Sunshine On
The Beach; One Dark Cloud In The Sky
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I always like being back in
Mazatlan, the town I visited year after year, the town where I lived nearly
three years. Familiar places, familiar people, old friends.
A sadness, a worry, clouds my
holiday. You remember Carlos, my friend who drives a pulmonia? He would take me
for groceries, for medical care, for important paperwork. He became my
interpreter when I needed one. He and Selena helped me paint my apartment. We
shared meals.
Three days prior to my leaving Etzatlan, Carlos phoned.
Something was troubling about the call. He could hardly speak with me—or the
connection was bad—or interference clogged the airways. His message sounded
muddled. But he wanted me to know he would not be in Mazatlan to pick me up at
the bus depot.
I felt puzzled. I felt confused. Was Carlos ill? Selena? This
family had adopted me soon after I arrived in Mazatlan. They took care of me. After
I had moved to Etzatlan, Selena made sure Carlos phoned me once a month. She
said if I wasn’t happy in my new home, they would come get me, move me back to
Mazatlan! That is how much they cared for me.
Julia just celebrated her quincenero, her fifteenth birthday,
a landmark occasion in Mexican families. Carlitos, eighteen, is a baseball
prodigy. Young as he is, Carlitos has played baseball in international
tournaments two years consecutively.
When I got off the bus in Mazatlan, I went to see Anna,
Carlos’ family friend who works at the Post and Ship, a woman whom I had
previously met. Her son and Carlitos have played on the same baseball team
since they were young boys.
Anna told me Carlitos had been in the hospital in Mazatlan
for a month. Last week the whole family accompanied Carlitos in an ambulance to
a different hospital in Obregon, about nine hours north of here. A cancerous
tumor fills his left lung, pressing against his heart. Carlitos cannot walk and
is unable to breathe unaided. After tests, doctors began treatment to shrink
the tumor this week. Carlitos seems to be getting excellent care. That gives us
hope.
It is hard for me to be here without having my friend drive
me wherever I want to go. Whenever I show other pulmonia drivers my picture of
Carlos, they always break into a big grin, “Oh, Carlos. He’s my amigo.” His
family has a lot of supportive friends in Mazatlan. I stop and see Anna every
few days.
More than this I do not know. I’m worried. I’m hopeful. I’m scared. I’m
grateful Carlitos is getting good care. I’m realistic about how financially
devastating this is for the family. Carlos and Selena are with their son,
surrounding him with love. Julia often stays with him throughout the night.
Once again, I’m reminded, life is not fair. Me? Sun, surf,
and unending shrimp dinners. But my good old reliable Catholic guilt has kicked
in and I don’t enjoy my good fortune in the same way I usually do. My heart is
with Carlos and family.
I would love to hop on a bus to Obregon and give Carlitos a
hug. But the family can better use the money that trip would cost me. Kathy and
Crin are pitching pesos into the pot too. Because of me, they’ve come to know
and love Carlos. Crin has put out the word to generous friends in Victoria. One
of our dollars buys a lot of pesos.
The donation that means the most to me is from Crin’s
neighbor, ten-year old Owen, who gave his savings of twenty dollars because he
plays baseball and Carlitos story touched his heart.
We give now. We’ll give more. Money helps but it’s not
everything. We wish our donations to enable the family to stay in Obregon, to
continue to surround their son and brother with healing love.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
May 4, 2017
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