DUELO

                                  DUELO / GRIEF

 

MATER MARE (Serie DUELO) ©Ana Alvarez-Errecalde(2020)

MATER MARE (Serie DUELO) ©Ana Alvarez-Errecalde (2020)

 

Nada
©Ana Álvarez-Errecalde (2020)

A poco de su muerte
Ya su cuarto no es su cuarto
Su ropa no es su ropa
Su silla no es su silla

Sólo nosotros mencionamos su nombre
No respondo al teléfono aclarando que soy su madre
Porque nadie le llama
Ya no hay visitas médicas o terapias programadas
Tampoco hay trámites

Las hierbas medicinales ya no llenan la casa de esperanza y aromas
Ya pasaron a retirar el Cough Assist y el nebulizador que nos prestaron
Ya no compro pañales
Ya no corto más uñas que las mías

Tampoco soy la misma que antes
Mis manos están torpes
Mis ojos perdieron el enfoque
Mi voz se encharca
Mi ropa no se ensucia
Me ha cambiado el sentido del tiempo

Los dos nos vamos convirtiendo en nada
Nos volvemos fantasmas de lo que fuimos
Espectros de lo que creímos ser
Imagino que esto debe ser lo más parecido a la paz para quien muere
Y lo más parecido al infierno para quien sobrevive.

Nothing
©Ana Álvarez-Errecalde (2020)

Shortly after his death
His room is not his room
His clothes are not his clothes
His chair is not his chair

Only us mention his name
I do not answer the phone clarifying that I am his mother
Because nobody calls him
There are no scheduled medical visits or therapies
There is no paperwork to fill in

The medicinal herbs do not longer fill the house with hope and scents
Technicians removed the Cough Assist and the nebulizer they did lend us
I no longer buy diapers
I do not cut more nails than my own

I’m not the same as a month ago
My hands are clumsy
My eyes lost focus
My voice gets puddled
My clothes do not get dirty
The sense of time has been disrupted

We are both becoming nothing
We are the ghosts of what we used to be
Specters of what we thought we were
I imagine this must be the closest thing to peace for those who die
And the closest thing to hell for those who survive.

VOLVERSE TERRITORIO (Serie DUELO) ©Ana Alvarez-Errecalde (2020)

Volverse Territorio
©Ana Álvarez-Errecalde (2020)

Sostener al hijo muerto,
Insuflar aire en su boca vacía,
Un, dos, tres … contar hasta treinta
(recordar el curso de primeros auxilios).

Llamar a urgencias,
y con la casa llena de desconocidos,
turnarnos para intentar que nuestro hijo vuelva
experimentando en su partida,
la gratitud de la equidad por la que luchamos en vida.

En un grito profundo y visceral como el que surgió de mí al parirlo,
acepto que se vaya,
y me doy a luz como madre rota.

Alguien intenta comunicarnos cual es el protocolo en caso de muerte domiciliaria.
Sólo pedimos que nos dejen solos,
queremos pasar la noche en casa,
y despedirnos en familia.
Todos se esfuman en el más absoluto respeto.

Escuchamos a Louise Armstrong cantar “What a Wonderful World”
porque esa ha sido su cancion favorita,
lavamos su cuerpito precioso y estropeado de tantos años enfundado en su silla de ruedas.

Ponemos en sus ropas el perfume que más le gustaba,
y encendemos velas igual que hemos hecho en cada parto.

Le damos gracias a Neuquén por haber compartido su vida con nosotros.
El amor y la gratitud que siento por su compañía y su presencia a lo largo de todos estos años
es tan grande como el dolor que deja.

Su padre y yo lo abrazamos, y abrazamos también a nuestros hijos pequeños.

Nos volvemos entorno y territorio:
aire,
música,
fuego,
noche,
luna,
llanto,
grito,
frío,
cuarto,
muerte.

Hay algo muy sagrado y muy bello en presenciar el tránsito de una vida plena.

Becoming Territory
© Ana Álvarez – Errecalde (2020)

Hold the dead son,
Blow air into his empty mouth
One, two, three … count to thirty
(remember the first aid course).

Call emergency services,
and with the house full of strangers,
we take turns trying to get him back,
experimenting on his departure,
the gratitude of the equity for which we fought in life.

In a deep and visceral scream like the one that came when I gave birth to him,
I accept his departure and I give birth to myself as a broken mother.

Someone tries to tell us what about the protocol when when someone dies at home.
We only ask to be left alone,
we want to spend the night together
and say goodbye as a family.
They all vanish in absolute respect.

We listen to Louise Armstrong sing “What a Wonderful World”,
because that was his favorite song,
We wash his precious body, twisted from so many years in his wheelchair.
We put on his clothes and the perfume he liked the most,
and we light candles just as we have done in every birth.

We thank Neuquén for sharing his life with us.
The love and gratitude I feel for his company and presence throughout all these years,
is as great as the pain that I feel now.

His father and I hug him, and we hug his brother and sister.
We become environment and territory:
air,
music,
fire,
night,
Moon,
cry,
scream,
cold,
room,
death.

There is something very sacred and very beautiful about witnessing the transition of a fulfilled and rich life.

 

Skills: Cuidados, Human Migration, Self Portrait, Visual Poetry