The City of Goodbyes

Caracas

I arrived late on purpose, it was bad enough that I was here, and the idea of getting trapped in greetings, old 'hellos' and small talk about my life was not something I felt inspired to do that particular day. Good thing that in these small towns the last rows of seats in the Church are always empty, maybe for late comers like me or sinners that had no intent in been seen while trying to repent once and for all for all their wrong-doings. I wore black as it was expected; it was my grandmother in any case who had passed, so I decided to be seen at least in the proper fashion for such event. The hat would have been a great accessory I told myself, but it was too hot that day to bear it so I decided to just pull my hear into a nicely done bun and disguise my face with the biggest pair of sunglasses I owned.

It all felt so familiar, even though I cannot remember precisely the last time I was here, I know it was during my last trip to Venezuela when I was just 15, but everything seemed the same: the images of the virgin Mary, the saints, the colours of the walls, the beautiful glass mosaics that allowed a rainbow of light when the sun came through, even the smell: a mixture of incense and forgiveness toasting in the heat of the town. This was one of her favourite places, maybe because of all her beautiful memories, maybe because of the peace she felt when she was here, it sounds crazy but I could feel her besides me, smiling at the colours from the mosaics and telling me how happy it made her that I came back. I felt the tears merging with my smile, I missed her and even though I should be shedding these tears for Mama Julia, it was my mom that even 5 years after her passing still made me feel as it was yesterday. Why did she leave me so soon? Why did I waited until she was no longer with me to give her the gift of my return to Venezuela? She asked for so little and I stubbornly said no every time. I should have not waited for her to be dead to make her happy...

"Do you need a handkerchief my dear?" an old lady suddenly said bringing me back to reality

"Thank you, I really appreciate it"

"My dear, aren't you Julia Maria, Julia's granddaughter?" she paused to look at me better, trying with her expression to get me to take off my sunglasses.

"...yes... I am" I said, still in shock of how this unknown lady had recognized me.

"I am so sorry for your loss my dear, this must be very hard on you, after your mothers' passing ..."

"I am sorry, I need to use the bathroom, excuse me and thank you for the handkerchief"

I walked into the hallway that I believed took me to the bathrooms, I had really no idea where I was going, but I just could not stand there anymore. How did she know me? and even worse, how did she know so much about me? about us? I knew this city was small, but this was too much. Maybe I was just to used of the life in Toronto where being anonymous is the order of the day, it seemed like I was going to really experience what my mom always spoke about, 'small town, big hell'.

Venezuela and the Herrera family was definitely a sensitive theme for me, and the fact that I had the courage to get on that plane and come was already big enough, let alone be here exactly in this place, exactly for this event. It was 6 years ago when my mom, Carmen Julia Herrera, was diagnosed with bone cancer and after a breath of hope during the first round of chemotherapy, she was back in intensive care and I was back in the same black hole in the Doctors office when they gave me the news that she was not going to make it; it was already stage IV and whatever they did treatment-wise was to keep the pain away, but they could do nothing to save her life. It was during that stay in the Hospital where my mom decided to ask me for the last time for the same thing she had asked me million times before, for me to go back to Venezuela and reconnect with my family, the one thing she had ever asked me that I had been able to avoid, but that now I was unable to as it was her final wish to me.