A Letter to Sekani Isaac by Judy Cuellar
This morning I woke up from dreaming, or it was more like a visitation to another timeline of another version of my life. Somehow, I found myself lucid dreaming. I was telling you how I thought I should share about our abortion story. Funny thing…
…how the Divine eases us into the deep murky waters of the places we’ve convinced ourselves were a closed chapter.
I was convinced, as I usually am, of which direction I was set upon. Yet, after all these years of living you’d think I’d eventually catch a clue. I’m a late bloomer. I know.
Pivot.
One of my favorite words in the past couple of years. I’ve become an unofficial subject matter expert of sorts when it comes to this specialty.
Let’s be real, being a “subject matter expert” in these matters only means things didn’t work out as planned and we are forced to adjust accordingly.
I thought I had learned to become less attached to my ideal outcomes but turns out I’m really, really good at compartmentalizing, and oh yeah, numbing, but make it look productive and cute!
I know, I know I’m oversimplifying this concept and trying to plate this seven-course meal of a disaster as an effortless Easy-Bake Oven kind of deal. It isn’t simple, nor is it effortless.
The countless scars covering my etheric body say otherwise. They’ve completely altered the landscape of my flesh and some days I’m unrecognizable to myself. These scars have jagged lumpy edges which surround the freshly developed tissue that is sensitive to the touch. I wonder when they’ll acclimate as if they’ve been here all along?
I stopped checking years ago. Every now and again, when I catch a glimpse that distracts me it looks like magma as it’s cooled into its solid form. They call that igneous rock. Yes, I had to stop to look it up before continuing and maybe I started scrolling on Instagram and playing my Harry Potter candy crush game.
Ahem. Okay, back to the story I was telling you I’d share tomorrow night. It’s the story of your father and me.
Listen, I spent too many years blaming him, your grandfather and grandmothers for my pain and my delayed healing. Your father once told me that I made him feel like a monster when I went through one of my fanatical binges into religion to purge myself of all the things, I hated about myself. I was so lost and confused.
I passed him in the halls of our local community college in 1994 and for me, it was “love at first sight”. I couldn’t stop staring and wonder who he was. How could I ignore such a confident and handsome man dressed in his Army ROTC uniform? It took months before I asked about him and approached him in 1995. From seeing him fall quarter and approaching him at the end of winter quarter the following year.
He was perfect to me and my first real boyfriend. The one in junior high doesn’t count because my friends told me I should be what’s his face’s girlfriend in the 9th grade. He oozed with confidence and loved having a good time always. He was outspoken, super smart and never did things because everyone else was doing it. What are the odds that his name would be the same as your grandfather? He was also the same height and had same golden caramel complexion and black hair. He wasn’t Latino. Everyone assumed that because of his name, even I did. I learned later that his dad named him after a character from that old 80s show, ‘Welcome Back Kotter’.
He lost his dad to some form of meningitis when he was two. This is only one of the many things that impacted his life and it all matters. I know there are so many other things he kept from me that were left as gaping wounds that I was blind to.
As I look back, he was an extension of my own daddy issues personified. Wild, right? We had our own complicated issues with the parent we were living with. For me, it was my dad and for him it was his mom.
He was my refuge.
I stopped looking inward and focused all my heart and soul into him. Love with him felt like a whirlwind. I remember it so clearly. No, I feel it in my body. My body remembers every detail. If I close my eyes and focus, the sensations will rise in my body. It was exactly like all the 90’s RnB love songs and music videos on BET told me it would be. A struggle love, a love that had to be proven and tested time and time again. A love that would ration out the good things because if the good occurred consistently I wouldn’t appreciate it as much. His words from his own experiences.
There would be so many moments of magical otherworldly experiences that would leave me feeling empty as the devastating moments would be more frequent. The devastation… I imagined it being like a black hole would be to our planet. It would rip us apart ever so slowly into specks of nothingness.
He was someone I could count on. He was the only affirming, consistent part of my life until he wasn’t. We grew up together, but we were still the same kids forced into adult roles since we were babies.
The co-dependency was destructive, as you could imagine. We were ignorant to who we were as individuals and didn’t know how to show up for each other. We left each other guessing what the other person needed. Completely ignorant to what we needed. We just felt a lot. We continued to trigger and hurt one another until resentment became so heavy it would repel us. Then the absence of the only good thing we seemed to have in our lives, each other, would draw us back again like magnets.
We were in an okay-ish season of Us when I found out about you in late spring of 2001. We were 24.
I finally landed a really good job that could turn out to be a career! It came with a monthly salary and fully paid benefits. This job allowed me to move up to Seattle and have roommates in Ballard. I could afford to go to the dentist and doctor regularly. I could take care of myself. I had hope that I could make something of myself even without a degree. I couldn’t find a way to finish college.
Before I decided to leave college and work full time, I was couch surfing for a few months and sometimes I’d only have candy in my car to feed myself. One week I lived off Dum Dum lollipops. I still don’t know how I didn’t pass out. I decided I needed to find full-time work to support myself. I didn’t tell him or any of my friends at the time how badly I was struggling. I didn’t know how to ask for help. I couldn’t bear to tell him because He was away at UW in Seattle, struggling himself.
So, you see having this good job without a degree was life-changing?
For a brief time, I was sure I could make it work and provide for you and myself. That’s all I wanted for as long as I could remember. I wanted to be his wife, to be a mother and have a family together. In some ways, I wanted to make up for what I didn’t have growing up. I was estranged from my entire family at the time. My roommate, Julie, was the only one who knew everything.
Sorry, I’m getting sidetracked again.
A few months before I found out about you, I attended some women’s conference in Seattle. It was overwhelming and cool to see so many women in control of their lives. As I passed by a psychic tarot reader’s table, we made eye contact. I saw she was offering a quick reading for $5-10, and I had the cash, so why the hell not.
The only thing I remember her telling me was to be careful in the upcoming months if I wasn’t ready to get pregnant. I laughed it off. I mean I’ve had the same partner since I was 18 and we never had a pregnancy scare EVER so why would it happen now when we were 24?
Not too long after, I was visiting your grandmother at her apartment. We were doing stuff in the kitchen, she was teaching me how to cook the way he liked his food because he was picky, lol. I started off with, “oh and guess what?! I had a tarot reading with this one lady and you wouldn’t believe what she told me because it’s so hilarious!” She started to giggle with me. I continued to say, “Well, she told me if I wasn’t ready to get pregnant, I should be extra careful.” I was looking down working with whatever I had been assigned to do in the kitchen and I looked up noticing how loud my giggling echoed alone, as if I missed a cue. She froze. Immediately, her countenance morphed into a threatening glare aimed directly at me. I froze stunned and unsure of what I might’ve missed. Then she opened her mouth to sternly state, “Don’t you ever do that to my son.” Unsure of what was happening, I immediately laughed it off and reassured her that we never had a scare before so why would one happen after all this time?
That encounter was forever burned into my memory. Per my usual, I tucked it away as if it were in my head, just making shit up and carried on with business as usual.
You made your presence known a month or two later. I was mostly excited and thrilled to have you in my belly. I was certain I could make it work. However, after telling your father, I had to consider the alternative. I can’t remember the details. I can only recall going numb and grieving my future decision in silent solitude. I’d take my lunch break and sit out by the lake and talk to you. I imagined I was a magical being creating something so perfect within that no human would have the capacity to imagine.
As I revisit these memories with you, I’m surprised they still bring up grief that seems never ending. I know that living life without regrets is the goal for many. Somehow, I thought if I only had this one regret it would make life without you easier. It has, most days, but then seasons like this one silently creeps into the backdrop of my day to day. Before I realize what’s happening, I’m writing letters like this to you. Weeping randomly throughout the day while failing to reassure your grandmother that I’m okay.
I created a playlist of all the songs that spanned the time your father and I shared together between 1995-2014. Over the years, I was able to detach memories from these songs from the longing for what could have been. Today, I wonder how I did so well in deceiving myself. Distractions help. Vilifying him helped. Not taking responsibility for my own healing helped. Clinging tightly to victimhood and denying how I was equally as hurtful to him helped.
This playlist of over 200 songs soothes me.
Earlier this year, I committed to myself and to focusing on diving deep into healing the past. One of my mentors helped me see that it was okay to still love him without guilt or shame.
When I made the decision to let you go the loudest reason was because I didn’t want to be connected to your father for the rest of my life because of you. He hurt me when he wasn’t as excited about you as I was. Back then, I didn’t identify hurtful words or actions as painful instead I became filled with offense, resentment and anger. I wanted to hurt people the way they hurt me.
Why is it now, so many years later, that I’m ready to face all the things I chose to stuff behind the closet doors of avoidance and distraction with placeholders. The placeholders only represented my hopes for your father and me. I don’t know how I fooled myself into believing that if I didn’t have you, it would automatically cut our ties. I was so far off base. I was wrong.
We continued our volatile relationship of break ups to make ups. We were each other’s first loves and best friends, truly a special bond even if it was muddied with trauma bonding and lack of self-awareness. The last time I heard from him was on March 15th, 2014.
It had been a few years since your Auntie Jenn had passed. I was living in a cute West Seattle apartment across the street from the bus to work, Target and the best teriyaki joint. He emailed me on her birthday, January 7, 2014. I felt comfortable corresponding with him and eventually chatting with him on the phone catching up on life. I was sure I was completely healed and had moved on. I wasn’t. We celebrated his birthday on February 3rd. Did you know your due date would’ve also made you an Aquarius like him?
We made plans to hang out regularly and I would visit him in Tacoma. I pushed too hard, and I went into autopilot. I wanted to resume a romantic relationship with him, pick up where we left off, never actually communicating this and ultimately bulldozed his unspoken boundaries.
The last plan we made was to see a movie; it was the one with Mathew McConaughey in it…Texas…The Dallas Buyer’s Club. He became distant and I wanted to believe it was all in my head. The last time we communicated was by text and I asked him when he wanted to see the movie. His last reply was, “I don’t know”. This was on March 15th the anniversary of your Auntie Jenn’s passing.
This was the actual end of us. How much more of a sign did I need? It was the anniversary of Jenn’s passing. He wasn’t aware of the significance of the date. It felt like he got a KO in the 9th round, and I was taken by surprise because I was certain it would be a draw.
I don’t know how I recovered. Likely, threw myself into work, the gym and online dating because I naively believed a new relationship would be the easiest fix. Like throwing a blanket over a pothole on these Tacoma streets.
Eight years later, I finally see why that was his only option. It was the only way to get me off the same damn cycle off perpetuating trauma and ignorance despite how chaotic and catastrophic it was. It was the only way for me to find my way back home, to myself.
Now, I recognize the pain wasn’t just because we fucked up and fucked each other over. It’s mostly that I was so unaware of my own shit that I deliberately hurt people. I hurt so many people over the last 27 years. I unloaded on them without permission and so selfishly. Maybe that’s why I’ve tried so hard to prove myself as a good, reliable and trustworthy friend. I was desperate for approval from any external source and inevitably starved myself with the temporary and empty approval.
I often visit with him in my dreams, still. I like to believe it’s the other timelines in which we healed as individuals and supported each other through it all… defying all odds. In those spaces, there’s always peace, comfort and safety. We share meals he would never eat in this life, and we rest together in silence watching our favorite movies snuggled close. We’ve created our own version of a fairy tale ending of happily ever after.
A good life. A life of ease.
You would’ve turned 21 this year. You came from a union of a love that was so special and pure at its core. We just didn’t know what we didn’t know to make it better.
I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for choosing me to carry you for the short time you were here. It was bittersweet to be set on this path and I still grieve. I’m not sure if that will ever have an end. Thank you for your unconditional love. Thank you for helping me reclaim my child-like curiosity, creativity, and faith.
Sekani Isaac. Sekani meaning “to laugh” or “joy” in Malawi and Isaac meaning “one who laughs or rejoices” in Hebrew.
Sekani, I’m now living my life for your namesake. A life of ease, laughter and unadulterated joy. I pray that your father can do the same.
Thank you, my loves.
