The maid, the nanny, the cook, the caretaker, the invisible. You weren’t invisible to me, you were Ama, Nan-Tli, mi corazón, mi alma … my EVERYTHING. All my little narcissistic needs, fulfilled by your touch, your comforting voice, your smell, the taste of your milk, the look of love when our eyes met. In those quiet moments, when my adopted family, your employers, were away … I imagine you and me together in peace and silence. 

There is so much turmoil and sadness in this house, I’m so glad I have you, Ama. So many people here love and play with me, but all I want is you. Keep me with you always. Let’s sit in the garden, under the peach tree in back. Dusk will be here and we can soak up the late afternoon sun filtering through the leaves. The light bounces on your round face. I want to catch the orbs of sunlight, but they bounce and run away from my tiny fingers. 

Where is your shawl, Ama? I love when it makes a cocoon while I eat. I’m like a fluttering monarch, bouncing around your petal for that sweet nectar … I can smell it. Your hand holding your breast, brushing my cheek. I catch your warm nipple on the side of my hungry mouth and I’m latched. Sweet victory and I’m settling in. My hand reaches for yours as you pull it away. I touch and caress your warm cinnamon skin. It’s so soft, I almost fall asleep several times. You lovingly chide me for nodding off, “Despierta Mija,” tickling my lips with your fingers. I’m awake! Suckling again while I catch the sun’s warmth through your shawl. This is so hard, I can’t stay awake. My frantic suckling sounds, my tiny wheezy little breaths as I try to eat and breathe at the same time. I see strands of jet-black hair falling down your shoulder. I grab on like a monkey to a vine. I fidget your thick black locks in my curious hands. I hear you humming, Ama. Or are you talking to someone? Is that a prayer? What are you hoping for?

Her shawl slides down her left shoulder, exposing my greedy little face. A sun ray blinds me for a moment. When I shake it off, I see Ama staring into the distance. She is so beautiful. Her round face, her dark, forthright eyes lost in the future. Where did you go, Ama? Come back to me. I continue my gluttonous feed. For me, there is only here and now … Ama and me.

Where does she go, mi Ama? Where does she go when she looks past the flowers as if they were a thin veil? The sun is well behind the giant tree trunk and a darkness seems to envelope her. As her milk tapers off, I open my eyes to meet hers for the switch to her other breast. She doesn’t move, so still in her thoughts. My slow suckling doesn’t tip her off, but I can see into her dark brown eyes. I see worry, pupils dilating, her heartbeat not the comforting cadence I’m used to. Fast and chaotic, it has no rhythm. Another feeding tainted by worry and sadness. I’m full and satisfied, but also confused.

In my fourth year, you left with the promise to return. How was this possible when you and I were one? We danced and played among the flowers. Ran and hid in the hedges along the cinderblock wall. Ate fruit off the peach tree. Laughed at my adventurous, curious ways. You were the first to console, laugh, and cry with me. Where did you go, Ama? Come back to me.

In the fifth year, the adopted family wiped you out of my memory so that I could live in their dream. My four years in nirvana with you was my reality; adoption, my living nightmare. As soon as day broke, I was out in the hedges, running through dry leaves, picking sour grass with yellow flowers, squinting with the stem in my mouth. Digging, searching … always searching. Searching the skies, calling to the wind to carry a message to you, my “someone” out there. I cried to the butterflies and rolly-pollies. I rode my bike, my trusty steed, as fast as I could all around the neighborhood, up and down dangerous hills to get you back. I climbed the highest trees to see you, but you were so far away, I didn’t recognize you. Back to my nightmare. 

Years have gone by and I’m lost in finding out who I am. I searched for you again after they told me about you as I sat under the giant pine tree. I prayed that tree would catch me before the earth opened to swallow me up. Where is my Ama? ”In the mirror” is all they would tell me.

I’m out in the garden again, among the flowers, under the trees, bathing in the sun. I send messages to the birds, the clouds, and the stars to reach you. I see you more and more in me each day, those first four years coming through in emotional memories. I’m seeing the parts of you that are in me and my children. I long for the day in the sun, under the peach tree, among the flowers. 

Where are you, Ama? Come back to me.