blogger profile

Loida Casares Ruiz

Wife, Mother, Writer, Advertising Manager

Loida Casares Ruiz grew up in Northeast Houston. She graduated from the University of Houston with a Bachelor of Arts in Journalism and Minor in English. She received a Master of Arts in Communication in 2001. She works in advertising by day and is a mother, wife, and writer by night. She has al...

READ MORE

Trading Roles

Loida Casares Ruiz

When I lost my mother I lost a very important relationship in my life. But I felt that I could have that relationship again if I had my own child.

I was my mother’s late child. She had me at thirty-nine and my father was forty-six.  Old, I used to think when I was a kid. Now at thirty-eight, they don’t seem so old after all.  Funny how our point of view changes as we ourselves are older and wiser. 

There were five of us, all girls, but I was born when my sisters were seventeen, fifteen, eleven and nine. My mother was diagnosed as gestational diabetic when she was pregnant with me and she was put on bed rest.

By the time I was thirteen she was diagnosed with Type II Diabetes, and so began the slow decline of her health.

I often say that as the youngest I got the best years of my parents. Sadly I also got the least amount of years.  In an ironic twist of fate, I had the best relationship with my mother and the least amount of time to enjoy her as an adult, which were the best years to have with her.

I was a child during her mid-life crisis. So even though I knew that she loved me, she was not the most approachable, warm and loving mother. She was always tired and always preoccupied with several things at once.

It wasn't until my late teens and twenties that we really started talking and having more of a relationship. She listened to my teenage angst with patience and a touch of humor. She had an unmovable faith that I admired. She was funny, smart, great with numbers, a great conversationalist, and loved movies. I loved sitting with her at our kitchen table and listening to her memories of her childhood and her early years of marriage, before she started having kids.

When I was in my twenties she worried about me staying out late with friends and she lectured me about being careful, drinking, and my spiritual condition.

When I was a newlywed she advised me, worried about me, and stressed with me. She encouraged me to have a baby before I turned thirty, but I didn't.

My mother died from heart failure, caused by diabetes, one month and one week before my 30th birthday.

Sometimes I wonder if she was pushing me to have a baby because she knew that she wouldn't be around much longer. She knew she wouldn't be around to give me the advice that I so needed as a new mother.

Although she was sick for a few months and we knew that she wouldn't live much longer, her death still came suddenly and in the middle of the night.

Her death was a wake-up call for me in so many ways. The first one was the realization that I had just lost one of the most important relationships in my life. The relationship between a mother and daughter. It was in that moment that I realized that I wanted to have that relationship again and that I could if I had my own child. Except that now I would be the mother.

I wondered if I was ready. I wondered if I would be a good mother. Would I give her issues? Would I be encouraging and nurturing? I knew one thing. I would try to do everything with her that my mother had not done with me and I would try to not do the things that my mother had done that had hurt me as a child.

Now that I'm a mother I realize that she didn't mean to hurt me when she did. I have learned how hard it is to be a mother, whether you're working in the home or working outside and inside the home, the way she did and the way I do. It's a precarious balance. She had her challenges just like I do. Yes, she was a spiritual woman, but she was also human, she was imperfect, and she had her own personal demons.

Now as an adult, as a wife, as a mother of two, I understand her even more than I did in life. Now that I'm in the role of mother. I think of her almost every day. I look at my daughter and I think of her. I can’t help it. My daughter is a strange mixture of my mother and my husband. She has my mother’s eyebrows, eyes, and nose.

I think about her when I say something to my daughter or do something that makes me feel guilty. I wonder if I'm giving my child issues, then I remember my mother and I wonder if she ever felt like she gave me issues.

"Of course she didn't!" I reason. I imagine my mother saying, "Issues, como que issues?" (What do you mean issues?) I laugh really hard as I hear her voice in my head.

And then I feel better about myself and about the job I'm doing. I know that for every bad step I take I've made five good ones. I remember the good times with my mother best. I know that she loved me and my daughter will know that I love her too, no matter what.