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What I will say here applies directly to me, but indirectly it also can be
applied to my brother and sisters since we all had the same mother.
Their experiences and personal relationship to ma are just as
interesting and vital. I hope they will add to this eulogy.

Were all born into our mothers arms. They may not be the first to
touch us, but they usually are the first to really hold us and hug us
with love from the whole heart. Im not down-playing the fathers role
during childbirth, because Im also a father. Im just trying to
remember, through my imagination, my sweet mom, (Rosa) Elena
Carrasco de Orejuela and her first tender hug to me. As a newborn,
Im sure I recalled her voice, her heart beat, probably her spirit. I
most likely stopped crying when she first held me. I probably felt
safer in her arms after the trauma of birth. Her face is the first face I
loved: it was her face that told me I was loved.

I remember my moms love, most of all. Even as a kid, I could count
on that love. I always felt accepted by her, no matter what. By
accepted, I mean that I always felt there was a welcome sign in her
heart for me; she took what I said serious even as a little kid. I
always felt that she believed me without being skeptical Thats a
good feeling and probably that is the kind of love that gives us the
security, the self-dignity, and the confidence to make it in the world.
Oh, I know that a lot of nurture, education and discipline go with that,
but my moms unconditional love is what sustained me when nurture,
education and discipline failed me every now and then. I know I felt
that as a little kid in Peru, a kid in OH, a teenager in KY, a young man
in FL, an adult in CO and finally a middle-aged man back here in FL.
My mom was beautiful in her love.

My mom was beautiful, physically and spiritually too. My mom took
care of me when I was sick. She fed me. She stuck up for me even
when others in our family blamed me. Not that she never blamed me
for my misdemeanors and sins, but even when she did, I never
doubted her love for me, I never questioned her motives about me. I
always felt her love and I thrived in that love and relished it. I
remember as a teenager, I began a journal. I would write in it almost
daily. Once I had been with my friends and it must have been a good
time, because I wrote about it. But I was drinking a bottle of water
(something odd at that time) and I wrote down, Were here at so-
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and-sos drinking, but Im drinking some H2O. I must have left the
journal out and open, because she read it. Now she usually didnt
snoop through our things and she respected our privacy. But I got
home and there she was with a worried look in her face and she
asked me about it. What were you drinking? she asked. She
thought I was doing some drugs, but I didnt know what she was
talking about until she showed me the journal. Then I said, Mami,
H2O is the chemical formula for water! Ill never forget her face and
how it changed. From a stern look, all of a sudden it seemed like an
angel was looking at me. I realized that she believed me without
question. Not that I was lying and I dont know if I reminded her of
the formula from her school days, but she believed me with love in
her eyes. Imagine that, believing a teenager gone wild?

She could discipline good. I remember in Peru, we had a chicken
coop in the back yard. Whenever I needed to escape her discipline, I
would run out back to the chicken coop. It was muddy, dirty and just
plain filthy. It probably reeked too, but I cant remember and I didnt
care. I thought it was a place that she couldnt step into, being a
mom and a girl. But one day, I did some mischief and I ran out
confidently to the chicken coop. I must have been four or five. I
remember sort of taunting her. That made her really mad, and fed
up, she did the impossible: she came out into the chicken coop and
gave me a good thrashing. It was a great lesson never to
underestimate her again.

I remember missing her around twelve years old, when my friends
and I would go to Rustys cabin, my best friend, and stay a few days.
After we settled down late at night, I would look up at the stars, and
feeling small and lonely, I missed my family, but most of all, I missed
my mom.

My mom was always full of life and fun. I would especially note this
when she got around other family members, usually women relatives.
She would laugh with gusto and she would dance.

My mom was a good spiritual Christian woman, first as a Roman
Catholic and then as an Evangelical Protestant. She never
considered herself spiritual or knowledgeable about religion and
she wasnt to her credit. Those two attitudes always made her
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humble and open to learning. Those two attitudes coupled with love,
became a virtue that she always had and it was the heart of her
spirituality. She never went to college, but she was naturally
intelligent and emotionally she was very intelligent. Sometimes that
made her vulnerable to people trying to take advantage, but that
natural and emotional intelligence got her through with an air of
nobleness of heart.

I remember as a young man of 20, I became an Evangelical. I
especially felt and therefore stressed my spiritual bankruptcy: my
sinful failures. She heard me talking like that one day to Dr. Orejuela.
She immediately chimed in to tell me that that was not so; that I was
not as evil as I was making myself out to be; that there was a lot of
good in me. I remember how her face expressed concern for me as
well as sadness. Of course, I was too brainwashed back then by
Protestant preachers about the doctrine of the Depravity of Man. But
my mom was right. Years later, after studying much more and
maturing theologically and becoming a parent myself, I realized that
she was right. We may be sinful, but God also made us good and
that God-given goodness should be equally emphasized, because it
gives us a sense of self-worth, it gives us hope that through Gods
gifts and grace in us, we are someone worthwhile that can do good
and do good for this world. Even though ma usually felt less
educated than most, she always spoke up for what she sensed was
right and it didnt matter how educated that other person may have
been.

Mom had a good and sweet personality, like her mom before her and
like her daughters after hermore or less (just joking ). I saw that
clearly and it may have been one of the first things I noticed about
her. Thats probably why I liked her so much. Oh, dont get me
wrong, she could fight too. If you hurt her, shed let you know it, and
if you kept fighting with her, shed outlast you. However, I came to
realize that it wasnt that she held grudges. Rather, it was that she
could be just as stubborn as anyone else about defending herself. As
a son, I hurt her plenty of times throughout my life. But I learned that
I could go to her and make peace (with an apology) and she would
forgive and forget. I learned that the quicker I did it, the easier it
would be for both of us. Ma and I had great talks together. I
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remember great times with her. I liked her as well as I loved her. I
liked the way she was as a person. She was a beautiful personality.



The day mama-Baltita (our pet nickname for our grandma) died, I
picked up the phone and it was Peru calling, telling me about mama-
Baltita. None of the other sibs were there, so I had to tell her. She
ran outside crying and walked alone in the neighborhood. I followed
her just to make sure she was ok and safe. Then after about 20
minutes, I ran up and caught up with her. We walked together in
silence. When I came up to her side, she looked at me through tears.
She hadnt known that I was following her, because I stayed out of
sight. But she silently accepted my person. She even patiently
listened when I stumbled with words about my memories about
mama-Baltita. I was young and I didnt know how to comfort very well
back then, but that didnt matter: I felt mas sad welcome to me.

She taught me without words how to be a good person and that in
turn went on to being a good Christian. I remember when I first heard
the phrase, Its nice to be important, but its important to be nice. I
agreed heartily with that. But I wondered why I did, and after some
reflection, it was because of my mom. She was always nice and it
was important to her. I loved holding her hand when we walked
together as a kid and as a middle-aged man. Im going to miss her.

Towards the end, she got very private. Most of you probably didnt
know she was so ill. I thought about that and even though it was
my sisters who took care of her the most during her decline, I think I
understood why, as she declined. It wasnt so much that she was too
proud to let others know how weak she was. Rather, it was that she
was very physically and emotionally weak and exhausted after the
chemo and radiation. She didnt want to let in people who may not
understand or who may hurt her even not meaning to. She had been
hurt in her past and it seemed that she just wanted to make room for
those who understood her best and loved her most. So she kept us,
her children, close.

When I saw her last, it was at the hospital. I rushed over from Miami
to Tampa with Dante, my son. My three other children had been with
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me the last three or four visits and Dante hadnt been able to come
due to his work schedule. So we walk into the hospital at 2:30 am
and without any trouble we walk up to her room with flowers and
pictures in hand. I knocked and walked in and she was asleep. I
heard her breathing. Issi was sleeping on the couch next to moms
bed. For a moment, I was going to touch ma on her hand and try to
wake her to talk to her, but on second thought, I let her sleep. I know
hospitals and how they never let you rest. So I put the flowers and
pictures on the counter and told Dante that we would wait until the
nurse came in to check on her. So we left. Once outside her door,
Dante lay down on the couch and I stayed up pacing and thinking. I
know I prayed and thought. About 10 minutes later, the nurse walked
up and went into her room. I walked in after her and mom was
already gone. She was still warm so she hadnt been gone long. The
way I interpret it, and its just my opinion, knowing mom, she sensed
we were there. Dante later told me that ma half opened her eyes for
a second. I didnt see it because I had my back to her as I put the
flowers and pictures on the counter. He said, but she was half
asleep, so I dont know how much she saw. When a person is in an
altered mental state (those with terminal illnesses) they cant talk and
can hardly move, like as if asleep and dreaming. The way I
understand it is that she sensed us and tried calling us to stay, but we
walked out. So she got up and walked out after us, only to realize
that she left her body behind. They pronounced her at 2:45 am, but I
bet it was most probably 2:37am. However it may have been, at least
she waited for me. That was a very nice thing for her to do for me.
(gracias, mami.)

She is with us now. She has gone on to a higher existence where
she can continue doing what she did best: help those she loved and
help them succeed.

I miss my mom.

Let me end with just a few lines from one of her favorite songs that
most remind me of her: the song Downtown. Oh, of course there
was always Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass and Pretty Woman.

My sister, Issi, sang Pretty Woman to her a little before she died. It
was the last song she heard. I remember the song, Downtown,
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because she used to love to go to downtown Cincinnati to shop and
window shop at Shilitos.


When youre alone
and life is making you lonely
you can always go
Downtown.
When youve got worries
all the noise and the hurry
seems to help, I know,
Downtown

Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city,
linger on the sidewalks where the neon signs are pretty,
how can you lose?
The lights are much brighter there,
you can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares
so go Downtown,
things will be great when youre
Downtown,
no finer place for sure,
Downtown:
everythings waiting for you

I used to drive her there, Friday evenings and pick her up later,
reluctantly, wanting rather to be riding around with my friends. I wish
I could go there now, see her small, beautiful, figure, alone, under the
street lamp, with bags under her arms just waiting for me. I wish I
could go downtown.



April, 2007

In memory
April 9, 2007