El Velorio de Doña Mary

A "velorio" is a wake. In Puerto Rico (as in many Latin cultures) the body of the deceased is often laid out for viewing at home. Neighbors, friends and family gather to pay their respects or say last goodbyes. There is always food and often music. Crying, singing and laughter are all sounds heard at a velorio.
I remember going to my first one at around 5 years of age. Doña Mary (Mrs./Ms. Mary) lived two houses away from us. She was heavy-set and dark skinned with wiry wild hair. She was loud. Her voice, no matter how sweet her words, always sounded chastising. As a child, I was afraid of her. But my mother was not. My mother befriended Doña Mary and while neighbors steered clear of her she was often at our house. I can close my eyes and imagine myself looking out our front door and seeing the backs of Mom and Mary swinging on porch rocking chairs and chatting away over a strong cup of cafe negro.
Doña Mary's son lived with her. He was greasy and lazy...and abusive. I don't know whether she had other children or where they might have been but one day my mother received a phone call from, of all places, the morgue. Her number had been found as emergency contact in Doña Mary's wallet. She had been struck and dragged by a bus less than a mile from our homes and my mother was called down to identify her body. Not long after, we had to go pick up her belongings (or perhaps someone took up a collection, it was so long ago and I so young) from her place of work. She was a cafeteria lady at an elementary school. Much to my mother's surprise all of Mary's co-workers knew who she and I were when we arrived. She spoke to them about us as if we were her daughter and grandchild.

The imagery in this painting romanticizes her wake just a bit. Her house was drab and there were perhaps less flowers or ceremony. Unshakable, for some reason is the memory of mosquito netting draping over her casket to keep bugs at bay during what was probably a nearly-summer month. Unforgettable also is the fact that at the time Mom was unemployed and we did not have much money so we could not afford flowers from the florist. A Peace Lily plant (given to her by Doña Mary) had just come into bloom. Those were the flowers we took to the wake.

El Velorio de Dona Mary, acrylic and ink on canvas, 30" x 40". available

They Visit

Sometimes I wake up from a dream expecting my mother to be asleep in the next room. The feeling is fleeting and usually followed by a brief sadness, like the period at the end of a sentence. Sometimes I wake up to complete clarity, well aware that she is no longer with us and that she hasn't been since New Year's Eve 1999.
On occasion, when I wake up from a dream in which she looked ill, the feeling that accompanies the realization that she is no longer living is relief. It is a strange thing, feeling relieved that a loved one is no longer within reach. That you will never again feel the safety of their embrace or hear their voice call out your name.
In most dreams, she is vibrant and healthy and beautiful.  She is at her prime. These are the dreams that fool with your sense of time. They're the ones you try to fall back into, but never can.
I'd like to think that she visits me. I know how that sounds, especially from someone who rejects most aspects of religion and other-worldliness. Maybe is her energy. Maybe it's self preservation and good old wishful thinking, but I can't seem to shake the feeling that when loved ones depart, they aren't forever gone. They visit.

They Visit, acrylic on canvas, 18" x 18"

Muerto Enamorado

Muerto Enamorado, acrylic and ink on canvas, 6" x 12"

Muerto Guapo

Muerto Guapo, acrylic and ink on canvas, 10" x 20"