An Epic Letter of Love
Hi Camila,
I miss you already.
I already told you a lot of what I am about to say while you were transitioning out of your body, but I know documenting it all is the only way it will live beyond us.
On March 4th, 2022, you passed away from your terminal brain cancer.
While you were dying you looked at me numerous times with straight, forward facing eyes. I was amazed. The crossed eyes have been the biggest window to your disease, and here you are staring at me as normal. A beautiful gift, and reminder that this disease does not define you. Now, you are free.
Camila, you are the strongest, most stubborn, convicted person I know. Your energy, and love, is strong and demanding. You filled my days with wonder, and pride with your silly, detailed, imaginative mind.
Your confident energy throughout your days required a lot out of me as your mom — it was always Camila’s way.
Everyday required patience, to sit down, get on your level, and listen. I learned, that if you listen, you are the chillest and most peaceful child with so much wisdom and empathy. I worked on this skill diligently because I wanted to tap into that wisdom, and I also knew I didn’t have you for long.
I had to really sit with you as a person — your spirit.
I began to notice your energy when you were a baby — literally coming out of me with a look of sheer annoyance. It continued into your toddler years in, and finally, into your demise. You hated that no one could understand you. That you looked different. That you couldn’t do things yourself. You hated it all and it broke my heart.
During all these times, I worked on the strategy to level with you, see you, feel you, and we were so connected. I felt you, and I know you trusted me. We cried together when I couldn’t understand what you were asking for, and sat in protest together when you were feeling ‘wobbly’. I tried to be as present as I could be.
I will carry this lesson you taught me forever — meet others on a level where you see them. Not just what they carry, or your preconceived notions of them, or the pull to treat them how you ‘think’ they want to be treated, but just them.
I believe that is what I saw in your eyes as they straightened in the end — free from disease. I think you were telling me good job.
It was immense work in empathy, and what I’ve learned about empathy is that it is only learned by example — you have to feel it from someone else to understand it’s value. I know that’s my job now. To keep our momentum in love and empathy going.
You passed away on March 4th — and now I love that date. March forth. I will keep going in loving you and this world that we lived in together.
When you left your body, I still talked to you. As I kissed your cheek and reminded you that I loved you, a wind flew by me. I know you are there, and as always, I will do my best to be attentive and listen.
I continued to kiss your cheeks as we kept your body throughout the day. They got colder, and colder, and your muscles tightened your mouth into a slight smile. Your smile frozen in time.
I’m left with this fact — once you kiss the coldness of death, the vantage point towards the warmth of life is completely different. The beauty is deafening.
I hope that people don’t have to lose someone as beautiful as you to realize this.
I love and live better now because of you, Camila. And that is NOT because of your disease, but who you were as a person, and I thank you for that. I look forward to bringing this into all of my connections moving forward. And it is all in your honor.
Love you forever,
Tu mama
