Grace

 “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

-J.R.R. Tolkien

My story starts in Honduras. I was born in Honduras. I don’t know exactly where I was born, but my story starts in Tegucigalpa, which is the capital of Honduras. If anybody has ever seen “The Prince of Egypt,” or knows the story of Moses, that is me. When I was three months old, I was left in a basket by a river, and somebody found me. Supposedly, somebody called the police to let them know there was a baby there, and the police came and got me and put me into an orphanage. I was in the orphanage for three months and then was put into a foster home until I was a little over a year old. Carmen and Antonio were my foster parents. I know they say that kids who were adopted or who went through extremely traumatic pivotal moments early in their life can sometimes remember moments of it, like a flash. That’s how it is for me. I can remember my foster parents’ living room, the area where I used to sit in a high chair and eat bananas and Cheerios all day. And I actually remembered the front of the orphanage - it was red, and it had big, dark doors. When my parents took me back to Honduras when I was 14, we discovered that my memory was correct.

Mark and Terry adopted me; they came and scooped me up. And that’s where my life starts in Philadelphia. It was September of 1993.

I always knew I was adopted. Part of why I always knew was because I’m brown, and my parents are white. I’ve always been aware that I was a different color, so that helped. But also, my parents were always open about it. As a child, I used to get upset about it. Because, I mean, it’s pretty simple - why was I not wanted? You know? That’s forever going to be a question in my mind. And it’s something that, unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll ever have answered until maybe the next life. But over the years, I got to know my country. There are so many people who just have nothing there. And when I say nothing, I mean - they barely have a roof over their head. They only maybe make $2 per day. There are several children in the house. There are other family members in the house. Many times they’ll have dogs or chickens or cats and stuff. So there are all these different mouths to feed and people to take care of, and they don’t have the means to do it. And yet, they still do it, and they do it with so much love. With so much love. Honduras is one of the most beautiful… the people are just so humble and caring and loving. So as a kid, I just didn’t understand why I wouldn’t be wanted. It fucks with your mind, it really does. But now as an adult, now that I’ve experienced my country and learned to love it and dived into my culture, I have a bigger respect for it, and I’ve made peace with that question. I think it was just out of absolute necessity. It’s rare to abandon a baby, and I was abandoned at three months, not as a newborn. I think something must have been happening, where things were not ok, and it was her… or his - a lot of people are like “oh, the mom the mom the mom,” but what about the dad? Or whoever else was involved? Whoever decided to put me near that ravine and call the police, they did it because they thought, “You know what, this is not going to work out for you, this is not safe, somehow we think you are going to be better off.” And so, I have to be grateful for that, you know? I mean, luck of the draw, I have a pretty incredible life. There’s tons of ups and downs, but I have a beautiful family, I am safe, I am healthy, and I am happy.

Now I have a son, Sequoia, and when he was three months old, the whole month I just cried every single day. It was the first time I’d ever had someone who looks like me. I had never had someone who actually looks like me. All the stupid school projects where they’re like, “Does your mommy have your eyes? Do you have the same mannerisms? Blah blah blah.” No. None of that. I have nothing. But for the first time in my life now, I have a little person who has the same attitude as me and who looks like me and is just as silly and who laughs like me. We’re twins. And it’s incredible, it’s such a weird feeling. It’s funny. And when he was three months old, I remember just being beside myself, because I was like, how could you do this to a baby? It’s easy to want to be angry, or hurt. It’s easy to misunderstand the situation, because I’m on the other side of the situation. And I don’t know exactly what happened. But at the same time, it came full circle, because you only do that if you just need to, you know? It’s a type of desperation and love that I’ll never understand, but at the same time, as a mother now, I know I would do absolutely anything to make sure my child is safe and has the best outcome possible.

When I was first brought to Philadelphia, I was surrounded by my mom’s really close friend group, Bainbridge House - they’re her spiritual group. It’s a mix of people of any religion who meet up to meditate and pray and just to start their day off on a good note. They think about the world and themselves and their family and their loved ones, the communities they work with, and people they don’t even know. Ever since I was adopted, they’ve been my family too. And so that’s my family. And then eventually my sister Sarah came. She’s also from Honduras. We’re not biological sisters, but we might as well be. The first time I went back to Honduras was to get her. I loved it. There’s a super cute photo of us meeting each other for the first time. Of course it was love at first sight for everybody. She was absolutely meant to be part of our family. She came when I was four, and we grew up together. We really had a beautiful childhood. We had two parents that loved us and supported us. They always made sure we had the best opportunities in front of us. But something important that I’ve learned now that I’m a parent is that we all have generational traumas that we are healing from. Even though I had a beautiful and very safe and loving childhood, there were things that sometimes didn’t line up, you know? I feel that it is very important to remember that my parents always raised us the best that they could with what they knew. And they did things differently than what their parents did, because they wanted to break their own cycles of trauma. And so now it’s our turn, and then our kids will do the same. So it’s funny, I had a very mixed childhood, but it was a good one.

The next time I went back to Honduras was the summer I was turning 14, and Sarah was 10. We went back because my parents decided that we were old enough to go back to the country and take in everything. And understand, hey, this is where we’re from, and these are our people. So we went back with our cousins and had the absolute best time. It was so much fun. We stayed with my foster parents, and they brought us all over Tegucigalpa. They brought us to the stadium where Olympia plays and the national soccer team plays. That’s huge in Honduras - we don’t have much, but soccer is huge. We got to go into the mountains and all over the neighborhoods. Honduras has always been very dodgy in terms of organized crime and violence, so being there with locals - family - was just really nice. When you’re with locals traveling anywhere, you get the real experience. You get to meet the actual people and hear their actual stories and connect on a deeper level. Whereas of course if you’re a tourist and only do the touristy things and stay only in tourist places, it’s a different lens. It’s a totally different lens. And so, it was really… I’m forever grateful for them. It was such a blessing to be able to go back and be there with people who are a part of my story. If it wasn’t for them, I also wouldn’t be where I am today. I’m a very strong believer in remembering where you came from and thanking all the people who helped guide you on your path, so it was really beautiful to stay with them and be in their home again and remember it. And Sarah and I had a blast, we absolutely loved it.

Growing up, I was never around Latino people. My parents put me in a Christian elementary school that was predominantly Black. When I got to high school, it was North Eastern Puerto Ricans, and Philly Puerto Ricans are their own culture, bless them. But it’s not Honduran, you know? I never got to experience MY people. And it’s something you do always want to connect with. It matters. It’s part of our story. But it’s nice having had exposure to other cultures. My mom always jokes that I could fit in anywhere. I could totally live in a small shack in Honduras, which I have, and do fine, but I could also have tea with the Queen, God rest her soul, because I also know what it’s like to be in fancy environments. 

In college, I had a quick moment where I was going to go into dental hygiene, and when I was going to the mailroom one day to pick up mail, there was a flier on the wall that said, “Do you want to volunteer in Honduras?” So I was like, well I’ll be damned, I guess I’m going to Honduras in the spring. I immediately went to my room, looked up the website, and then called my parents, and was like, “I just need you to know that I’m going to Honduras this spring.” And they laughed. But that was the first time I went as an adult. And then I started going back. Originally I went back to build schools through an organization, but I strayed from the organization because I got really close with people there. I just kind of made my own home there and would go back all the time to visit them and be there. That first summer I went back for four months, and that’s how I relearned Spanish - watching Telenovelas. Most of the time, I was literally the only person who spoke English, so I had to learn Spanish, because that was what was all around me. Within four months, I understood it very very well; I was probably on an intermediate level. Now I think I would be considered fluent - I can go anywhere by myself and I’m comfortable doing it.

Since I don’t have any biological family, my entire life I’ve just met people who have become family. And I think that’s actually so much more powerful, because families can be so complicated, whether you're blood related or not. I think at the end of the day, the beauty of life is that we actually get to choose our family if we want to. We get to connect with people who normally wouldn’t be our family, but we can choose for them to be. And so, there are people in Honduras who I am still so close with… Antonio, Robert, Gustavo, Manuel, Ramon & Natalia, Coneja… they all taught me Spanish, and they all brought me into their homes, and, because it’s Honduras, I had so many absolutely wild and feral experiences. I would never trade it, I would absolutely never trade it. 

I did construction the whole time I was there. I could build you a house if I really wanted to, and it’s so silly, but I absolutely love it because it also ties into my adoptive family and my dad. He used to renovate homes here, and he was handy, so I got to mix my two worlds and just love them both on a totally different level. It’s such a blessing and it’s something I hold very near and dear to my heart. I haven’t been back in a really long time, and I really need to get back there. Sequoia went as a baby, but he wouldn’t remember it. I think he would love it there. He just loves to experience and travel. At least now he does. And he’s half Honduran, of course, so I really want him to get to know that side. We’ll definitely make it, that’s going to happen.

My dad and I were so different, in so many ways. He was very tied to his faith, and that was the center of how he lived his life, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but I’m very different. I’m not centered around any type of faith really - my own faith, I guess. I grew up in the church, we went to a reform church, and I really appreciate that, because it was a church that was open and accepting. Their motto was always “no matter who you are, or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here.” And I used to go to a youth group where they were like, “If you’re gay, you’re not allowed here. If you dye your hair a crazy color, you’re not allowed here. If you’re a single mother, you’re not allowed here.” But this church was very accepting and loving. Any and all are welcome. And I loved that. Because now, I’m 31 years old, and there are still so many people from that church who are still a part of my life. I don’t think it was necessarily my parents’ intention, but I think the biggest thing that I took away from the church is that God is just love. Whatever act of love that we see. And it doesn’t have to be God, it can just be the spirits, or whatever. I really hold that near. The biggest thing too that came from going to church all those years was the community. Because again, there are still so many of those people who are a part of my life now, and who care about how I’m doing, and I care about them. They’re so excited to meet my family, and we watch our kids grow up. Kids who I used to babysit in the nursery of the church are in college now, so it’s… it’s beautiful to see all these people go through life. I really am thankful and blessed that my dad opened that up to me.

My dad was so involved in his communities too; he was on our school board, he was on the board of a community association here. One of the biggest things was that he was huge about social justice. He was on the board of an organization that combats social injustice in Honduras - a group that helps in women’s rights, domestic abuse situations, murder investigations, schools, education, community things, and he loved that. It was one of his most important things. 

I talk a lot about my dad because he’s gone now. But he left me with so many beautiful things that I still hold obviously very near and dear to my heart. He was so handy, and he passed that on to me, and that’s what I ended up doing in Honduras. That’s what I still love to do now as just a hobby. And I’m so grateful for that, because it also makes me very independent. I’m very strong-willed, and I like to be independent. I like to do things on my own, which is also I guess could maybe be a trauma response, but that’s different. I’m a little bit of everything. But I love it because so was my grandmother, his mom, grandma Grace. I’m named after her. She was one of the last Dutch pioneers in the United States to cross the United States in a covered wagon. And so, it’s so funny, because I come from all of these different stories and story lines, and in the end they all kind of come together. All of us have these deep stories and different webs of life, but at the end of the day, we’re all kind of in the same web, you know? They all kind of connect in the center in some way or another. And I think that’s so beautiful, because a lot of that stuff that dad taught me, things that I experienced with him, and things that I still remember today, those things continue with my child and my friends and family. And that’s what a legacy is, you know? That’s how the dead continue living. It’s the way we remember them and honor them in those types of ways.

Dad was suddenly diagnosed with glioblastoma, grade four, which is a terminal, untreatable cancer, so it’s just horrible. There’s nothing you can do. Of course the doctors throw out all these different ideas because they think it will help, and it just didn’t. It was a disaster. Having someone who just straight up saved your life, gave you the life that you have… it’s devastating, it’s horrible. But it’s a weird turnaround to be able to care for them the way that they cared for you. I mean, I definitely was too young to be doing that, at what, 24, 25, and it… it’s hard because you’re still young, you’re still a kid, you’re just out in the world, and you’re figuring that all out, and then you’re doing something that a lot of people don’t have to do until they’re in their 60s or 70s, you know? I was still grasping life, understanding it, and, boom, I’ve got to grow up in a different way. But, it’s something I would do over again a million times. I would do it for my mom in the blink of an eye. Anybody. Because it’s just… there's something about being with a person as they’re wrapping up their life. Especially with dad, there were many times he would randomly speak about his life. Being a child, being with his mother, being with his sister who had passed away, being with his dad who had passed away too, his mom... He remembered all these people who were pivotal in his life, and all these experiences. And they’re beautiful ones. In the moment it hurts for us, because we have to say goodbye to that person, but if I take away all that pain for us for just a moment… he was able to go back to those moments of his life with people he loved when they were happy and healthy and everyone was having a great time, and I hope when it’s my time to go that I’m able to be in that moment and remember all the beautiful people I had in life. So, it was tough, but I think if we’re able to give the people that we love that peace of mind to dive into those memories, I mean, it’s the best you can do for someone moving on. You want them to go in peace one way or another, you know? It’s the difference between the physical and the spiritual. 

I moved to Mexico in 2017 just by chance, and I’ve been there ever since. And it’s funny, because a couple years before that I was like, I don’t even want to visit Mexico, I don’t want to vacation there, everybody goes there, it’s overrated. People need to go to Honduras, it’s better. Well, here I am, in Mexico 7 years later. It was meant to be part of my story, though, because I was able to connect especially to the Mayan side of my ancestry. I am so grateful that I met my partner Javier, because he opened me up to a whole different world - that of spiritualism. And one of the biggest things that I absolutely love and cherish is the Day of the Dead - “dia de los Muertos.” For anyone who has seen the movie Coco, it’s the perfect way to understand what that’s about. We don’t die until people stop talking about us. Until our memories are gone, until our legacy is gone. And so, people don’t have to die. As long as I’m alive, I’m going to do things that my dad left for me. Stand up for social injustice, be handy, be part of my community, see the actions of God through love, and just always take care of my family, you know? And I hope to pass that down to my son, and hopefully he’ll pass that on to his family if he’s lucky to have a family. And I pass it on to the people I love around me, and I think that’s the thing.

I think the hardest part about grief, when we lose someone like a parent, is that physical aspect. Like, the other week, I had a really hard week, and honestly I went and opened my phone - his number’s still saved in my phone and on my favorites - and I almost called him. It’s 6 years later, but sometimes I’m still like, “Oh wait, I gotta call dad,” or “I want to text him and tell him about this.” And that’s hard because obviously you miss the person, and that’s the grief part, but I also love the saying about grief - that grief exists because we still have love to give. And that’s so powerful, because when you love someone, that love does last forever, and so how do we put that into other things? One of the big things for me was that I got a dog. Because after my dad passed, I was at a really really really low point in my life. It wasn’t at all suicidal, but it was just dark, very dark, and very lonely, and very sad. And I just didn’t know how to get out of that. And so I got a dog, Joy. And Joy pulled me out of there. Joy gave me a reason to keep living, she gave me a reason to love - to continue to love. To put all that love I had left to give to my dad into her. And then eventually my son was born. And in a weird way, he’s so much like his grandfather too. And they’re not even blood related. And so it’s so weird and so beautiful to see all of that. I don’t know if somehow Mark reincarnated into Sequoia, but if he did, hey, I’m all for it, because obviously all that love that I had left to give to dad, boom - that’s going into Sequoia. That goes into my mom, into caring for my mom. And my sister, of course, and our brother Kenny who came along later in life too. It’s the circle of life, right? There’s a deeper meaning to that - the circle of life.

Javier and I wanted to have a family, and we were trying. Unfortunately, we lost a baby before Sequoia, and then we had Sequoia, so Sequoia is our rainbow baby. The funny part is, I never wanted kids. I never wanted to birth a baby. I was not about that - I just was not interested in trying to grow an entire human and then put them out in the world, because it seemed like a lot of work. Because I was adopted though, I also was like, uhh, fuck this, because there are 153 million kids in the world who are orphaned. I always thought no, I’m going to adopt, because I know what the power of adoption is, and I know it can be beautiful. I also know how chaotic and crazy it can be, because I do know families who have had hard situations with adoption, but at the end of the day they always say they would do it over. So I always wanted to adopt. But then comes Javier, and we were like - you know what? We want to start a little family. And then, boom, came Sequoia. And so, I was very blessed that in the end I did have a healthy pregnancy - there were a couple little moments, but in the end, I had a very healthy pregnancy.

When we were far enough along, we decided to start thinking of names. As you know, picking your child’s name is the most daunting thing ever, because you realize how many names you DON’T like. And you realize, it’s not naming a pet, you know? This is going to be their name for the rest of their life, unless they decide to change it later on. So I was like shit, now I have to find a name that he’s actually going to like. Thanks to Javi, I had really gotten in touch with my indigenous spiritual side. I’m Mayan, Mayan indigenous, which is local to Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, and even parts of El Salvador and Belize. And of course it coincides with all the indigenous of the Americas, and all over the world really. And over the years, I’ve connected with what that all means, and what the culture was about, and the power of my ancestors. And so we both knew we wanted an indigenous name to respect our ancestors. And I really wanted a name that honored my dad, but I didn’t want his name to be Mark. So we just got to searching. I made a list of different things about dad, and we just started going through names. There was an Australian Aboriginal name that we just loved and almost used - Mowan. Which is for “sun spirit.” We both love being in the sun, the meaning behind the sun, and how it coincided also with my dad’s life. He grew up on a farm, the sun has great importance for the crops, he loved to garden, he loved beautiful days to go out for his walks, and so we kind of were set on that, and then Javi said to me, “Just take one more look through all the names, let’s just make sure.” Because, you know, you gotta make sure. And so we decided to go through the names again.

It’s funny, because I had scrolled by the name Sequoia several times. Over the years, Sequoia has become more of a female name, but it’s originally a male name. It’s a beautiful name - it could be either one. It traces back to a Cherokee chief whose name was Sequoyah, but he spells it differently than we did it. We based the spelling off of the redwoods. During wartime, a lot of the Cherokees and Indigenous people noticed that all the white soldiers were sending correspondence to their loved ones - sending letters. And so they were just like, this isn’t cool, we don’t get to talk to our family, how do we do that? And so Chief Sequoyah created the phonetic alphabet for the Cherokee language and taught the soldiers how to read and write so they could correspond with their loved ones. And, funny enough, it wasn’t until after Sequoia was born that I found out that Chief Sequoyah ended up dying in Mexico, looking for the Indigenous soldiers, trying to bring them back home. So that’s a weird, crazy connection. So we really loved the name Sequoia because the redwoods are named after the Cherokee Chief Sequoia.

Also, it’s all the vowels in there. It’s one of the only words with all the vowels.

The name Sequoia also tied into who my dad was and what he lived for - his legacy, what he loved. My dad was part of a tree organization here called UC Green that planted trees all over the city. He planted hundreds of trees all over the city of Philadelphia. When I was in high school, he made me begrudgingly do work with them. But I ended up loving it and learning so much about gardening and taking care of trees. And it’s stuff I still carry. Sequoias, the trees, they can only grow in communities. They grow in groups of three or four. My dad didn’t have a lot of friends, but he had communities. The church, the school, the community here, the organization in Honduras. And there’s so much symbolism behind the trees. Sequoia trees have been around since before the dinosaurs. They’ve survived all the crazy stuff that’s happened over the years, just because of how strong they are. They can burn, they can be in freezing temperatures, and they still survive. Strength and durability. My dad was ridiculously strong, and also headstrong. Emotionally strong too. Because Sequoias are so tall - they’re the tallest trees in the world - a lot of the Indigenous like to say that they reach up to the heavens - that they are a stairway to heaven. And they’re the widest trees on the planet. You have to have a bunch of people hold hands to hug around the base of a tree, they’re so big. And my dad was ginormous. He was as big as a tree. The neighborhood people used to call him the friendly giant. My dad was like 6’5”. He slouched a bit, but he was big. He was a gentle giant. He would walk through his neighborhood, and say hello… and these trees are gentle giants. They don’t do anything to harm anything around them, because some trees can do that. They just hang out. They’re home, of course, to so many animals - birds way up high. That’s how a lot of bird species and animal species survived the different phases of the world, because they were able to hide in Sequoias. They’re also connected with wisdom because they’ve been around for so long; a lot of Indigenous like to think they have a type of wisdom that keeps them from dying off. And so we chose that name because of the trees.

I decided to do a home birth. One of the amazing, beautiful friends I met in Mexico, Rachel, who was just an absolute rock for me throughout the pregnancy and birth - it’s her fault. She gave me a book called “Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth.” Ina May is a midwife who talks about homebirth. And it’s also my mother’s fault, I want her to hear this, because she got me into a show called “Call The Midwife.” And that’s a show that’s about nuns and midwives in Poplar, London, that starts in the 50s and goes through the years of midwives doing home births. And I was like, wait a minute, what’s this? Because, especially after dad, I really don’t like hospitals. And also, unfortunately, for Black women, there’s a higher rate of mortality here during childbirth, and for Latina women, it’s a little bit better, but it’s not that much better. It’s not that I don’t trust the healthcare system here, I just was like, if there are other options that are available that I could also entertain, why not? And so I really dove into homework about doing a homebirth. I’m crazy organized about things like that. Also, because of immigration laws, Javi is not allowed in the United States. So, having the baby here would have meant the father wouldn't have been allowed. In Mexico, a lot of the public hospitals still do not allow the father at the birth. And so I was just like no no no no, if I’m doing this, you gotta be there for me and the baby. If I have to push a human out of me the size of a little watermelon, I need you to hold my hand.

We looked into maybe giving birth at a private hospital, but unfortunately in general in Mexico, a high number of births end up in c-sections, because the doctors make money out of pocket for them. They don’t like to wait, they’re impatient. They're Latino, we don’t like to wait. So, they don’t like the birth process, because it can take a while. And then there’s the issue that even though I’m brown, I’m American, and I’m Honduran. Unfortunately, Mexico sometimes isn’t kind about that. Yes, I speak enough Spanish, but many times I do face a lot of criticism when they hear my accent. They’re like “ew, you speak weird”, and I’m like, “well, I’m actually from Honduras, but I grew up in America”, and they're like “eh.” And so, I just didn’t feel like dealing with that while I’m trying to birth a child. And then we tried looking into maybe doing a birth center, but there are no birth centers… we live on an island. And so, the answer came down to a home birth. So I decided to do a homebirth, and I was cleared to do a homebirth, and I have to thank Dr. Lilia, my midwife, Dr. Xhanat, who saved the day in the end, and then my doula Samantha. And my mom and my sister came down. And Javi was there. And his mom Eilen, and her partner Juan. And it was a very long and absolutely exhausting birth. But we did it. We did it. And I brought Sequoia into the world. And he was healthy, and I was good, and it was beautiful.

No matter how you prepare, how many books you read, how many episodes of Call the Midwife… whatever it is, birth does not go at all how you plan it to or want it to. But, I think the most powerful thing about birth is that it goes how it’s meant to, kind of like life and death, you know? For whatever reason, my birth was meant to be absolutely wild, but it was supposed to end up the way it did, because our whole family was there and around us. And I think that’s so important, you know? We just have love surrounding us, no matter what.

I don’t really tell people this, but there was a point in the birth towards the end, when I was literally pushing him out. I had been pushing for days, for two days, and so this was the morning of the third day, and I was just absolutely exhausted. I would pass out in between contractions because I was so tired, and Sequoia was starting to get a little bit distressed. We were worried, and it was down to the point where they were like, “Ok, you have to push the baby out now, or we have to bring you over to Cancun.” And so we were down to the final moments, and I was pushing him, sitting on our bed in our apartment, and mom was holding my right hand, the doula was sitting on the bed and stroking my head as I lay on her, Sarah was busy like running around all of us, trying to video all of this, and Javi was at the other end, waiting to try to catch Sequoia. And in the midst of this, I looked up, and I looked at the door, the entryway to our bedroom, and I saw my dad. And he was just standing in his khaki pants that he always had on, and his blue button up. And he just looked at me, giving me that grin he always used to give me, and just I remember being like, wait, what’s going on? I remember just looking. I didn’t say anything - I knew, I was like, “Oh God, now you’ve gone crazy, like… you gotta push this baby out.” And I just remember looking… and his hands were in his pockets, the way he always used to stand; he always put his hands in his pockets so his thumb was sticking out. So he had his hands in his pockets and his brown belt, and the same outfit he always used to wear. His hair combed over, his glasses… and he just gave me this little smile, this grin he always used to give us. And boom, he disappeared. And ten minutes later, Sequoia was born.

It’s true, the saying that there is such a thin veil between life and death. I’ve heard from a lot of people that when someone is dying, they’ll see the people that they cared about. For example, my dad - he saw his mom, his sister, his father. And I was literally birthing life, bringing life into this world, and then I see someone who obviously also gave me life in a way. It was just a very powerful and meant-to-be moment to have those two things connect. It was his way of saying, “Hey, I’m still here. I’m still with you, I love you, I care for you, and you’re gonna be ok.” And so, that was super powerful, just to like, to give me that final push, to bring him into this world. To have my mom there, holding my hand. Of course she cried when Sequoia came out - we all did. It was just exhausting, and we were so excited, and it took Sequoia a couple seconds to cry, which terrified all of us, but of course he was fine. Going through all of that, it’s so important… I wouldn’t have had it any other way. And so, it was… it was special, and I think that’s kind of why I’m not super religious the way my dad was, because, at least the way he believed in religion, they don’t believe in that kind of stuff. And the way that I believe in spirituality now, and in God, and just life, all things are connected. I think that’s what made that moment possible. And yeah, maybe I was just literally full-on delusional and crazy because I was exhausted, and that’s fine, I accept that sometimes I have my crazy moments, but at the same time, it was clear as day. There was a space between all the people who were in that room, and he was out of the way. He just stood there and then quickly came in and said, “Hey, you got this, I'm here with you, and you can do this,” and boom. I’ve only told a couple people that. I haven’t even told my mom that, just because I don’t know how to tell her that. 

I don’t want to birth any more kids. I would love to adopt. I would love to foster to adopt, hopefully. But I really don’t think I want to birth any more kids, just because - life is so fragile. I don’t know if I could have another kid - we lost another one after Sequoia. I just don’t think it’s worth it, because there are so many other lives here that need to be loved, and I would love to do that. Life is so fragile. 

I can’t fathom ever losing Sequoia. I created him, grew him, and I was terrified about losing him the entire time I was pregnant with him. And then that crazy birth, and we made it through that birth, and now he’s growing up beautifully. I think also because I’ve experienced death in so many other ways. I’ve been around a lot of death. Like in Honduras, I helped a friend of mine - she was 15 years old when it happened, she had birthed the baby when she was 14 - and she was so poor, her family was so poor, that they weren’t eating well. She got parasites, and she was breastfeeding, and that baby died at 7 months old. So a friend of mine and I had to embalm the baby, get it dressed, put it into a casket, and bury this baby. I’m never going to forget watching a 15-year-old cry over her 7-month-old baby. It’s something I can’t even fathom. Watching all these moms all over the world lose their kids, it really reminds you how fragile and beautiful life is. Sometimes it’s hard to enjoy life and be in the moment because of everything that happens in the world. But I try to tell myself that in the world, there’s going to be wars, and there’s going to be famine, and there’s going to be illnesses, but if we’re blessed to have what we have, we need to cherish that, to hold onto it, to live with it. And then we also obviously need to be mindful of those other things and help when we can. It’s a world of beautiful chaos. 

We always have so much hope for our children, you know? I don’t want it to stress him out. I just hope Sequoia is… he does have a community around him, you know? He does have my mom’s community, my community, just so many people around him already. Children are so innocent and loving. They are sponges, they just take in everything. If I really wanted to, of course, I could tell him, “Oh, you like this sports team, and you like this religion, and we live this kind of way.” And I just… I really just want him to be his own person and fall onto things he loves. As long as he’s loved and healthy and happy and supported, that’s all that matters to me. And he’s already such a beautiful little soul. He has a light within him. I mean, he’s young. Of course he does. But when they start to get older, they can lose that light, and I hope he doesn’t, I really hope he doesn’t.

I love Lord of the Rings. I’m a Lord of the Rings geek. It’s a lot deeper than a lot of people think it is. So there’s a part where Frodo says to Gandalf, “I wish it need not have happened in my time.” And then Gandalf says to him, “So do I. And so do all who live to see such times. But that’s not for them to decide.” And then this is the quote I chose: “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” And I love that.

Lately, I’ve been really freaking out about death. I think it’s because I have a child now. And it really scares you. First of all, I never want that kid to understand grief about a parent at a young age. Because it messes you up. And then… I just want to be there. It’s selfish, but I want to be there for his life. I want to see him score his first goal in a game, I want to see him graduate, I want to see him find his first love, I want to see him mess up and then do well again, you know? I want to see all those things. And the thing is, we don’t know. We don’t know how we’re going to die, or when, or what. Hopefully it can be surrounded by our family, but maybe it’s gonna just be an absolute disaster, and that scares me. You just really don’t know. But that’s what my quote is about. Live every day. Make a point of doing whatever you’re doing each day.  Sometimes it’s so hard to be in the here and now. It challenges us to remember to be present and think about all the beautiful things we have, and yet to also be mindful of all the other things. Decide what you’re going to do with your time. So when your time does come, you can at least be like, you know what? I’m proud of the time that I have spent here.