It’s Quiet Uptown

When I was fighting for my right to remain in the U.S., I was introduced to Reveau, three months old and warm and I was at once lost and found. I suddenly believed in love at first sight, and I held it in my arms for a few hours as my sister-in-law, my best friend and I walked around BYU campus.

Zion happened a couple of years after that date. We were told he came with CHARGE syndrome, we were told he would be frail. I still remember my brother’s face, concerned as he said we could go in to see him-I was a ball of nervousness, scrubbing and picking under my nails with the implements provided, walking into a room that held a tiny body inside of an incubator. My hands reached inside and I found myself so profoundly lost in my love again. I wasn’t aware I could love that much.

It’s been the same story 2 more times; and even though I haven’t had the opportunity of counting little fingers or smelling baby heads like I did with Reveau and Zion, I love those four little faces. My heart at some point grew feet and arms, and eyes and had specific names all visible only when I closed my eyes- Reveau, Zion, Tristan, Liara.

I have based a large portion of my life’s purpose to be around them. They have become my anchor. For years I have operated on the knowledge that my Reveau, Zion, Tristan and Liara where going to be in a room, and that all now mysterious would be bright at last because I would get to be their aunt in the flesh, not some entity that spoke to them through computer screens, or that was delayed by the time it takes for sound waves to travel from one end of the phone to the other.

Zion has died, and I feel robbed of that.

I feel so robbed. And it is not an anger towards God, but an anger towards those people who would deem it reasonable that I be faraway for another 4 years.

I have moved, as a blur these past few days, not understanding how my body did not just wither and die because there seemed no other way to continue on. I have been a symphony of tears, with movements of crying, I have eaten out of obligation and I have sat with the reality that my farewell to that piece of my heart called Zion will not be there to touch, to kiss, to hold if and when I am finally allowed back in the States. I have spent the majority of his life away from him. I have to live with that.

I have to sit with the reality that once again, my humanity is measured and qualified by people who would deny it. I cannot board a plane to be with my brother as he mourns, I am simply to stay in my corner of the world.

I have never in my life felt so utterly alone and dispossessed.

It is a strange kind of loneliness, to witness a viewing through Skype, to see casket being lowered through yet another pixelated screen.

I don’t know what this means.
I don’t understand how caskets that small can exist.
I don’t know how the world keeps turning or people keep living when that child is gone.

I have had so many people reach out in kindness, knitting themselves into a safety net- people who have collectively scooped up the broken pieces that once made me a person.

I am slowly moving forward.
Thank you for helping.

2 thoughts on “It’s Quiet Uptown

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