The Flow of Things
no. 53
Abuelita is feeling bad. It’s mid-morning, and she sits in a chair, nodding off. She says her blood pressure is low. I can imagine she does need the rest, but she won’t relinquish her place in the center. She will push through it as she has before.
Later that night, she doesn’t come to the table. When Leifer goes looking for her, he finds that her door has already been closed for the night. We leave her.
The next morning, we are heavy with her absence. We get the key from Aida and approach her door. We find both her and Abeulito still in bed. The boys, preoccupied with their latest ritual, grab the opened box of See’s candies. She lets them each pick one after they have given her a hug. She says she feels much better.
There is a faraway place where Leifer dreams of building a home. The boys want to see it. We know part of the path, because the cemetery is on the way, the cemetery where Abuelita will someday rest. We pack provisions and two water bottles and head out. Leif leads the way; he knows the general direction. We climb and climb and climb (arriba). Leifer brought his clippers because, as we go, the brush thickens and slows our pace. It’s sharp and dry, leaving me wishing I had put Lucca in pants. The brush reaches taller than him, trying to devour him whole. I pick him up. Just a bit further, see those rocks up ahead, Leifer tells the boys. I joke we are in Peru Stonehenge, no one knows what it is. I urge Enzo to find a favorite rock. Leifer shows us his; it’s the biggest. On it, you can see across the valley below. I point out Abuelita’s house. It’s green and alive around the house. Leifer tells the boys he sat on this rock when he was just a bit older than Leif. He would bring the cows up to graze on the hillside. The boys crack open their second package of crackers. Leifer has brought us to the spot on the hillside that has a flat area. He wants to use the rocks for a retaining wall and for the house. I point out a hawk above us and think we must be that hawk to live this high. There is no road, only a footpath. On the way down, Leifer throws Lucca onto his shoulders. When I turn around and look back, Lucca is slumped over, asleep, with his head resting on Leifer’s. He can sleep anywhere.
The next day, we go back to the hillside behind Abuelita’s, above the Santa Rio. Leifer is still cutting back the overgrowth, and we want to climb around. I spot Aida off in the distance. She is straddling the sekia, moving the rocks aside. Leifer tells me she is opening it up so the water runs towards the hillside, where Abuelita has newly planted lettuce and green onions. Leif works to help unblock the waters’ path. I joke he is fishing because it looks like he is catching leaves and twigs with a stick and flinging them out of the water. Leif learns how to direct the flow of the water.
Watching Leif manage the sekia, I see my own place as a mother routing the flow, redirecting as needed. I squat down near the sekia and watch how this place changes and molds the boys. I feel distanced from my own unraveling earlier this year. Those many days when I felt my mind floating above my body. I think of my mom’s own struggles and how she had to face them while caring for us. I sit more firmly in her shoes as I mother my own children.
I write these pieces while caring for my family and building a life between places.
If you’d like to support that work, you can here:
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I'm not waiting to read these! I Love that first photo of Leifer and the boys. Seems like quintessential Peru.