Time’s Healing Properties

Last week I went to my native country, Panama. I had not been since I left when I was 7 years old. My memory of leaving the country was hazy. I remember my younger sister and I had the same jumpsuit on, only it was different colors. It was something you would see Bob the Builder wear. It had a plastic hammer, screwdriver, nail as well as other getups. I remember the drama, the excitement and how it felt to enter the country. Little did I know that I would lose my mom only 5 years after entering the United States of America.

Knowing the last time I was in Panama that I was with my mom, I imagined that time would take me back to that feeling. I imagined that when relatives saw me for the first time, it would bring back the memory of my mother’s untimely death. Most of the family, including my mother’s siblings and parents, were not able to make the funeral. I could not imagine not being able to say goodbye.

It might seem like I am a bit melodramatic, but I remember what it was like for my aunt to see me after my mom died. I was 18 and looked very similar to my mom in size, build and looks. I would often see her with tears in her eyes. I remember it was not easy for me either. Seeing relatives for the first time made it seem like it happened the day before. The raw hurt and feelings would surface. It was a deep pain. I was pleasantly surprised that as the plane drew nearer to landing in Panama, my anxiety lessened. As I walked off the plane, I found myself feeling pretty good. The customs agent treated me like royalty once she realized I was in my native land. There was no finger printing, pictures or restrictions on how long I wanted to stay. Even though I am an American citizen, I heard “Welcome home.”

While on my visit, I was able to see my aunts and an uncle. I met some first cousins for the first time. I was able to meet other distant cousins as well as some of my mom’s friends. Visiting my school and the places I lived was also great. The visit was uneventful in a good way. I marveled at the land. I scorned the climate for what it did to my hair. I was able to make sure my son was situated for school and I was even able to answer some of the questions some relatives had regarding my mom’s death. I guess what I did not anticipate was the effect of time. Back in 1987, my mom’s death was only five years old. The tragedy of it all was still raw to me, my siblings and our relatives. So seeing each other for the first time was very sad. I felt proud that I was able to bring some comfort to relatives and answer open questions. I will always miss my mom and I would rather have her here with me. However, the gift that I received in Panama was the realization that time does heal wounds.