Cherishing my greatest role model
January 6, 1999 —For many years, she has appeared in this column, a recurring character who often surfaced when I drew anecdotes from my life experiences.
She was part of a column opposing flag desecration, because -- back in Communist Cuba — she had taught me to draw, love, and respect the American flag. She appeared here when I wrote about the day I came to this country, and about my family's Christmas reunions in Cuba and in Miami. She was part of my writings when Congress threatened to deny Medicaid benefits to non-citizen elderly immigrants. She was often part of this space because I knew her story more closely. I felt her pain, celebrated her accomplishments, admired her tenacity. She was my mother, Lilia Perez, by far the most influential person in my life. Ironically, I'm glad her life is over. I remember how as a child, I feared losing my mother more than anything imaginable. But when she died at age 79 in Miami on Dec. 19, I felt relieved. The child in me still cried out upon realizing my greatest childhood fear, but no one should have to live the way she did for the last few years. For me, Dr. Kevorkian became much more sensible during that time. |
My mother suffered —agonized —from Alzheimer's disease, which is the closest thing I've seen to hell on earth.
But it's not time to dwell —I've been telling myself —on the pain she and my whole family endured near the end of her life. The end should not overshadow a wonderful life.
She died so close to the holidays, and to the 40th anniversary of Fidel Castro's Communist Revolution, that for me these holidays became a time to reflect on the history of my own family, our flight to freedom, and my mother's role in it all.
Sadly, she became the third family elder to die in exile, waiting for Cuba's freedom.
Instead of her illness, I've been dwelling on what she considered her life's greatest accomplishment: Getting her two sons out of the shocking grip of a Communist dictatorship.
She had achieved many goals in her life, becoming a teacher, raising a family, cultivating good friendships. But getting my brother and me out of Cuba —to live as free men in a democratic society —was her ultimate source of pride.
It was she who in the early Sixties convinced my father and the rest of my family —including my grandparents, aunts, and cousins —that we had to leave everything behind in Cuba and seek political asylum in the United States.
It was the thing I admired most about her. I can only imagine the courage that it took.
Imagine leaving behind all your worldly possessions, your job and career, your lifestyle, your dearest friends and relatives to become a refugee in a foreign country where you could not even speak the language.
I don't know if I could do it. Heck, most of us won't even consider moving to another state. But that's just what my parents did, almost 37 years ago, for me and my brother Beny. Their prime years were sacrificed so that in our prime years, Beny and I would be free to realize our dreams.
During the twilight of their lives -- my father died almost 12 years ago —they found their greatest joy through our career accomplishments. My brother is a successful real estate salesman in Miami. For Beny and me, our greatest reward was knowing that by growing up to become honest and successful United States citizens, we made them proud.
But my mother also taught me the importance of holding on to my roots, to love the homeland I left as a child, and to treasure the freedom she had given me by bringing me here. For her, my becoming a journalist in a free society was vindication.
Every so often, my mother would express her pride by writing poems to Beny and me, declaring her unconditional love, the kind that only parents feel for their children.
She had a wonderful gift for making phrases rhyme in Spanish, and for picking the right words to recreate wonderful moments. Whenever we did something right, Beny and I could expect to hear about it, in one of our mother's loving poems.
She had a talent, through her writings, for making us cry. But she had the personality, strength, and perseverance to make us believe in ourselves, and she did it by example. She was our greatest role model.
For many years, she was a recurring character in this column. She inspired the principles I defended in many other columns. And this is not likely to be her last one.
Originally published in The Record
But it's not time to dwell —I've been telling myself —on the pain she and my whole family endured near the end of her life. The end should not overshadow a wonderful life.
She died so close to the holidays, and to the 40th anniversary of Fidel Castro's Communist Revolution, that for me these holidays became a time to reflect on the history of my own family, our flight to freedom, and my mother's role in it all.
Sadly, she became the third family elder to die in exile, waiting for Cuba's freedom.
Instead of her illness, I've been dwelling on what she considered her life's greatest accomplishment: Getting her two sons out of the shocking grip of a Communist dictatorship.
She had achieved many goals in her life, becoming a teacher, raising a family, cultivating good friendships. But getting my brother and me out of Cuba —to live as free men in a democratic society —was her ultimate source of pride.
It was she who in the early Sixties convinced my father and the rest of my family —including my grandparents, aunts, and cousins —that we had to leave everything behind in Cuba and seek political asylum in the United States.
It was the thing I admired most about her. I can only imagine the courage that it took.
Imagine leaving behind all your worldly possessions, your job and career, your lifestyle, your dearest friends and relatives to become a refugee in a foreign country where you could not even speak the language.
I don't know if I could do it. Heck, most of us won't even consider moving to another state. But that's just what my parents did, almost 37 years ago, for me and my brother Beny. Their prime years were sacrificed so that in our prime years, Beny and I would be free to realize our dreams.
During the twilight of their lives -- my father died almost 12 years ago —they found their greatest joy through our career accomplishments. My brother is a successful real estate salesman in Miami. For Beny and me, our greatest reward was knowing that by growing up to become honest and successful United States citizens, we made them proud.
But my mother also taught me the importance of holding on to my roots, to love the homeland I left as a child, and to treasure the freedom she had given me by bringing me here. For her, my becoming a journalist in a free society was vindication.
Every so often, my mother would express her pride by writing poems to Beny and me, declaring her unconditional love, the kind that only parents feel for their children.
She had a wonderful gift for making phrases rhyme in Spanish, and for picking the right words to recreate wonderful moments. Whenever we did something right, Beny and I could expect to hear about it, in one of our mother's loving poems.
She had a talent, through her writings, for making us cry. But she had the personality, strength, and perseverance to make us believe in ourselves, and she did it by example. She was our greatest role model.
For many years, she was a recurring character in this column. She inspired the principles I defended in many other columns. And this is not likely to be her last one.
Originally published in The Record