The Motorway

Flying into Sacramento, I knew that I would not be able to drive around without another licensed motorist, i.e. either of my parents. I had failed to pass the behind the wheel portion of the license exam twice, but on the third, I emerged barely victorious, having used up all fifteen of my allowed mistakes. The examiner tallied the penalties, told me to be more aware, and I headed inside to take my picture.

I am a new driver on the road and I am surprised how comfortable I've become driving around. I was always nervous about driving around our daughter since I could barely manage to drive myself around without breaking into a nervous sweat. Just yesterday, however, I drove. Grandparents, mama, and little Mariana packed into the truck (manual transmission) and we headed towards the bay area without my driving anyone off the road.

Mr. Cool Breeze: I felt so good driving I didn't even feel the need to keep both hands on the wheel. Nice and smooth, I was comfortable even through heavy traffic.

I felt bad for Mariana though, because this is the longest car ride I have ever been in with her and when she's grumpy, even the stretch of Highway 50 between New Dawn and V st is unbearable to her.

Brooke: "I mostly nursed her on the way there, that's probably why she was mostly quiet."

I had mostly become tense for the destination and not so much the drive there.

We were visiting my Abuelita's grave. It was the first time I had been ever been able to visit.

I had hoped that Mariana and Abuelita Norma would be able to meet, but cancer claimed her life on April 9, 2008. I was still in Chicago with a lot on my mind.

On July 17, 2009, Mariana and I sat in front of Abuelita Norma's grave and I couldn't say much more to Mariana other than "this is your Great-Grandma Mariana. You would have loved her too."

On the cemetery lawn, Mariana played with a clover she had picked, enjoying the open space, the nearby geese, and all the flowers adorning the heads of these plaques in the ground. It was strange seeing so many representatives of people that once were, and that a person I had been so close to was now laying among them. Seeing the plaque reading TELLEZ, our loss had become so sharp and so real. Mariana had to go play with Brooke for a while while I spent some time alone with my Abuelita.

I know that I too will one day go and rest among the eternally sleeping. I will one day have to leave my beautiful daughter and trust that her life will continue to be just as rich and fulfilling. I hope for so much in my finite time, I realize that there is much work to do.

I have chosen to return to Chicago to complete my remaining two years at the University of Chicago. It pains me that my departure, albeit temporary, is approaching. Conversely, I am filled with so much optimism for this decision and for the man I am becoming as the journey towards these remaining two years continues.

It was very difficult and awkward leaving my daughter the autumn she was born. Back then, there had been so many unspoken conversations and many more miscommunications. The road forward looked steep and unforgiving. 2008-2009 had left my shoulders two hunched rocks on either side of my neck: I had felt so much weight over my shoulders and a constant stream of uncertainties and consequent heartbreaks.

Though I've lost a wonderful Abuelita, I am much more whole. The clouds hurdling over the mountains opposite the cemetery blocked any view of the horizon. Strangely, through the clouds, the future had never seemed to clear to me.

I know the things I must do. I know it could mean more tension in my shoulders and deeper bags under my eyes, but there are sacrifices to be made.

The nonexistence of my Abuelita leaves us all wondering what it is she would have been happy to see and what would have made her proud. She loved all her family, but if her favor fell on any of us, we felt so honored because her opinion mattered so so much to us all. I don't know that the path I'm on is necessarily what any of my family would like for me.

I do know however, that my Abuelita was always interested to hear about what I was doing. I had flown the coup. I was among the first in the family to head off to school, and the first to have gone so far away from home to do so. I have two years of University under my belt and a 10 month old Mariana.

In her own, private sort of way, I think she would be proud.

You would have been able to see it in her eyes.

Ignition. Brake check. Mirrors and seat belts. Headlights. Let's go.

Day in the Life of Mariana: Breakfast

Teething

There is a little tooth punching its way out of Mariana's little gums.

Toothless wonder: she has no teeth, yet she has one of the brightest and most beautiful smiles.

Brooke has been anticipating this little bud since Mariana was three months old, while I was away contemplating not just about the one specific tooth, but the entire Mariana who had been such a mystery to me for so many months.

Watching her sleep, I find that I am grateful for the few minutes of leisure time while she lays with her eyes half-open and swaying like ice in a water glass. I am grateful for so much, especially for the short amount of time I have had with her (one-third of my allotted summer break), though I wish it was more.

Brooke wrote to me saying that "our histories are written into our bodies," which I had agreed to when I peered over my limbs: some scars here and there, and much more muscle than I had remembered ever having. Until September 12, 2008, our histories were exclusive to our own bodies when Mariana came into this world and showed us that our collected history could cry, pee, and poop.

Like Mariana's tooth, her beginnings do not start to show right here and now, but with time, her mother and I hope not to knife out Mariana's history in a gruesome sort of way, but let it bud out and grow naturally, without forcing anything we aren't ready to show or admit.

I have always told people that Mariana already has quite the story, and until she can tell it herself, here we are, Brooke and I, laying out what went down once upon a time and what is going down right here in the now.

As Mariana continues to sleep, I hope I do not do the same: I hope to become disciplined about updating from my end because I am a father; whether I am near or far, asleep or awake, there is a little girl who I have helped create and for whom I am going towards the Midwest to make something of myself. I am one more father who must go far away, and not another father who merely forgets about his spawn.

Twenty years old, full-time university student, varsity rower, young adult, and papa,

Signing off.