One year ago, Katie and I arrived at Casa, the shelter where we worked at, and sat at the doorstep of our sweet and joyful friend, Lilibeth’s room. I remember sitting there, in awe at the beauty that was in front of me - a baby, so, so overwhelmingly beautiful and fragile. A piece of a woman who had in just a few weeks shown me the strength, the joy, the courage, and the pain that made her who she was.
When I arrived at Casa as a volunteer, Lilibeth was 14 and pregnant with her second child. Her story wasn’t easy or pretty – like all the women I encountered at the shelter. But there was something different about her, something that made me feel like we connected on a much more profound level. I prayed that our relationship would flourish, that her trust in me would grow, that her heart could give her permission to believe me when I said she was “una de las mujeres más fuertes y valientes que conozco.”– and not only that she would believe it, but that she would own it.
I remember walking in each day for the first 8 weeks and admiring her pregnant belly. There was something about her that spread joy and love and kindness and ganas, even on her darkest days.
That day, one year ago, when I sat at her doorstep, I remember being at a loss of words because there was a tiny, little human in her arms with skin so soft and an innocence that invaded my soul with peace. I admired this baby with such love, yet so much fear – fear of how fragile he looked, fear of what was going to be of him, fear of what his story really was, fear of what his life would be.
Yet, in the most typical Lilibeth fashion, she broke that fear that made me tremble by shining her bright and contagious smile and saying, “Ten!” as she placed her son in my shaking arms, followed by a laugh so loud that instantly told me my face was unable to hide the fact that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing or supposed to do.
Looking back, I think I can be bold enough to say that 1 year ago, my life changed. And it changed because this sweet baby came into my life.
Today, Adrian, who was initially named Douglas (his mom decided to change his name 2 months later), turns 1 year old and again, I tremble.
I tremble because after spending literally, every Monday through Thursday holding him, loving him, bathing him, feeding him, playing with him… I no longer have his tiny fingers curl up on my hand.
I tremble because even 1 year later, he remains in this shelter and I realize that he does not know what life is like beyond those 4 walls.
I tremble because the reality is that their case continues to be unsolved.
I tremble because I know that his mom is hurting as she reflects on the life of her precious son… a story that has more layers that we can even imagine.
I tremble because I know that in 1 year, my sweet boy will not remember who I am…
But I also dare to say that I tremble with love.
I tremble because Lilibeth and her sons taught me something greater and more powerful than I can try to explain. It’s something inside me – something that grew, that was transformed, that feels different and more beautiful.
I can tell you a hundred stories that better explain this –
I can tell you about the day we sat there for hours trying to brainstorm new names because Lilibeth decided she wanted to change her baby’s name…
I can tell you about the day I had to bathe Adrian for the first time without Lilibeth…
I can tell you about the day we had no wipes at the shelter and Adrian had diarrhea…
I can tell you about the day Adrian first extended his arms to me when I walked in the shelter yelling, “Hola mi niño guapo!”…
I can tell you about the day Lilibeth first cried to me telling me she just couldn’t do it anymore and rested her head in my shoulder…
I can tell you about the day I spent in the lavanderia with Lilibeth trying to hand wash poopy onesies…
I can tell you about the day I cried my eyes out to Lilibeth as I told her about my dream to one day be a mother and what she responded, “Pero si eres mamá, eres la mami de Adrian”…
I can tell you about the most difficult day, in which I had to hug and kiss them one last time and find the courage that she introduced me to and give them mi bendición as I said goodbye to Ecuador…
I can tell you about today when I video called in and immediately cried because I heard his laugh - the way he still fills me with joy and energy and love.
Over and over again, I fall in love.
Over and over again, I tremble with love.
Over and over again, love casts out fear.
Today I pray for Lilibeth, Maykol and Adrian. I pray that they may be safe. I pray that they may be surrounded by joy and kindness. I pray that they may get justice. And I pray that they believe me when I say I love them – for I firmly believe, and have witnessed, the ways in which love casts out fear.
Feliz cumpleaños, mi niño guapo. I hope that if you ever tremble, you tremble with love.
