Book of D: Remembering an Icon: Mama

Today marks 11 years since we lost Mom to esophageal cancer. Not one day goes by that I don’t think about her – or miss her. When she passed away, my sisters and I became the elders of the family. I have taken that to heart, but as I try to lead within my family, I have stumbled and failed. Trying in earnest to fill some pretty big shoes – almost always falling short. 

Eva M. Dominguez
(1934 - 2011)

The reason I shared the Christina Applegate post earlier, on social media, was to not just commend her for sharing her story about multiple sclerosis, but because I wanted to share my mom's story and how she dealt with her autoimmune issues and fought back against their debilitating condition – day after day . . . until she went home to meet her Maker. Much like MS and other autoimmune diseases, doctors still don't know from where they originate, or why some people get one illness and other people don't; whether it's genetic or environmental. Esophageal cancer, like MS, is diagnosed late in the illness . . . often making it too late to do anything. My mom was diagnosed at stage 4, and there was little to be done about it, but my mom didn't give up. She kept going, day after day, never giving up, and instilling in us the will to fight because of her own will to fight. She never wavered. We watched in horror and heartache as Mom succumbed to the cancer monster, which I have termed it for public use rather than call it what I usually do in private, and with each passing day, she lost weight because she reached the point in the terminal illness of not being able to eat. Imagine everything that accompanies it; it is much too vulgar and heartbreaking for me to include, plus, it is extremely triggering. 

My mom lives in me. She taught me everything I know right now about loving and listening. Like Albert Bandura (who is my favorite theorist) posited, I learned to socialize and how to treat others well as a child – by way of example more than anything through Mom. I was fortunate to have been her daughter because she instilled in me many values and mores and how it’s best to give a leg up instead of a hand down.

Through Mom, I learned to just listen. If there is one piece of advice I would like to provide to everyone reading this, it would be this: learn to listen to other people with intent and don't listen to respond. Don't be ready to lend advice or make an unneeded comment just to overcome the silence for that denotes it being more about you than about the person you’re supposed to be listening to. I promise you'll learn more about yourself when you listen with a purpose. 

The day of Mom’s funeral, many people reached out to me and my sisters. They shared stories of how my mom had helped them. People I didn't know were approaching me that day to tell how my mom provided shelter, money, food, love, understanding, and compassion, and more often than not, how Mom merely provided the kindness of listening. Yes, many strangers came forward and shared Mom’s stories with us, and it meant a lot to me; I know it meant a lot to my sisters and family. My mom helped other people, not through community, but by standing alone and just doing the right thing. Mom was rich through love; she loved without condition and others reciprocated her love because “how could they not?” She was rich with caring for and about others. She was rich through helping other people without question. She was magnanimous. I've often said that the one word I would always use to describe my mom is magnanimous. 

Through the stories of a hero as defined through canon by the great Joseph Campbell, my mom was a hero. She will always be my hero. ¡Te extraño, Mama!