A Prayer for My Mother

Ana Raab Marrero, 1913-1999

A Prayer for My Mother
Yom Kippur Eve
Friday, September 17, 2010

(This must be doubly special, occurring on a Friday.)

Dear Mami,

I can only hope that you can hear me--yes, I know you can.
As the sun begins to want to set within the next hour,
I want you to know--what?--that I know you've/you're being with me
During these troubled times.
The mother in you wishes that your child were not quite so angustiada.
The doctor in you knows that I have to tolerate this regimen so that,
little by little, I'll get well. (And you agree with the good doctor, who
removed the ancient drug for which you had recetarios, pens, and probably even
bookmarkers!)
Dear Mami, I know you wish you could make it all go away--

But, then, I wish I could have removed some of your pain, especially while you were alive.
I didn't always side with you, then.
But you hid your feelings so carefully--even from me--that I couldn't always tell what and how you felt at any particular moment.
(And then--out of the blue, or so it seemed--you blasted me away with a humor I can only begin to approach when I am at my best.)

Which leads me to Grandpa Zoltan, the other person who comes to mind this Yom Kippur Eve.
"The best person in the world; the person in the world with the best sense of humor; the devoted son who wrote letters to his mother every day of her life; the artist who wrote poetry--"
Well, so did his daughter.
And so--after a fashion--does his granddaughter.

Mami and Grandpa Zoltan, please keep an eye on me through these troubled times.
And I promise to cherish and remember you. Always.

Lovingly,
Your daughter
Your granddaughter