SAYULITA
For the Love of Mexico
White Chedda
Chapter 12
When I first started writing this book, I really did not think to tell you about something personal related to my health. Something quite private.
A big lump in my chest.
A literal one.
Click here and you can see it
quite prominently in this video.
I have had this for a few years
and I have treated it with an 'Ignorance is bliss'
type of attitude. Never had it checked.
While I have been afraid,
I also have been living
each day like it’s my last
for a long time now.
I just want to be here for my kids.
If I get a choice, I choose to live.
Since you are reading Chapter 12 of this
auto-biographical depiction of my walk,
you should know that I consider you a friend.
Thank you for diving in this deep with me. You have earned a right, in my mind, to be privy to my affairs.
I don't want you to worry.
Something crazy happens.
I just cannot tell you yet, what it is.
I can just tell you that the story is pleasant.
And that from this point forward, the chapters
are written in retrospect. After the walk.
Ramona had asked me when I wanted to get up to start my day. She struck me as an early riser and I was in the midst of a trend of waking as soon as possible.
But when she knocked on the door to jumpstart me at 7am, I yawntalked her into letting me sleep another hour.
Irene and Ramona were in no rush to see me go and since Mascota was the day’s goal, I wasn’t either.
Relative to the walking I had done over the last few days, this was going to be the easiest and flattest of the stretches. It also wouldn’t consume too much time. Maybe 4 or 5 hours.
I laid in bed and did not sleep much in that extra hour.
The fragility of life. It was on my mind. I would soon find the chicken outside my room, lying on the floor of the kitchen. There was yet to be a conclusion to her fate.
But her legs were loose, limp and motionless
Recently, I have been more fragile.
I was so deadset on being the best dad.
In the kitchen, where I pleaded with my wife,
A painful memory was seared.
Don’t do this.
Don’t say this isn’t working.
The consequences are severe.
My son told us to hug.
He is 3.
Mom said,
I don’t want to hug your dad.
And the tumor grew larger, as it does when one’s
peace is thrashed by the torments of ill-circumstance.
It pulses close to surface.
It becomes. more. relevant.
I was a person full of joy inside.
So much of that withered away that day.
And actual death inched closer.
Or, kilometered closer.
I was thriving.
Now, I will salvage what I can.
I never wanted to be divorced.
My parents were divorced when I was young.
And it sucked.
We think that, as the next generation,
we will right the ship. I guess I failed.
Not just anyone would embark on a journey such as this. There would have to be a special reason.
You know the bulk of my motivations.
You have read about them.
We want to demonstrate the kindness
of the Mexican people through wonderful stories.
We want to persuade anyone who can be still be pursuaded to understand that if Donald Trump is
elected, it will severely harm the relationship
between the United States and Mexico
and the relationship between their peoples.
But now you know another.
I told my Mom I needed to take this walk to heal.
Just nobody really knew what I needed to heal from.
Something of the body and something of the soul.
Both with just a whisper of a prayer.
I run my fingers over the lump and start to wiggle my
legs out from the heavy cowboy blankets of
my luxury bed in Mosco.
Mascota means something.
It means I crossed the mountains.
Conquered the seemingly impossible.
That's the type of thing we need right now.
But maybe I needed it more than anyone.
To be Continued...
X
