Loss

On Wednesday, I watched as an 8 year old girl and her 3 year old brother buried their mom. Marisa Christina Gallegos was 27 years old. Her mom is one of my mom’s oldest friends. She and I were friends as children, I hadn’t seen her since we were about 13. She was one of the sweetest girls I’d ever met.

As of last I heard, they think she died of alcohol poisoning. Her mom (whom both she and her children were living with) was not notified until the police came to her door three hours later. Her friends did not call her mom. Her friends identified her body, so her mom didn’t have the opportunity to see her until days later. Her friends didn’t think, for one second, that her mother and her children had a right to know. It makes my heart break.

During the funeral, Eric looked over at me and said, “We’re chaining Ben to us.” I said something along the lines of, “And he’s not allowed to have friends.”

My dad said, “The streets will take your life. It’s always been that way and always will be.” My mom thanked God that Eric and I had found eachother and that I had “settled down”. There but by the grace of God…

I listened as the priest said things that were meant to give comfort. Things like how she was now in a place to help everyone fulfill their life goals. How no one should be sad because she is in a better place. It sounded patronizing. It doesn’t mean I don’t believe it, it’s just that, were I in her mother’s shoes, I’d smack anyone who told me my daughter was in a better place. She has two children that need her here, now. There is no better place.

I found pictures of her at my 5th birthday party. I made copies and will take them to her mom when we go to visit her next week. It struck me how her daughter looks exactly like her at that age. Same skinny body, rail arms and chicken legs. Everytime I saw her, I couldn’t help but cry. While I may have barely recognized the woman in the casket, the sobbing face of the little girl was very familiar.

I have so much to say about this but I’m not entirely sure how to put it together, so I apologize for this being scattered. I can’t imagine burying a mom so young and I can’t imagine burying your child. When her mom stood to speak, she reminded us all to hold our children a little tighter. I did and I will.

Goodbye, Marisa.

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