death – Anélemc's Writing

Posted on September 9, 2025September 9, 2025 by Anelemc

I always cry when a McCalla dies…

Those words were first written in Tio Victor’s piece. I’ve shed many a tear for those who passed on due to illness’ that showed no mercy, was brutal and bent on destruction. It’s one thing when it happens to your parents, tíos, tías and even primos …

But
when it makes an appearance on a sibling
That’s a whole new realm and you can’t help to wonder
When you’ll be next

I don’t cry for the Walsh’s
Except when my father died
The day before his 90^th birthday
His spirit visited me and he was angry

Angry for being taken from living
Angry for the last drink not had
Angry for eating his last meal
Angry.

The McCalla I cry for today is my sister Evie
Although technically she is a Walsh
She arrived through a McCalla
And that makes her both

Nicknamed Judy for her JudyGarland eyes
Big brown with the longest lashes
Those eyes required glasses of the strongest kind
To view the world but not life ahead

Judy was whimsical
An artist with the capacity to draw
Images of fantasy and fiction
Prompted by her obsession with romance novels

Artists run in the McCalla family
From photographers to those who draw and painted
So does mental illness.
From those who isolate and those who drink

LGBT slides
Beneath the surface
The ones who never got married, never had a partner
Who live on the West coast away from the East

But
Back to my sister Judy
A life lived
To the fullest?
I will never know

A life lived
Within her means and understanding
Of the world she lived in
Comfortably existing in

I once told my sister I love you and she said she loved me too.

Posted on May 17, 2024 by Anelemc

Threes…

November, January, February

After the death of two high school friends, one from suicide by hanging the other from an aggressive form of cancer, I thought I’d be next.

Lordzt knows mental health (me) and cancer (mom) are two annoying friends I never invited to the dinner table.

Bad things come in threes. If an unfortunate event has already occurred twice, a third is likely to occur.

A recent visit to my PCP led to a rant on the threes.

With a gentle hand placed on my shoulder she advised me not to worry and suggested some books on positivity to read. Positivity? I was too absorbed in the cauldron of hell’s depression!!!

Then…

February arrived and brought the passing of a niece two days shy of her 40^th birthday.

Bad things come in threes. If an unfortunate event has already occurred twice, a third is likely to occur.

How do I respond to this news?

First, I found out about her passing almost two weeks after. Her diagnosis is a mystery to me as her mother went along with the Doctors treatment, with questions never asked and avoiding knowing. I guess ignorance was bliss. From what I could gather it sounds like septicemia.

This niece passed, alone in the hospital, drugged up. Her mother collected money for the cremation and returned to life. I don’t know if she cries or mourns as she jokes during our monthly conversations on the phone.

I mourn from afar knowing the niece did not reach her 40^th birthday.

Posted on October 11, 2023October 11, 2023 by Anelemc

Tears, Sunshine and Hair…

I drop tears every day. Over loss, grief and difficulty adopting to a new life without a mother to run to. I drop tears every day. Over not enjoying the hobbies culminated during Covid. I drop tears every day. Over not having family, being alone with no emergency contacts close by. I drop tears every day. Over the person who once was me filled with purpose, goals and drive. I drop tears every day. Over dying alone in a hospital or nursing home.

The movie, “Wit”caused trauma and profoundly solidified, how I’ll draw my last breath. Alone, with a terminal disease, in hospice and only a nurse by my bedside. The same scenario happened to my cousin who was born on the east and died in the west. I’d like to think you, my mom, will be waiting for me as I depart. Cooing words of love and singing, “You are my sunshine”. You watched me come into the world; I watched you go out.

I live to eat and not eat to live. I live to be and be to live. I live to please and please to live. I live to explore and explore to live. I live to live.

Memories are warm, snuggly like drinking a humongous mug of hot chocolate-milk not water and topped with gobs of whipped cream-no marsh mellows. I can laugh at our silliness over gin and tonics and smile over the hair always found in your food. I remember once your hair ended up in my mouth and I threw a fit as there were no tomorrows on the horizon. You swore apologies while the sun shined and refusing to accept them gave me power. Later that day, a thought emerged. One day I would long for your hair in my food.

Posted on September 23, 2023September 23, 2023 by Anelemc

4 things I learned when Margarita, my mom died

L. Alcohol is your best friend
It’s there when you need it
Has a wonderful numbing effect
Comes in a variety of grains, grapes and content
No instruction label is needed

O. Grief-the gift that keeps on giving
You never get over it
It pops up unexpectantly
Gives you lifelong membership in the Dead Moms Club
Holidays and Birthdays take on a somber meaning

V. You imitate the qualities you miss and admired
“Giving is living” is now your motto
You wear silver and gold jewelry at the same time
Keep the sink clear of dishes before going to bed
Pine Sol, Vicks and Dawn (and the occasional Spam)

E. Do what your mom wanted for you
(in other words: Listen to her advice)

Relocate to a different city
(because she wanted you to)

Get out socialize and make friends
(because she encouraged you to)

Take care of yourself
(because she knew you didn’t)

Run the 2018 Nov NYC Marathon
(because she said you could)

Margarita, my mom, died one month before the 2018 NYC Marathon. As we watched the runners from the previous year on 4^th avenue in Brooklyn, she turned to me and said, “You could do this”. I thought she was crazy but decided to train for it. She entered the hospital the end of August with a twisted intestine and was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in September, at the height of my training. The botched-up surgery left her with a colostomy bag and fissures that leaked waste. We never got to the ‘treat the cancer’ part. Throughout her hospital stay she’d ask if I put in the training when I came to spend the night.

It was not consistent but when she came home to die it picked up. My last long run, 19 miles around Prospect Park was interrupted by the funeral home alerting me to pick up my mother’s ashes. My mom, Margarita, was with me on race day, her ashes in a bracelet around my wrist and her name on the racing bib I wore on my chest.

LOVE is my mom.

Posted on June 8, 2021June 8, 2021 by Anelemc

From me…or Hang on

August 3, 2019 -5:23AM

“I think we all struggle with that unreasonable guilt, E***a, and it is unreasonable, isn’t it? Certainly, my Dad who loved me so well my entire life would want me to live whole and free, right? Of course, he would. It’s just all part of this gut-wrenching process we all have to suffer through. Be thankful for those sparks. Fan them into flame. Live that life to honor your loved one but more so for yourself and the world who needs your particular gifts.”

-Response to a post I wrote on a grief board

Grief amidst a worldwide pandemic mixed in with addiction is not pretty in any colour.

But the body and mind can longer accept alcoholic as self-medication to make the world seem right. Grief chased down with bourbon needs to rise up and be dealt with.

So, I …

Hang on for a day
The past is acknowledged, the future not ruminated on. The present? Front, Center and Back. Because that is all that matters.

Hang on for another day
“An alcoholic in his cups is an unlovely creature”-Big Book
Finished the twelfth steps, now what?

Hang on
The desire to run, do a gym work out, bang on the piano or even write has faded for Anger and Hangovers no longer fuel, mi alma (soul).

Hang on for yet another day
Sobriety dulled my creativity or rather my creativity refuses to emerge through a clear thinking alma (soul).

Hang on for a day
I have yet to print out those medical records, afraid of what may be revealed, afraid I’ll gain more truths into my inadequacies fueled by alcohol into how I was not there for you-figuratively.

Still hanging on
Have not attempted to finish my piece on “One year without you” for one year has now turned into three years without you.

August 30, 2019 -12:10PM

“Hang tight-you will fly once your wings unfold. You will find a place either in this realm or another where you are loved & appreciated for being just you with all your quirky talents, flowing forth like glitter. Be Strong!”

-Note from me to me

Posted on March 18, 2021 by Anelemc

Faith…or Fate

Faith moves mountains
You often said when despair embraced me

Fate moves mountains
I often said as control is in another’s hand

Faith moves mountains
Through troubling times optimism was your shield

Fate moves mountains
Through troubling times alcohol was mine

Faith moves mountains
You believed in a God that would nurture and care

Fate moves mountains
I believed in a God that was cruel and malicious

Faith moves mountains
You rarely shed tears and if you did
they fell with a purpose

Fate moves mountains
I cried everyday
angry tears driven by self-pity

Faith moves mountains
Cancer came back for you
this time it latched on
You cried once in the hospital
and I knew you knew
hope fought

Fate moves mountains
Cancer came back for you
I couldn’t pry it loose
I cried as much as I drank
and you knew I knew
hope lost

*** It’s been three years since you drew breath. You were in my life for 54 years. I guess I’ll be mourning till the day I join you. I cry mostly mornings, when another day begins, without wine or bourbon. During the days I’ll smile as memories, come in and out, out and in. Looking forward to more smiles and fuzzy feelings when memories hit instead of pain and tears.

I love you mom, my mom.

Posted on July 30, 2020July 30, 2020 by Anelemc

Daydreams or…Mini Vacations of the mind

Daydreams are mini vacations of the mind
I carried this flower throughout the first hour of my shift at work
It was cumbersome as only one hand could stock

But…
This once vital and youthful inflorescence
Deserved a final romp through the Co op grounds

Daydreams are mini vacations of the mind
My determination of being present in the moment
Was disrupted by the fragile flower in my hand
And I thought, ‘Oh my, you are dying’
And then I thought, ‘I am too’
But…
Your life lived was way shorter than my life living

Daydreams are mini vacations of the mind
You started as a seedling, plucked when mature
Roots guillotined leaving sap to seep
Thrusted into cold, cold and so cold water
Transported from one state to another in a cardboard box
Bunched up tightly in a bucket with others from your tribe
No room to droop, only to stand tall and upright
But…
You survived the journey

Daydreams are mini vacations of the mind
Unloaded from a cool truck in the daylight hours
Of a hot, hot and so hot NYC morning
You and the others made your way into the Co op
Where unpacked by produce workers
You were put on display on top of a wooden pallet
Above your head the sticker price of $1.25 per stem
But…
Still standing strong, almost defiant, your blossoms raised high

Daydreams are mini vacations of the mind
So your journey towards dying continues
For the next day when I returned to work
The bucket was half empty and not half full
And to be honest I couldn’t tell from the wilted flowers who.
Stayed behind for another day of sale
If you were gone or not
Because you all do look alike anyway
But…
My mind stayed in that moment of the day before
Of knowing that all
Must die in some way

Posted on May 9, 2020 by Anelemc

My Mother’s Day…

Golden brown hands with fingers like branches on a Dogwood tree
Nails trimmed with a faded dark red manicure

I often held your hands with its naturally etched road map of 91 years
The roadmap which exposed the journey of your hands long before they changed my diapers

Your hands were always soft and smelled of lotion
Lotion I forgot to rub on your hands as you lay dying at home

Those beautiful hands also had the medals of small burn marks from the cooking you did
When the oil decided to rebel after water touched it surface

Your hands made the best food, the best tea, the Bestest, best ever BLT
Your hands grabbed onto mine when we walked through icy streets to do grocery shopping

Your hands also gave me the finger, when I got on your nerves
I miss your hands so much as much as I miss you

I have only pictures of those hands that once held me and made the world less scary

Posted on July 10, 2019July 10, 2019 by Anelemc

Death Be Not Proud or…Get busy living or get busy dying

It’s so easy to live and so easy to die

You can live, take in air, eat, go to the bathroom, physically healthy on the outside and dying inside of a broken heart too weak to fight depression

When you die, you die, no air, no food, at times a final bathroom break, sick on the outside all while the heart fights desperately to live on the inside

It’s so easy to live and so easy to die

Living is a struggle, learning and navigating through a ‘new normal’ one did not ask to have. I want the old normal where stuff happened the way it should, predictable and expected

Dying is a struggle, learning and navigating through a final stage of life you did not ask to have. Death had no right to disrupt all that was normal, true and kind

It’s so easy to live and so easy to die mom 2

Life is a given.

We live our lives day to day, hour to hour, not thinking once about what it means to live. We take life for granted until we realize it’s gone

Death is a given.

For after the life we’ve taken for granted is gone the aftershocks of raw emotions will be unpredictable, coarse, sneeringly painful and at times forgetful until you wake up in the morning and realize death is not bringing back the one it took recently or those in the past. Your mom, tobias and pi patel are never coming back

It’s not so easy to live when the ones you so loved have died

Death be not proud

Posted on July 6, 2019July 7, 2019 by Anelemc

Three little birds or…Signs from Heaven Above

The last two weeks have brought water from my eyes. At times behind closed doors and while walking down the middle of a crowded street.

Because of…

Sparrows.

Native to NYC as rats are to the subway as pigeons are to rooftops as hawks are to Ppark as racoons are to Cpark as squirrels are to the ‘hood,

Sparrows rule NYC.

Little dictators who at times remind me of the honey badger when competing with pigeons for bread crumbs.

Mom loved birds, particularly cardinals, blue jays and cockatiels which she had as pets. She kept bird feeders in the backyard filled with seed that attracted every animal imaginable as well as providing seeds for seedlings erupting in the ground below.

Mom loved birds and I miss her.

The last two weeks with July 4th approaching brought unease and depression.

But,

Three little birds brought awareness.

Situation one…

happened in front of a church during a work-related training. I was feeding a sparrow crumbs from a bagel and thought it strange how the bird would pick up a crumb, fly away, return and repeat the process. It finally dawned on me that the mom bird was actually bringing food to her nest. What an incredible workout her wings endured as she flew across the street, near the opening of a roof to feed her young.

Talk about free food delivery.

Situation two…

During a training run in Ppark, spotted a sparrow I thought was in distress. Not sure what was going on or if interference was required. My run slowed as I approached the tree filled area. This smaller than normal sparrow was trying to fly and at first it looked as if it was cray-cray as I was or directionally challenged as I am. The beautiful being flew down then up, down then up, down then up, down and up then finally, flew in a straight line to another tree across the pathway.

Guess the youngin’ ain’t coming home anytime soon.

(” Fly robin fly. Up, up to the sky” and yes it was a sparrow I saw and not a robin but I like the song)

Situation three…

Katie (the greyt) and I strolled up Lincoln Place, a route we normally follow, one block over from our crib. The song of high-pitched bleeps grabbed my attention as it was harsh on the ears. Of course the sound did not bother Katie’s as her nose was to the ground leading her mind. On a low branch in a Ginko tree sat a nest comprised of twigs and NYC’s finest collection of plastics and weeds-yeah bird, for keeping it real and with some serious improving! Three hungry open beaks protruded from the top of the nest. I was in awe.!

A city slicker seeing an actual bird’s nest for the first time!! As I was staring and Katie sniffing the ground beneath our feet, I heard a squawk from a near-by tree and turned to see Mama glaring at me with the biggest black eyes for miles and…she wasn’t no sparrow. But she wasn’t no crow. We exchanged mutual glares and I went on my way because I remember Alfred Hitchcock’s movie!

Three little birds…

I’d like to believe my mom was sending some signs: eat properly, leave the safety of the nest and explore, and a home is what you make it to be worts and all.

She always told me to take care of myself and I know she loved me deeply, defensively, and unconditionally.

Thank you mom and I love you round the world and back!