Tag Archives: Los Angeles

Miracle

12 Dec

img_0612My youngest daughter, Isa turns twelve years old today. I guess you could say she’s a bit of a miracle–born to a mother in her forties whose other three kids were practically grown up when she entered the world with a lusty cry and a head full of thick, black hair. Then, when she was a toddler, this miracle girl did something even bigger: she was diagnosed with cancer and after a fierce battle, she survived. And as a family, we also survived. The greatest miracle of all is that through this nightmare of cancer, Isa taught us how to live.

Today is a special day: Isa’s golden birthday. She is 12 on 12/12. It’s also the birthday of the Virgin de Guadalupe, who is an iconic saint in Mexican culture. When Isa was going through treatment, when her hair fell out and her belly swelled from the medication, Rene took a short trip back to Oaxaca to see his family. While in Mexico City, he went to the Basilica of our Lady of Guadalupe to make an offering to the Virgincita and to pray for Isa’s life. Now, my husband could certainly win the prize for the best lapsed Catholic, but going to that shrine somehow comforted him, offering him hope during a very dark time.

Since that time, our family has made it a tradition to go to Olvera Street in Los Angeles on Isa’s birthday to Our Lady Queen of Angels Catholic Church to offer our thanks for another year with our beautiful daughter. We went last night and had a wonderful time, marveling at the beautiful culture of Mexico and deeply grateful that Isa is still here with us.

Happy Birthday, Isa!

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Bald is Beautiful

2 Aug

My twenty-one year old daughter just shaved her head. When she first told me she was considering doing it, I reacted in my usual jump-to-conclusions-quick-to-disapprove mode and spoke before I took the time to think. I told her she was being impulsive and that she would look ridiculous.

“No one will take you seriously if you cut off your hair, Leah!” I yelled at her, “You just want to do it for the attention you’ll get!”

The look on her face made me want to suck those awful words right back into my mouth, but I just couldn’t bear the thought of her shaving off her beautiful chocolate brown hair that framed her lovely face and fell like silk across her shoulders. Truthfully, the thought of seeing another child of mine with a bald head was just too much for me to face.

You’d think that as her mom, I would have been more supportive of her decision to shave her head, especially after I found out why she wanted to do it, but I’m stubborn sometimes and it takes me a while to see the big picture. At first, all I could think of was how funny she would look, and secondly, what would people think, and finally, how much I would miss her long, thick hair. I’m embarrassed to say that I tried unsuccessfully to talk her out of it.

Daddy cutting off Leah’s braids

Yet, despite my lack of enthusiasm, our entire family traveled down to Los Angeles last Sunday to watch Leah shave her head in front of hundreds of people at a mall in the center of Hollywood. She recently joined 46 Mommas Shave for the Brave, a group of moms who shave their heads publicly to raise money for St. Baldrick’s, a foundation that funds pediatric cancer research. They call themselves 46 Mommas  https://www.facebook.com/46Mommas because each weekday, 46 children are diagnosed with cancer in the United States—that’s two full classrooms of children! All of these moms have had a child diagnosed with cancer, and some of them have even lost their children to this insidious disease. These extraordinary women came to Hollywood from all over the United States and Canada to tell their personal stories of survival and loss.

Now, Leah is not a mom of a cancer survivor, but she’s close to being one. She was fifteen when Isa was born, so she spent a great amount of time being a second mommy to her little sister. Because of Leah’s enthusiasm and commitment to raise money for cancer research, this wonderful organization graciously allowed her to join them as an honorary member.

I cannot remember ever experiencing a more beautiful day in Los Angeles. The atmosphere in the Mall at Hollywood and Highland was electric. Our family sat in awe as we observed  mom after mom sit on the stage and tell stories of their cancer journeys while their heads were being shaved. Many of them, like Leah, donated their hair to help make wigs for children who have gone bald from chemotherapy treatment.

When it was Leah’s turn to be shaved, my daughters, Nora and Isa, and my son, Nino and I walked tentatively up on stage. We encircled Leah, and watched teary-eyed as my husband Rene took the electric razor and began to shave her head. Rock music blared in the background and the crowd cheered enthusiastically as KTLA newscaster Lu Parker interviewed Leah about why she was there.

Lu Parker from KTLA interviewing Rene

Leah was really doing it, and I have to admit, it was spectacular! The smile on Leah’s face was radiant. I began to cry as I flashed back to a day five years earlier, when we had just returned home from spending two weeks in the hospital after Isa’s initial diagnosis of Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Isa had been so very sick for two weeks, burning up with uncontrolled fevers as her anemic body tried to fight off the many infections that coursed through her blood. Even with plasma and platelet transfusions, her compromised immune system could not put up a good fight against the leukemia. It was a frightening time for all of us—knowing there was a chance that we could lose her.

That morning, tufts of Isa’s thick brown hair covered her pillow, and we realized that it was indeed happening—the chemo was making her hair fall out no matter how much we hoped it wouldn’t. We decided to shave her head because we knew it would all come out eventually.

I remember how brave my husband acted as he shaved Isa’s little head, even though he couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks as the electric razor buzzed around her tiny head. Bunches of her long hair fell silently to the ground like downy feathers around our feet. In our minds, we all knew on some level that Isa had leukemia, but through this simple act of shaving off her hair, we finally understood in our hearts that Isa really did have cancer, and this initial realization was crushing.

Isa after we shaved her head

Yet somehow, probably because we had no choice, we made it through to the other side, stronger and more caring than we were before this thing called cancer came into our lives. I can’t believe that five long years have gone by since that terrible day in 2007. Next week, on August 6, Isa will be considered completely cured of her leukemia, and we are so grateful that she is here with us, healthy and vibrant, with long, dark hair that cascades down her back like a horse’s mane.

Changing places: now Isa is the one with long hair and Leah is the bald one!

In the end, I was correct—Leah did shave her head for the attention it would cause, but my assumptions about why she did it were completely wrong. Leah shaved her head because she is a brave soul with a huge heart who cares so deeply about finding a cure for cancer that she will go to the extreme of shaving her head in order to raise awareness about childhood cancer and thus encourage others to donate to the cause. By drawing attention to herself in this way, she knows that people will be able to put a real story and face to pediatric cancer—a story about a young woman’s tremendous love for her little sister who fought cancer so bravely and survived.

Today, we are so thankful that Isa was cured of her leukemia. We attribute her survival to the thousands of hours dedicated to cancer research over the years—research that was funded by so many wonderful organizations like St. Baldrick’s, and which gave Isa a ninety percent chance of survival instead of a certain death sentence.

The Mireles Clan supporting Leah

When “Shave for the Brave” was just about over, an invitation came out across the loudspeaker for any volunteers who wanted to shave their heads in solidarity for the 46 Mommas. All of a sudden, I heard my husband’s voice being interviewed. Rene was getting his head shaved, too—just to show his support for Leah.

It’s Leah’s turn to shave Daddy

As I discovered last Sunday, bald really is beautiful, and so are the 46 Mommas and all of their supporters who work so diligently to keep up this valiant fight against pediatric cancer in our minds and in our hearts. I’m so proud of Leah for making this selfless gesture on behalf of all children with cancer. Fight on, Leah, and fight on Brave Mommas!

Cafe con Leche

25 Jun

My husband leaves me every year—sometimes twice. He packs his bag, kisses me and our children goodbye and heads back to Mexico to see his other family—the one I stole him away from over twenty five years ago.

When he first leaves me, I breathe a sigh of relief because I am free. I can stay up late watching television with the volume on high. I can spend hours on Facebook without him complaining how I’m ridiculously addicted to social media. I can sleep in late and skip breakfast and eat grilled cheese sandwiches and pickles everyday for lunch. I can bake scones and give them away so as not to eat any (okay, I eat some.) I can work in my garden for hours knowing that no one is going to call out to me and ask me to do something or go somewhere. I can send my youngest daughter over to play at a neighbor’s house and then I can savor my aloneness like a hot Grande Decaf Mocha (one and a half pumps of chocolate, extra whip) with a morning bun on the side, and no one gives me a look that says: Should you really be eating that?

For about three days my new sense of freedom makes me as giddy and excited as a teenager whose parents have left for the weekend. I make plans to clean out closets, scrub baseboards, and organize my messy life into neat little plastic containers. I drool over the stack of books on my nightstand and ponder which one I’m going to read first. I make detailed lists and compose emails and decide to use every hour—no—every minute, to accomplish what I’ve mapped out to do.

And then something strange happens. I end up sitting on the couch doing nothing. My stress level has gone all the way down to zero but for some reason I’m not happy.

I miss my husband.

My problem is that I really like to spend time with my husband. Or at least I do in reasonable quantities. Even though he readily admits to me that he’s high maintenance and difficult at times, his sense of humor, his generosity, and his ability to love is unparalleled. I’ve discovered that I like to hang out with people who have these qualities, even if they drive me nuts at times.

Not only that, he makes me laugh. I cannot stay mad at him for longer than fifteen minutes because he always tries to hug me and kiss me and cajole me out of my snit by teasing me until I finally have to cover my mouth to stifle my laughter. No matter what hurtful things we’ve just said to each other (and both of us are expert button pushers), the moment I crack that smile, he knows that everything is instantly forgiven. Trust me—I’ve tried in vain to hold on to that hot, delicious anger—it’s virtually impossible with Rene.

On June fourth we celebrated our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. As money has been a bit tight this year (join the club, right?) we didn’t make plans to go away to spend a weekend in wine country or take a short cruise to Baja. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting anything anyway—we’ve always been sort of casual about giving each other presents.

But he surprised me the morning of our anniversary by playing hooky from work and bringing me peach colored roses (he actually remembered that peach was the color of our wedding flowers) and then he took me out to a fancy restaurant on State Street to eat French toast with fresh berries and whipped cream.

He held my hand and kissed me, just like he did during our first date, which involved the two of us making out passionately in a seedy movie theatre somewhere in downtown Los Angeles while a Chuck Norris film (dubbed in Spanish) blasted out at an unusually high volume.

In that dark theatre, Rene kissed me liked I’d never been kissed before, so completely paralyzing my body that I literally melted into the squeaky seat and could not move.  I barely heard the screaming  children who ran up and down the aisles throwing popcorn and crying out for their mothers.

Rene and I met at an upscale gourmet hamburger joint in Santa Monica (I guarantee you, there was such a thing in the 80’s) where he was a cook and I was a waitress.  He spoke mostly Spanish and I spoke mostly English. He was a dark-skinned Zapotec Indian from the mountains of Oaxaca whose first language was an indigenous dialect, and who at eight years old, was sent away to work as a houseboy in the home of a rich family in the city. I grew up a semi-privileged white girl from Santa Barbara, California, who had her own room and her own car (it was a beat-up 67 Oldsmobile, aka the Tuna Boat, but a car, nonetheless) and whose parents paid for weekly piano lessons.

Rene worked tirelessly for years, often sending his entire paycheck to his parents in Mexico so that they and his nine siblings could have a real roof over their heads, one that wasn’t made from scraps of discarded wood and corrugated aluminum. While I was finishing up my undergraduate degree in piano performance from a prestigious Los Angeles music school, he was riding the bus for an hour each way to attend ESL classes so that he could to learn English and begin his education. Seven years later, when he was thirty-one years old, he received his master’s degree in Education. At that time, I was seven months pregnant with our third child.

My husband and I are like night and day—we’re café con leche. We come from dissimilar cultures and we don’t like the same music. We’ve had some difficult times in our marriage; the most arduous being the time our youngest daughter was diagnosed with leukemia when she was two. But through some kind of consecrated grace, we pulled together instead of pulling apart, and we endured. Yes, we still fight a lot, and yes, we say mean things to each other at times. Yet we also say “I love you” every single day, no matter what.

And most importantly, we laugh a lot.

I didn’t plan to fall in love with Rene after only dating him for three weeks, after which he told me he was leaving me to go back to Mexico and didn’t know when he would be back. I was heartbroken and had no idea if I’d ever see him again, but somehow I knew he was the one, and that whatever happened was meant to be.

Together in 1985. The hairstyle proves it.

He came back four months later.

I was twenty-three when he left me for the first time. He’s been leaving me without fail ever since. This time around, he’s only been gone a little over two weeks. Last night he called, the connection scratchy and faint, and told me he missed me and the kids and he was coming home early. Lucky for me, I didn’t have to wait too long this time.

Still together after twenty five years of marriage.