Remembering the Rock

By Jeff Sabedra

In a Perfect World

If I had my way, mom would still be with us. We would not have had to endure somber holidays because of she was always there. She would have unwrapped presents just as we did, she would have snacked and dined on the vast amount of food just as we did, she would have laughed and smiled just as we tried to do.
Mom would be healthy and full of energy. Her prescriptions finally and miraculously cured all that was ailing her. She would have started living healthier and simply started living again. She would doll herself up, partake in today's fashions, and gift the world with her presence. She would not have a bother or stress or worry. The times I remember her being happy as a lark would be all the time. Bad or sad news could not be shielded from her, but in the perfect world, unwanted news would be at a very minimum.
Mom would have her cabin in the woods. She would be secluded from the bad, but would never be lonely because her children and grandchildren would visit her often. Her house would always be clean and comfortable. Her yard would be full of vibrant color from the abundance of foliage. Every luxury mom would have wanted would be at the tips of her fingers ready whenever she fancied. She would and could on a whim, style it how she pleased. And I would be there to rearrange it all whenever she liked.
Mom would love to travel and go places with us. She would not tire or not feel ill so she would not feel she had to be confined to bed or within the four walls of her abode.
Fragrant, mouth-watering meals would be again prepared by mom. She would find joy again in cooking. Visitors, friends and family alike, would help and also cater, and would never overstay their welcome. Together, all would relax to some good entertainment regardless of the medium.
She would never be cold or hot. She would never feel pain or know a tear not brought on from anything other than joy. She would again accept our hugs, our kisses, and our conversations. I could hold her hand again. I could escort her across the street or parking lot. I could have coffee with her every day.
At the completion of this project, this attempt at a tribute, I realize that much of what I recall was not necessarily good or happy. Mom did not live in a perfect world. None of us do. We got hurt and will continue to. We cause hurt and will continue to. I want to remember the vast number of positive and happy memories I have. I hope I have not strayed too far from accuracy. If I have, please don't tell me. I wonder if the man, the son, I became would please mom. I am sure that she would be happy for me. She probably would tell me something like "it's about time." I feel good inside knowing a huge part of who I am is because I had the mother I did. It would sure to be nice though to share our time with her.
Those of us longing for this, instead are left with an emptiness that can never be filled. I would have my Mama-sahn back. I would pat my Sugar Booger's butt. And we all would have our rock back.
Thank you all for listening.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781493130009

Jeff Sabedra

Jeff Sabedra is the youngest of five children born to Fidel and Heidemarie Sabedra. He is a theatre buff and loves horror and the supernatural. He works for the State of Texas and as a management consultant for the Holiday Inn Express. He has extensive experience in the hospitality industry and customer service. He currently lives in the small town of LaWard Texas where he stays busy renovating. He has studied literature, psychology and sociology. He has dabbled in writing before, mainly poetry, but this is his first completed work.

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by Jeff Sabedra.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2013921028

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4931-3002-3

                Softcover        978-1-4931-3001-6

                eBook              978-1-4931-3000-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 12/09/2013

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CONTENTS

Dedication

The End

The Social Butterfly, The Comedienne, The Perfect Hostess

My Early Years

Wow, I’m An Adult, and I Want My Mommy

Mom Doesn’t Believe Me

She Went Through Hell and Survived

The Kennemers

The Pineda Women

My Crazy Brothers

Me

So Life Goes On

In a Perfect World

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to those affected the most. It is with you in my heart that I write.

Fidel Sabedra

Sandra Kennemer

Rick Sabedra

Janice Pineda

Patrick Sabedra

Tyler Kennemer

Tommy Kennemer

Stacey Corolla

Amber Pineda

Amanda Pineda

Alyssa Pineda

Nick Sabedra

Ricky Sabedra

Michael Sabedra

Savannah Sabedra

Heide Sabedra

Angel Chavez

Melissa Chavez

And the great grandchildren Mom did not get to meet.

I also want to dedicate and offer sincere appreciation to Kim and Eric Smith and Hilda S. A fond appreciation goes to Leticia Garcia for riding along with me during this difficult, but rewarding, journey.

Lastly, I will forever be indebted to Hilda Contreras of Bloomington Texas. She helped me through many difficult times. She is an angel to many and will always have a huge place in my heart.

THE END

T O THIS DAY, I am still furious that she left. I was not expecting it. I was nowhere near prepared to deal with it, and absolutely was not pleased. Even though she had no choice, I cannot help but hold a grudge that my mother left too soon before her time.

Saturday, June 14th, 2008. My sister Sandy called after one in the morning to tell me that mom had stopped breathing and was rushed by ambulance to the hospital. My heart broke for Sandy as I could hear the shock and worry in her voice. I quickly got out of bed, and in disbelief, got dressed. I paced to and fro going from one area to another without knowing what I went for. I was barely functioning but managed to drive myself to the hospital. According to my sister, mom had stopped breathing and, for some reason, Sandy was compelled to go check on her. When she discovered mom unresponsive and not breathing, she began CPR while my two nephews called EMS. We cannot explain it, but something prodded Sandy to get out of bed and check on mom.

Earlier that night, I saw my mother alive for the last time. I went to visit her at my sister’s house. Mom had just awakened from a nap and slowly joined us at the dining table. She acted incoherently and I assumed it was from being groggy and drowsy. She slurred when she tried talking and she could barely hold her cigarette. Again, I blamed it on being half asleep. Her hair was disheveled; her skin clammy and pale. Her lips had a bluish tint and were moist from salivating. She sat in her usual spot at Sandy’s table and tried her best to make conversation.

I worried about her, but the notion of her possibly passing never crossed my mind. She was being treated by a trusted doctor. Despite her having fallen a couple of weeks prior, her doctor was confident that through medication and less stress, she would be fine. Mom fell face down onto a hardwood floor. The bruises were absolutely horrific and made me wince. Thankfully there was no other severe damage other than the bruising. Some of these marks remained on her as she laid to rest in her coffin, despite the funeral home trying their best to conceal them.

I had to leave that last day and told her that I would see her soon and that I loved her. If I had known I would not ever have the chance to kiss her and hug her again, I would have grabbed her in an embrace and not let go. To this day, I regret not spending a little more time with her that night. I had no idea, none of us did, that the end was near. Even though I told her I loved her, and she knew she was loved, I cannot help but feel that her last night, she should have been pampered.

It pains me still to know what unfolded that night, hours after I left. For a couple of years before that night, mom had spent so many evenings with Sandy, Tyler and Tommy. Sandy had long ago become a very good cook and daily provided mom and dad with her savory dishes. Mother and daughter would discuss current events, the family, famous people, and the typical day to day happenings. The two became each other’s support. The closeness and familiarity that grew between the two and between grandmother and grandsons would only make it that much more difficult for them to deal with what happened that night and undoubtedly hurt them more than the rest of us.

As her sons, daughters, husband and grandsons waited in a small waiting room just outside of the emergency room, little was said between us other than recounting what had happened. We anxiously awaited any news from the doctors or nurses. But from the beginning, it looked grim and almost hopeless.

For four agonizing days, we catatonically paced the hospital, hoping and praying for a