The Last Phone Call

Suddenly, I was surprised by these few tears in my eyes. What is it now? What triggered it? Here, in this space, many things can trigger my memory, and many memories can be called upon. But it was clear as crystal. Absolutely no doubt. It was that last phone call I had with my mother…before she died; uncalled for, unexpected, unplanned, without advanced notice. So that was our last good bye in a sense. And it was not a nice one, like the one that one would prepare, reflect upon and choose carefully, because it will be the one recorded in the mind for ever, as the ones that many memoirs talk about: “our last conversation”. It was just the way we related to each other. One more phone call that ended with a bittersweet taste in the mouth after hanging up. Why this happening again?

She was in Argentina, cleaning the apartment of old stuff, and one room full of memories and belongings, many mine -some still from my wedding 40 years ago, and she was asking me to use part of the time when I would visit in a few months, to help her clean it up. That trip was supposed to be my first trip back to my country after many years, for the purpose of my 30th high school reunion. It was a special trip, which would bring mixed and intense emotions of love and fear, of suffering and death, of loyalties and betrayals. So, I was not going to compromise such a delicate time of meeting my vulnerable soul with cleaning up a room full of old stuff. It would have to wait! And so, annoyed by what I thought it was an unfair request, I hanged up annoyed and upset, as many times before. But this time, never more to hear her voice again.

As it turned out, during my trip for the reunion, a few months after she was gone, we cleaned the room filled of stuff all the way to the ceiling –mostly my stuff- together, her spirit and me. After all it was not such an unfair request and I had to own my own selfishness at the time, my immaturity of not being able to grasp at that moment the relevance of her request, the fairness and the opportunity to share memories together, an important step in our healing that never took place.


Who am I? These stories have been helpful in the process to know more about myself, and my life, uncovering memories hidden in the folds of my past. Not too late at 63, which helps me to get a wider and higher (age-wise) viewpoint of this journey we call life –a collage of pieces and strands, layers and experiences that help define me as a whole, giving meaning and maybe finding purpose before I die, as I tie and untie knots of the web that contains and gives form to every aspect of my existence. What I do? While I travel this journey, I serve as a yoga teacher, trainer and yoga therapist for my community, as a visual artist/photographer, mother, grandmother, partner and lover of the mystery and beauty of life. I am architect who spent 25 years of her life in a magical career that enriched too little her soul. I am a spiritual seeker who gets lost many times but finds her way transformed by the experience. I like to try new things and see old things in a different way and challenge belief systems that have no room for imagination and creativity. I believe in manifesting my dreams and in the discipline to create them (not an easy task), in my duty (dharma) to serve all beings and the planet that sustains us, in loving-kindness and compassion and being an eternal student of life. I trust that each person has a unique story to tell that is only awaiting to be listened to with respect and handled with care.

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