Letter to My Mother

Mom,

I do not know what a mother feels when a child dies. I imagine she feels something similar when a child leaves the nest, even if only for a while. The departed child is missed at home, but the soul is comforted by the intimate thought that, wherever he is, perhaps he is better off.

An absent mother is always remembered with a strange affection. She is not here, and yet she is here, in the heart. The mother who dies is missed, I imagine, with a sharp pain, anguished at knowing her gone forever, with no other consolation than the thought that one will follow her some day. The mother who is alive but far away is missed, rather, with hope. One knows that, thank God and if he so wills, in this very life we will see her again, and that the occasion of the reunion will be a happy one.

The environment I am in now is different in so many ways. The language, the climate, the culture, the pressure of high performance. But I am not alone. Mónica, my wife, is a sweet comfort and a lovely companion on this very difficult journey. For three months I have been working at my limit, almost without rest, to stay at the head of this stampede. I have almost beaten it, I can already see the light dawning in the east. And I can happily say that, during the effort, I may have felt tired, far from home, but never alone. I am accompanied by the sweet memory of my homeland, of my mother, of my father, of my home. Sometimes when I wake up I open my eyes and gaze into the distance, and I see on the horizon a piece of my land, and I am content thinking that I am back. But it is not true.

I ask God for few things. What more can I ask of him, if he has already given me everything. That is why I only ask him to keep giving it to me, that my wife, my parents, and all my family may have health and peace, for the rest comes of its own accord. And that he give me strength to keep going.

I will be back soon, Mother, you will see. And I will bring in my hands the laurel wreath I will have won with the effort of my mind, with the sleepless hours. I know you all miss me, because I miss you too. But it is here that you want me to be. It is here that I must be until I have fulfilled my mission of being all that I can be, of polishing the rough gem and making it shine. I will have no other reward than knowing you happy, proud to see that I knew how to keep going, that I strove like a brave man and stood out among the best. That is my gift, Mother. That is my way of thanking you all for everything you have done and continue to do for me. Only in this way will I be able to repay you all that I owe you in love, effort, and discipline.

Thank you, Mom. I love you. May God bless you, watch over you, and give you health, and may he allow us to meet again soon to celebrate the harvest of so long a sowing.