared, but she pushed through it.

Rebecca is a fighter. Life took jabs at her from time to time, but she punched back–hard.

The love we have for her is embedded in the atoms of her being. Each cell contains a memory of joy, laughter, love. It’s eternal.

To the fortunate people who receive her gifts:

May they be givers.

May they be brave.

May they fight–even when faced with a scary or bigger opponent.

May they feel the love we have for her when they take a breath, fall in love and feel their heartbeat fast.

Through our loss, we have found beauty in the idea that Rebecca Maria Gonzalez will continue to Give. Continue to be Brave. Continue to Fight.

Her Love will now spread to people who will now be considered part of our family–The few, the lucky few who have had the privilege to know her, love her and call her daughter, mother, sister, grand-daughter, niece, cousin, and friend.

The Waking

By Theodore Rothke

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.   
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.   
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?   
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.   
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?   
God bless the Ground!   I shall walk softly there,   
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?   
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;   
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do   
To you and me; so take the lively air,   
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.   
What falls away is always. And is near.   
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.   
I learn by going where I have to go.

The title of this blog comes from Rothke’s poem, The Waking. My daughter died on May 16th, 2019. When I was in the hospital with her, this poem kept rolling in my head, over and over. “This shaking keeps me steady. I should know. What falls away is always. And is near.” That describes how I felt. I was shaking inside. I had things to do…decisions to make for Beck.

Growing up, I relied on books and poetry to help me understand life. As an English teacher, I taught my students to write their thoughts and feelings. This blog is for Rebecca Maria Gonzalez. I woke up this morning feeling like I may forget her, and I got scared. I’m going to write my thoughts and share photos–for you, but mostly for me, so I can look back and remember my girl.