Life itself

Two children, two mothers… united in prayer. Knowing that there is a hope towards which we walk and that even in pain and vulnerability our life has meaning


It has not been easy for me to find a title that reflects what I would like to convey with this reflection. Finally, I have decided to be simply, simple. And these days I am witnessing and experiencing great events that have me immersed in a swing of emotions. Life itself.

And so I find myself between sadness and joy. Between nostalgia and hope. Between trust and vulnerability. And as I am emotional by nature, there I go surfing between the waves of each emotion.

Own experiences, lived in first person and as a spectator of others, which have the common characteristic of not being adorned by great fireworks, but rather occur clothed in the simplicity and warmth of tears and smiles. That speaks of the being, of the person, of that humanity on the surface.

The paradox of life presents itself these days, confronting before me the pain and sadness due to the illness of a child named Álvaro who fights with great strength to continue living, with my joy and happiness for the graduation and 18th birthday of one of my children.

A train wreck between the suffering of one child’s illness and the happiness of seeing another’s birthday.

Life in its purest form: tears and smiles. Health and sickness. Pain and joy. Suffering and vulnerability along with the search for meaning. Faith.

The limit, our limitation and the shadow areas coexisting with the light that we are called to be and hope.

Thus suffering appears suddenly in your life, without knocking on your door and without being invited. Without being able to choose. Without being able to prefer.

And we can live ignoring this fact, turning our backs on it and believing that we can avoid it.  In fact, who wouldn’t like to be able to? But our nature does not lie, and it is there to remind us that we are fragile and limited and that, therefore, suffering is a companion on our journey.

Two sides of a coin: happiness and suffering.

However, we have also received the great gift of being able to choose our personal response. That concept so hackneyed in our days of freedom enters fully into the reality of our lives to give us the enormous power to choose how to look at that ill-mannered suffering that comes uninvited.

And that’s where the magic happens. The union between our vulnerability and our superpower to choose the response. Where the limit merges with inner freedom. A freedom to look that cross face to face. To look up to the sky. To trust and to search for meaning.

That decision is where we can become true warriors. In the heroes of our lives.   Small heroes, capable of great things.

I thought about that mother and that little warrior, and I looked at my son blowing out his candles. Two mothers, two children… united at the same time. Pain and happiness intermingled.

In the face of illness and suffering, the world tells you to reject it. Which makes no sense, nor can it be found.

These days I see how prayer chains are being organized for this child through networks and WhatsApp groups. I witness how people come together for the great ideal of praying for the life of a person with faith. How parents who are suffering and enduring the great pain of seeing a sick child have a grateful and confident look at the future. How they live outside themselves and how they transcend what is happening to them. These days I am witnessing something very big: and it is from the midst of pain that hope makes its way and how suffering touches and transforms many hearts.

And, on the other hand, at the same time, without any merit, I find myself receiving the gift of seeing my son turn 18 and graduate from that school he entered when he was barely 3 years old.

See how they impose a band on him that apparently is a piece of cloth, but that has a great meaning. See how he has become a great young man, on his way to adulthood, with values that I hope he never loses and yes, embody them in his life, in every event.

And I breathe deeply. And I stop to look and not just see. Savoring every minute and second. With an eye on every detail with the intention that it can last in my memory.

I get home and pick up the photo album of his early years and I realize that no matter how hard I try, I don’t control anything other than the freedom to decide to live with automatic mode on or with manual.

The freedom to put love in everything. To put myself in the game. To respond one way or another.

And gratefully I pray and give thanks for the gift of life, for the gift of motherhood and for the gift of today. For being able to be a witness. And with great hope and confidence, I continue to pray for Álvaro, for his healing and for his family. And I look at the sky.

Two children, two mothers… united by something more than time. United in prayer. Knowing that there is a hope towards which we walk and that even in pain and vulnerability, our life has meaning.