In Repair

Well I never lived through the great depression
But sometimes I feel as though I did
And I don’t have answers for every single question
But that’s okay ‘cause I’m just a kid

-Kasey Chambers


I have been visiting Aura near daily since her return from the hospital to check on her progress. Everyday she is getting a little better—less aches and pains and more strength. Originally I went just to inquire about Aura’s condition, but I quickly realized she isn’t the only one who needs attention.

Carlos, ever assiduously at her bedside, can’t work and therefore the family currently has no source of income. He feels helpless. Aura’s six children have taken pains to stay quiet and care for the household while their mother is incapable. They feel neglected. Aura’s father is a drunk. He disappeared the night she came home from the hospital. Aura’s mother discovered three days later that he is in the hospital in Cobán after having been nearly beaten to death outside a bar in Tactic. Head hung low with tears streaming down her face, she recounted this to me as she was preparing the family’s next meal. “Please come and visit me. I feel so alone. My daughter is sick and my husband is in the hospital. I have to take care of everyone, and I am alone. Please visit me.” I held her worn, fragile little body in my arms as she cried and told her, “God bless you. God bless you for all you are doing for your family. You are a very loving mother. God bless you.” She is overwhelmed.

It is feria time again in Tactic and knowing that Aura and her family can’t afford to participate in the festivities in town, I decided to bring a little bit of the feria to them. I went downtown through the throngs of people and filled my backpack full of traditional feria fare: long suckers, rounded suckers, flavored popcorn balls, blocks of coconut candy, pretzels, mints, and peanut brittle. I took all the sweets out to their house this afternoon, and we had our own mini-celebration.

Aura felt well enough to move back into her own house this morning, and although still bed ridden, she was in better spirits than I had seen her in over the past three weeks. The whole family was. There was laughter in the house again. The children ate their candies, and the family asked me questions about the feria. They laughed as I told them about my less than pleasant experience being stuck on the ferris wheel for nearly an hour at last year’s feria. I concluded my feria report with, “Really, you aren’t missing out on anything, though. There are too many people and too much noise.” Unfortunately, I don’t think my admonitions did much to displace the children’s unspoken desire to be a part of the fun in which they can’t participate.

This has been Aura’s and her family’s own personal “great depression,” and to an exceedingly lesser and incomparable extent, my own. But thankfully Aura is getting better, as well as all those close to her who were never hospitalized, but nonetheless have suffered and struggled through this difficult time with her. The family is in repair. I don’t know how long this painful process is going to take. I don’t have the answer to that question. But I guess it’s okay, because I am just a kid.