We Wear the Mask by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780807078990
Publisher: Beacon Press
Published: 2017-03-04T16:00:00+00:00

I’d been to Chula Vista once before. It was the last time I saw my mother alive. Throughout my youth, she had a series of breakdowns. This one landed her in the hospital.

We were told the gardener heard her crying for help. He found her on the floor of the kitchen, unable to walk, severely malnourished and dehydrated. She was rushed to the hospital where, in a delusional state, she tried to pull the IV out of her arm.

My sister and I flew to Guadalajara and drove to Ajijic. The Nahuatl Indians named the area Ajijic, before the Spanish came. It means “the place where the water springs forth.” Our mother always loved living near water. Lake Michigan was replaced by this new body, in Mexico. We took in a landscape framed by the Sierra Madre on one side and Lake Chapala, the largest freshwater lake in Mexico, on the other. Purple petals littered the sidewalks from the jacaranda branches overhead. Tree trunks along the carretera were painted white to ward off animals and insects. Ants, we were told, could strip a tree overnight. We maneuvered around donkeys and the road was full of topes—speed bumps—to slow down the trucks, jeeps, and motorcycles. We drove through Ajijic’s surrounding areas: Las Forrestas, San Antonio, and Chula Vista.

My mother was at a small hospital called Clinica Mascaras on the carretera. She looked terribly small under the sheets. The skin on her arms hung like rope off her bones. It wasn’t clear to the doctors what happened to her. Was it a stroke? A heart attack? A psychotic break?

“I had a really good friend who died,” she answered. “Her death really upset me.”

She was propped up against a pillow. Her hair was matted around her head.

“She was the only one I told.”

“Told what?” I asked.

“About you.”

“What about me?”

“About you kids. Your father. I don’t think it’s anybody’s business.”

Her words cut me. But I was there to assist, not to settle old scores. By then, we had been estranged for years. My sister, Leslie, had a better relationship with her. And so I mirrored Leslie as she sat, smiling, on the other side of the hospital bed.

After that, we drove to her casita, where we would stay until we found assisted living for her. It was a beautiful but roach-infested two-bedroom cottage in a small housing development. Inside the casita was a wood-burning fireplace, two walk-in showers, and terra-cotta floors. Palm and pine trees grew outside, as well as croton Norma, white oleander, bougainvillea, and hibiscus. My mother deeply loved tropical gardens. I imagined her on the stone patio, next to the saltwater pool. A palapa with a thatched roof hung over the lawn chairs. There was a hammock and a glider.

We went in search of dinner. Mexicans sold their wares near Super Lake grocery, down the cobblestone alley behind the casita. Some sold fresh peaches in baskets and silver jewelry on the street. I imagined my mother making this same walk, every day. Now her doctor said she couldn’t walk and should never live alone again.

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