Westcott Cemetery Update

I'm setting a new goal to blog once a week as much as possible. Of course life always gets in the way and so on, but I will do my best. I've never really used this blog as a money-maker or as a way to really promote myself as a writer. It's always been more of a writing outlet for me. But when I find out that my blog made a difference in someone's day or even affected the course of the way things may have gone it's very inspiring.

I have a really cool follow up story to my blog post regarding the Westcott Cemetery ten years ago. Five years later one of the descendants of the Westcott family contacted me on this blog post. She told me that she and her sisters had been researching their genealogy and she had come across my blog about her family's cemetery. We had lunch and I learned more about the Westcott family and Gayle and I became friends.

Fast forward five years later and Gayle's sister Sara has led an effort to to take back ownership of the cemetery and to create a non-profit organization, the Westcott Cemetery Association. I was so honored when they asked me to sit on the board of this association.

Last weekend my daughter Miranda and I volunteered to clean up the Westcott Cemetery with neighborhood friends and volunteers from the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America, who were in town volunteering with several causes. I took pictures and went on ice runs but Miranda did a lot!

Miranda hard at work!

The cemetery has had years when it's been cleaned by the city, the community and years when it is completely forgotten. Keeping it clean is not a one time job of course. It's something that has to be kept up regularly and that's hard work. Last weekend's efforts really made a huge difference! 

I love this story for so many reasons. First of all because I love this cemetery. We first went there because my sister insisted that my dad stop so we could explore. I used to like to go there as a little girl and I kept up with it over the years.  I would drive by just to look at it. I was so sad when I found out that the archway with the name had either fallen or had possibly been knocked down by vandals. But I'm so excited that I can now make a difference in the care that this cemetery receives. As you all know, I'm obsessed with old cemeteries but this one was my first love. 

It's also been so inspiring to learn how the community, the Greater Northside Management District, Pastor David Smith of the New Bethlehem Missionary Baptist Church and his wife, and people who grew up in the neighborhood have just embraced this cemetery and loved it over the years. When we were there last weekend City Councilwoman Karla Cisneros stopped by to learn more about the initiative. 

Another reason I love this story is because it's a testament to the power of social media. I wrote a blog, a descendant read it and now there's an association for the Westcott Cemetery. That alone is amazing and I can't wait to see what happens in the future as this effort grows.

I Lost My Dad in February

(I wrote this on March 19 and it's unfinished but I decided to go ahead and publish it. This is a first draft and un-edited. I just couldn't finish it....)

This is probably one of the hardest blog posts I've had to write in a long time or ever. I haven't been able to write it even though it's already been a month and a week since I lost my dad, Nicolas Casares.

Daddy on the day I brought him some chairs & set up a sitting area for him.

January started off bad. I had a really bad cold that seemed more like the flu on January 3. The doctor couldn't diagnose it as the flu but she gave me antibiotics because I had a lot of congestion in my lungs. On January 10 I took my dad to the doctor and he was diagnosed with the flu. They x-rayed his his lungs and gave him an EKG and told me that everything was clear. 

On January 30 I was back at the hospital with him because his cough wouldn't stop and he had a swollen arm. He had a blood clot in his arm and he had pneumonia. 

On February 10 they told us there was nothing else they could do for him. They did an ultrasound to find out why he seemed to get better and then he'd get worse. It turned out that his epiglottis was broken. That's the little flap that closes when you swallow so food and liquid don't go to your lungs. They told us that on Wednesday the 14th he would have been on antibiotics for a full two weeks and they couldn't continue giving him antibiotics because other organs were breaking down. It was hard for us to accept, but in addition to this my father had a DNR (do not resuscitate order) that said he didn't want to prolong his life with any artificial means. A feeding tube or any of those kinds of things are considered in that category.

We came to terms with all of this from Feb 10-14. That Wednesday, Valentine's Day, they gave him his last antibiotics treatment. On Thursday, February 15 he was moved into the palliative care wing. By that day he couldn't speak at all any more.

I cherish the days in between January 30 and February 14 when he could still speak. One of the last times he spoke to me I asked him if I was getting on his nerves playing old Spanish music for him and he said no that in turn it made him happy. When he lived with me he would tell me how good my kids were. I asked him one day if I was doing a good job raising my children and he nodded. 

He hung on from that Thursday until Sunday, February 18. We were there with him every day from that day on, playing music for him, singing to him, talking to him and trying to keep him comfortable. We asked them to give him morphine to ease the pain of the transition. We kissed him and told him what a good father he had been to all of us. I read him the Daily Text from his religion every day. As if my divine intervention, the texts had something that related to him each day. 

At one point I was alone with him and I cried. I told him I was sorry I had let him get sick and he groaned at me. I don't know if he agreed or if he was telling me no. I told him how much I loved him. I told him to dream beautiful dreams. I told him to remember all the beautiful things in his life. I told him to remember what it felt like to kiss a beautiful woman and he raised his eyebrows at me. I also reminded him of meeting my mother at El Rey theater in McAllen and that if he had never met her we would never have been born. 

The last time I saw him alive was Saturday, February 17. I had stayed in the hospital the night before and I didn't want to leave the kids alone again so I left late that night. The next morning my sister called me at 6:30 to tell me that he had passed. I debated whether to go to the hospital to see his body but in the end Miranda and I decided to go. I'm glad I did. I got to hear them play "Taps" and I watched them wheel his body down the hall and watched the military nurses salute him. 

My sisters and my nephew were with him when he transitioned to the next phase. I'm glad they were there by his side. They said he was listening to Kingdom Melodies, the music of his religion. So he passed on listening to the music of his faith.

I'm Paralyzed and I Don't Know Why

Well I kind of do know why. It all started when my dad passed away in February. I've never been much of a housekeeper or domestic person, but after my dad passed away I lost all desire to do anything, even the things that I knew had to be done around the house.

Somehow all I could handle was taking the kids to and from school and the bus stop, picking up my daughter from lacrosse practice, going to games, taking her to end of year tournaments, making the kids dinner, and working.

I kept planning to write a great blog, a tribute to him, I even asked my editor at Latina Lista if I could publish it there under the Padre Care column. The weeks went by, now the months, and I haven't been able to write. I wrote one short post about him dying in April but nothing more.

I saw this Hemingway quote today and it reminded me once again about the things I want to write. Yesterday I attended a book reading with the Mendez couple, Lupe and Jasminne. I was inspired by their words and I came home with every desire to write. I wrote the first drafts of two poems and I found myself filled with anxiety. I couldn't explain the feeling that overwhelmed me and I stopped. I wondered if I was destined to never write about that month, that week, that day.... But I know that's not true. I know I will.

As for the cleaning. I finally started a week and half ago on some things I needed to do and then I promptly cut my ankle open in a freak accident in a Walmart parking lot. I dropped a bottle of Topo Chico and it sliced open my ankle. I had to have seven stitches. That set me back but ironically it also pushed me forward. Now that I can't do things, like cutting my yard, I feel an intense desire to do them. As soon as the doctor clears me I'm cutting my yard and cleaning out my dad's room so Seth can move his furniture into that room.

Everyone keeps telling me to do things on my time but I think that three months is long enough and I need to move on with this business of living.

My New "Normal"

I haven't written in a really long time because a lot happened to me between January 1 and March 19. I'm just now returning to my new "normal" without my father. I lost him on February 18. I haven't been able to write about it, but I've decided that when I do it will be on Latina Lista where I used to write a column about him called PadreCare. I'll post something there when I'm ready.

It's a start! (from my NikeRun app)

For now, I need to get back to walking and running. I've gained around 10 pounds in the last year that I need to lose this gut I'm carrying around in my mid section. I have to take care of myself because now more than ever I'm thinking about how short life is and how little bit of time I have left to be truly happy. Being that close to death reminds you of that. 

My Two Words for 2018

I have spent the first day of 2018 resting, reading and meditating on my plan for the year. I've meditated a little longer than planned, but it's all good. Things will get done while I'm on vacation this week.

My Harper Lee candle that my beautiful niece Hannah gave me, lit to send me some positive energy to my creativity and writing, The little typewriter because of course, writing

So here are the words for 2018: Evolve and commit. I am evolving. Every year that passes from freeing myself of long held beliefs, I evolve. I am finding my spiritual center. I remember the words I read on my last birthday at Mr. Martin's niche, "to put my trust and faith in my own mind, to live and die free." I am evolving every day to do just that. 

To commit covers SO many things. I want to commit to this evolution, to my spiritual journey, to my health, to my children and to my career. I am committed.

2017 was a challenging year in many ways but I also have A LOT to be grateful for. I read through my happiness jar and I was reminded of all the wonderful things that happened this past year, like my kids are alive and well, despite an illness. I'm grateful for our amazing summer trip to Germany, a new roof over our heads, and so much more.

So WELCOME 2018. I have faith in you. I believe that this will be a good year and one of the best in a long long time.