A Child to Lead, A Child to Comfort

Liz,
Oaxaca, Mexico
November 8, 2013

In 1993, I had come to terms with the destruction of Hurricane Andrew (it had caused me a lot of personal problems) and I had returned to Oaxaca, Mexico to continue my idyllic life there. I can only stay 6 months at a time and I had my reservations to return to the U.S. Upon my return, I was planning to spend a nice long time visiting my mother and getting caught up with all the things that had sort of slipped by in the last couple of years. I was really looking forward to it.

On August 25, I received a phone call at Instituto Cultural (this is a language school where I do volunteer work) The news hit me so hard. I was told that my mother had died suddenly. The shock was terrible, and made even worse with the thought that I wanted to be with her so much. I of course made reservations on the next flight. I could get a late evening flight out of Oaxaca and a five-hour layover in Mexico City before flying out at 2:30 am. Needless to say, I was in a terribly distraught state, almost frantic at the length of time it would take me to reach Jacksonville (16 hours) and I knew my sister was having to deal with everything immediately.

I found a sort of platform to sit on, as there are no comfortable places on the ground floor of the Mexico City airport. I couldn't go upstairs to the waiting rooms until I could check in and there was no one at the counter.

I know I must have looked a fright - grief does that - and I just wanted to be there (at home with my family). Suddenly, I heard a loud commotion - it sounded like a large group of people having a wonderful time - and I was a little apprehensive at what could be happening. I looked down the almost empty concourse and saw a group of people coming my way. It was made up of various ages and both sexes - starting with a chubby little girl of about 8 years, up through a woman who appeared to be close to my own age. The floors of the airport had just been cleaned and waxed and the young ones in this group were having a great time pulling each other along, and slipping and sliding. Lots of laughter, and I knew somehow that it was one of the wonderful extended families so common in Mexico.

They spotted me, and came up to where I was sitting, with my feet propped up on my suitcase (full of way too much since I didn't know what I'd be needing) and they surrounded me and started bombarding me with the usual questions aimed at foreigners. Do you speak Spanish? Where are you from? Where are you going? Etc., etc. Well, of course I wasn't really up to conversation in Spanish, or in English for that matter, but I tried to be polite and answer them. Then they started telling me why they were at the airport in the middle of the night. A close relative had died suddenly and they were meeting members of the family from a distant country because the funeral was the next day. Well, I was a bit taken aback at their merriment (I understand more now) and I didn't tell them my own reason for traveling alone at such a late hour. They talked with me for about 1/2 hour and then it was time for them to meet their relatives, so they gave me abrazos (hugs) and besitos (kisses) and scurried off down the airport walkway.

Suddenly, the little 8-year-old girl broke from the group and returned to where I was sitting. She pulled a silver chain with a religious medal from her neck and put it my hand. Then she hugged me and said I needed it more than she did - and then she was gone!

I looked at the medal and it was an oval of silver with the Madonna and Child in bas-relief. I was so touched at the obvious perception of this young child that when I was with my sister at the funeral home the next day, I asked if the medal could be pinned to my mother's clothing, and it was.

I thought about the kindness that had prompted this action and felt so much better about my own sadness.

You can imagine my surprise when the Mass cards were handed out at the service and the cover was the identical Madonna and Child portrait. I still feel sad when I think I wasn't near when my mother passed on, but I am also grateful that she didn't suffer a long illness, or extreme pain for any length of time. And when I think of that close family, and their reaction to the same sort of tragedy, I realize that we never really lose anyone we love.