Dear Mommy

By Joyce Ramirez

Dear Mommy is the story of a woman’s journey with an almost nonexistent faith filled with anger and resentment to finding the path of God through a trail of disappointments, heartbreak, and miracles. It follows the trials of a parent of a special needs child and the struggles of raising her while making life choices that affect not only her life but also the lives of her three children.

Her narrative will guide you through failed relationships and bad decisions, all while exploring what the child would have said if only her mother had been listening. The writer uses letters written from the children's perspective and the mother’s ultimate response of what was done and perhaps what maybe should’ve been done instead.

Her daughter’s condition and ultimate quality of life were always predetermined by physicians who would diagnose the worst-case scenarios with extreme confidence in their tones. This tale goes through the process of a child deemed to never walk, talk, or see to a child who would ultimately prove everybody wrong.

In our current climate, this book may act as a guide for the lost Christian. It shines a light on somebody that may not be a theologian, saint, or studious academic but more so the average Joe (or Joyce) who is just beginning their travels back to a faith-filled life.

Dear Mommy has been written to empower those like the writer who feel unworthy and ill equipped to start believing and begin learning about their faith. It takes the reader down a path of self-loathing and disappointment and guides to the ideals of repentance and self-forgiveness using the simplest of instruction—to love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781639030552

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Dear Mommy

Joyce Ramirez

Copyright © 2022 by Joyce Ramirez

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

For all moms trying, fighting, losing, and sometimes winning at this mom thing!

Preface

This book is written in collaboration with my children. They are the voices that I needed for inspiration and guidance. I felt I had a calling one day. I heard it but I did not listen. I have been sitting on this idea, this calling, for about ten years now. God gave me so many gifts, and he blessed me with the ability to write. And then when I said, Lord, this is impossible, he gave me time. See, I was a nurse. I worked a ton of hours, and when I was done working at my facility for the day, my brain and anything else I had left was still focused on work. I would think, What happened to that patient? What if this? or I should have done that. I was tired when I left for work, and then I was tired when I got home. I kept feeling the pull that God wanted me to write this book, that someone needed to hear the words that I was writing. I remember asking God, How? How can I fit writing a book into my already-chaotic life? I became a school nurse. The job came to me by surprise, but it gave me all the flexibility that I needed to complete my mission.

My name is Joyce. I am first and foremost a child of God, but I am also a very proud mother of three children. I am a daughter who tries so hard to be there for her much-deserving parents, and lastly, I am a nurse. I didn’t exactly walk the perfect path, but now I realize as an adult, maybe that wasn’t the plan. If I hadn’t gone through a journey of ups and downs, I may not have been here, where God wants me right now. I am the parent of a special needs miracle. In fact, Cierra, who likes to be called C, is a walking miracle. She is amazing; she may not think so but she is. God blessed me with two other children, Brandon and Bella; without their love and support, not only would my life be boring, but also, I would be so lost. This is their story and the story of the letters that sometimes our children mentally write to us but we don’t hear—the letters that get lost in the days and the moments that the hustle and bustle of life don’t allow us to appreciate, learn from, or feel. This is Dear Mommy.

Chapter 1

Dear Mommy,

You seem upset all the time. You’re crying all the time. You’re crying a lot, Mommy. Don’t be sad. It is all going to be okay. I have secrets that I can’t tell you right now. Be patient, Mommy. I love you. I love when you hold me. I feel how careful you are with me. I feel protected with you. Keep me safe, Mommy, and everything will be okay. The doctors told you about me, and it made you sad. I don’t want to make you sad, Mommy. Have faith. Be strong. I need you! The lady doctor said I am sick. They said I will never walk, talk, or see. Why did they say that? God has plans for me. They are not God, Mommy. I wish you could understand me. You’ll see. You’ll see that God has a plan, Mommy. He has such an amazing plan for me, for us!

Love,

Cierra

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you, and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a Future. (Jeremiah 29:11)

I was different. I was not the typical nineteen-year-old. I graduated high school, got a job, and moved out on my own, in my own apartment. I tried college, but socializing got in the way, and I decided that my job as a leasing agent at a local apartment complex was a career that would take me far. Now looking back, especially since I have grown children, I can only imagine how devastating it was when I told my mom. I lived in Corpus Christi, a decent-sized city in Texas. I lived there my whole life. It is a beautiful city near the Gulf of Mexico with magnificent beaches and down-to-earth people. At the time, to my crazy nineteen-year-old eyes, it seemed so boring, and I was ready for adventure. I was up for advancement, and the company was sending me to Houston, Texas, for a promotion. I was getting a free two-bedroom apartment and paid $13 an hour. That was gold back then in 1997. I remember going to my parents’ house feeling so excited and proud of myself. I told them that I would have to move to Houston in about a week and that I was going to be an assistant manager. They never made me feel like I was wrong in my decision. They asked me questions like, Are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure you won’t be scared? and Do you have enough money? They let me know that if I wanted to, I could always come back home. They never once told me, No, you can’t do that! They never said, You’re crazy and you are staying here.

See, looking back, I think they knew that if they said that, I would have left anyway and would never think twice about reaching out to them when I needed them—you know, to avoid the I told you so type of discussion. My parents always had my back. They always supported me. They trusted me. I was a good kid. Talking to my mom now, she told me that that was the hardest thing she ever had to go through. Mom and I were best friends. We did everything together. She tells me now that she cried for days.

Dear beautiful daughter,

Daughter, you told me today that you are leaving. You told us today that you are ready to go into the world and leave us. It was hard the day you moved out to your own apartment, but today, today I hurt. Today I cried. Today my heart was moved to Houston. Today, my worries started, and they won’t end till you come home. Daughter, the world is not what you think it is. The world can be cruel and harsh, and you are not ready. My heart is aching, and I will cry for you, but you will not know because I will support you always. I am praying for protection over you. I am praying God is with you. I am praying for a shield to protect you from the evils in the world. We love you, Joyce. You are strong.

Love,

Mommy

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. (Isaiah 41:10)

So I left. I moved into my apartment, and my adventure started. I was scared. I wouldn’t admit it, but I was petrified. Fast forward, not too far but just a bit, I met my neighbor. He was persistent. He would drop by to make sure I was okay. He made me feel protected. He was always dressed in a suit and tie. He was nothing I was used to. In Corpus, you had cowboys, thugs, and fishermen—no suits! Well, safe to say I was blinded by it all, and I thought I fell in love. I was nineteen and he was twenty-nine. It was mesmerizing to me why a man like this would even look twice at me. Things were not as they seemed. We dated for a short time—nothing too crazy, just dinners here and there. We visited the nightlife of Downtown Houston. He introduced me to wine, and I felt so sophisticated. I was blinded by the courtship. He would pay for everything. Our life slowed down within months to home dinners and movies. Within months we were together every single day. It wasn’t long before God said, Surprise! And let there be Cierra. It was a surprise, but for me, it was a pleasant surprise. I was on cloud nine. This man seemed perfect, and he loved me. I was pregnant. I told my parents. They had met him already, and they thought he was a pretty decent guy, and they seemed happy. (They didn’t know yet.) The pregnancy moved along. In the beginning, I was scared. I wondered if I would be a good mom. I wondered if I could love her. Like, how do you know? They kept saying, It will just happen, but I was twenty-one at the time and still very much in the What about me? phase. How could I share the spotlight? Then it happened. She happened.

I remember I had developed a bump. It was about a twenty-to-thirty-week bump. It was cute. I was often alone at home. See, my boyfriend at the time worked a lot. He was a housekeeping director for a hotel. He worked day and night, weekends, and holidays. It was funny—when we were dating, boy, that man was at my apartment every evening. He would visit my office during the day, and he would call me frequently, but now, all of a sudden, he was always so busy. I was contemplating, having foul thoughts. Honestly, I was angry. I was thinking maybe I hadn’t made the right decision. I mean, we were just roommates at this point. I was emotional, and what’s worse, I was preggers emotional! Just when I was at my lowest low, she moved. It was the strangest feeling. It was like a butterfly flutter, but a huge butterfly—a beautifully wonderful huge butterfly. I thought at first, This must be gas (LOL), but then I spoke to her.

Hey there, little butterfly. I know that’s you in there. I hope you’re comfortable in there. I am trying my best to make sure that you are healthy. I eat right, and I am trying not to drink Dr. Pepper [the official drink of Texas that I was completely addicted to at the time]. I go walking, and I even take my vitamins. I can’t wait for you to be here, but please, little one, stay in there as long as you can. I want you safe and healthy. I love you. She moved again when I was talking. Then she did it again, and everything that I was worried about was gone. I didn’t give it a second thought and almost completely forgot why I was upset. I had felt alone up until that point. I had dealt with the morning sickness, the ever-expanding waistline, and all the emotions by myself, but now, I had a partner in crime. I had my butterfly. I talked to her all the time. She made me feel complete. It was weird. It was like when I was down, she knew it. She would lift me up and remind me why I had so much to be happy for.

On June 28, 1999, she was finally here. She really listened to me. She stayed so long that they had to induce me. That little butterfly was stubborn. It was a long and harsh labor. We started at 4:00 a.m. with the induction process, and she was born at 11:58 p.m.

The delivery was traumatic. Cierra had shoulder dystocia—this meant her shoulder got stuck—and the doctor had to do everything possible to get her out quickly. They were screaming at me to push, and I thought I was, but that darn epidural made it hard for me to know for sure. Don’t get me wrong—I would never be able to do it without my epidural because I am a wiener, but still. He broke her clavicle to eventually get her out and safe. I remember looking over at Cierra. She wasn’t crying. She was just lying there, limp. Her dad went to her; he was scared. My sister was there for the whole thing. I remember her asking the doctor, Is she going to die? Cierra finally cried. She screamed, and my heart was full. I looked at my sister, and she was asking the doctor again, Is she going to die? The nurse began to escort her out. She wasn’t talking about C; she was talking about me. My eyes closed.

Before I was born, God chose me and called me by his marvelous name. (Galatians 1:15)

I had lost a lot of blood. I had a tear that I would rather never speak of ever. I had passed out because of exhaustion and blood loss. It couldn’t have been long because before I knew it, she was in my arms. The doctor was still working on me, but I didn’t even care. I just saw Cierra, my butterfly. She was perfect and she was mine. I loved her, and I don’t know why or how, but she made me feel like I was loved right back. They took her from me. They knew something was wrong. I wouldn’t see her again till the next afternoon.

She had a sling, and she was under bili lights with some really snazzy shades on. Bili lights are used for light therapy when a newborn has jaundice. Those snazzy shades were there to protect her eyes from being damaged. They wheeled me to her. They told me she was okay. She was yellow. Her skin had a yellow tinge, and her eyes were stained yellow; it was obvious. They told me to breastfeed. I didn’t know what I was doing. I wasn’t one of those with it kind of moms who went to all the classes and learned stuff. The internet was not as fancy as it is now. I had the What to Expect When You’re Expecting book, but I also had a touch of ADHD that did not allow me to read it as much as look at the pictures. I tried. My mom wasn’t there to help me that day, no one was. I didn’t know how to hold her, and the nurses made it very apparent that they were too busy. We tried and tried, and eventually, I got her to latch. OMG, nobody tells you how weird that is or how painful it can get eventually, but hey, I didn’t care. I was doing it. She was eating. I held her and asked questions. They let me know her clavicle was broken, but they said that it was absolutely necessary because she would not come out. The physician would later tell me that it would heal on its own. Cierra stopped feeding and was passed out on my chest. That feeling, it’s like love and fear and protective instinct all in one. I kept asking questions about her bilirubin levels and what causes them to be high, and all they could say was, It happens all the time. She will be fine. After the feeding, I was wheeled back to my room to rest. She had to stay. I didn’t want her to stay with them.

They woke me up, and they asked me if it was okay to supplement her feeding. The nursery nurse said that my milk was causing her to be sick. Her analogy or metaphor was that my breast milk was like poison to her. That is so mentally damaging and something that affected me throughout my life. She said that I shouldn’t breastfeed any longer. I, of course, agreed as they were the specialists. They were all-knowing, right? Who else would I listen to? They said her bilirubin levels had increased substantially after feeding and that, though I would be discharged later that day, she would have to stay. Like hell she was going to stay here and I was going to leave! They were out of their darn minds!

I told them I wasn’t going anywhere. I couldn’t even walk yet because of the horrible repair we shall never speak of that was completed on my nether regions. I wasn’t going anywhere. So they kicked me out the next day. When the insurance companies say you are not staying, there is nothing stopping them, not even a hysterical mother. I would have to come to visit her daily. The nurses seemed so annoyed with me when I would come. I had questions. I was a new mom, I was young, and my baby was obviously sick. Her bilirubin levels kept increasing, and all they did was keep her under those lights. Like, really, there’s nothing else you can do. I was done. I was twenty-one, I was a mom, and I was pissed. Why was she even there if they were not going to do anything for her but test her and test her and retest her? I had had it.

On day ten, I was done. I told them that I was taking Cierra, and we were going to Texas Children’s Hospital in Houston. We had delivered Cierra in Corpus Christi. I signed her out AMA (against medical advice), and the doctor told me to put her in direct sunlight as much as possible and see a pediatrician. I did. We left that morning and went straight to Houston to see her pediatrician. I called to set her up with a pediatrician ahead of time and discussed the issues we were having. We saw him later that day. Dr. Garcia was a bit blunt and honest, but I needed that. He saw my little yellow baby and said get to Texas Children’s Hospital immediately to see what was going on. By this time, Cierra’s eyes were as yellow as an elderly man with cirrhosis. She was almost alien-looking. Her skin took on a color similar to Dijon mustard yellow. We went straight to the hospital. We had to see a urologist/nephrologist and some other doctors. Everybody was astonished at my kiddo and her lab levels. They couldn’t understand why this was so persistent. In an average child, this just goes away in days, sometimes only lasting hours. I was scared. You will hear me say that often because that is something that I was often, scared. I didn’t have faith to counter my fears. I had a lifeline though. I called my momma. I told her, Momma, I know I am not a great person, I know I haven’t been the most faithful, and half the time, I wonder if there is a God, but please start praying. Please pray for my baby girl. She did.

Cierra had a liver biopsy the next day. The results were an indeterminable cause of increased bilirubin. It was another day of labs, tests, and scans. I did my sad attempt of praying that night. I said, Please, Lord, help my baby, and I fell asleep crying. The following day, I woke up and looked at Cierra. She wasn’t yellow. She was okay. Her mustard yellow hue was now light. Her skin color matched mine. She was pale. I am the palest Mexican you will ever meet, and now my mini me was also! Her bilirubin levels were now within normal limits. All was well. I remember I cried when I saw her that morning. I remember saying, Thank you, God.

For this child I prayed and the Lord has granted the desires of my heart. (1 Samuel 1:27)

Momma had prayed that day for Cierra. She had prayed a rosary. She prayed with my father over my child. I prayed, but my faith was not as strong as my mom’s was. I had doubts. I had fears. I never once thought, Give it to God. He’s got this. All I could think of was what the physicians were saying. My mom had also called upon my grandmother, Grandma Lola. I still believe that lady had a direct connection to God himself. She was always, and still is, our guiding light. She had prayed for Cierra with her prayer group, and somehow all those prayers made miracles happen. The Lord listened, and all was well. The physicians were stumped. They looked at all of her labs from birth to the present day. They looked and dug and were completely without understanding. They called in other physicians and even students. The only response they could give me was that her body started working and doing what it was supposed to do, with no reasoning. I remember one of the physicians telling me, Well, young lady, this is nothing short of a miracle. I knew it was a miracle, and I knew who had their hands on her that day.

Chapter 2

Dear Mommy,

I love you. You are so strong. I feel you get scared sometimes. I feel like you know something is wrong, but you don’t know what. You keep watching me and looking deep into my eyes. You keep reading and reading books. You are my comfort, but you are not at rest. Something is coming, Momma, something that you are not ready for and something that God has his hand on, but you won’t know that. You have to have faith, Mommy. He’s here with us. Why can’t you see him? I do. Stop fearing everything and just love. I need you, Mommy. You are my rock.

Love,

Cierra

For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of sound mind. (2 Timothy 1:7)

Cierra grew, and I read. I got my ADHD as under control as I could and read the What to Expect the First Year book from cover to cover. Fear really had a way of controlling that wretched ADHD. Nothing it said in there could prepare me for what came next. I referred to it over and over, and we went to her well-check appointments as scheduled. I started noticing that she wasn’t meeting milestones. Milestones are those guidelines that are in place for what they consider your average child. Now I know what y’all are thinking. So what, right? All kids move at their own pace, but Cierra wasn’t moving at any pace. It seemed as though Cierra was on pause. We would go see the doctor, and he would note it but didn’t think anything horribly about it. I started noticing that her eyes would drift in different directions. I went to the book that had, at this point, become my bible. To be honest, I had never owned a Bible, and before that, that probably would have been a better read than what I was about to divulge into. The book said that it is okay if their eyes drift, but by four to six months old, the problem should correct itself. Guess how old she was when I read this: four months.

I called frantically, made her an appointment, and took her in. I was such a paranoid mother by this time. Since the jaundice, I had let fear guide my life and Cierra’s life. This is something that you will see often, especially as a nurse. You see the recurring patient, or as we call them, the frequent fliers. Your immediate thought is OMG, here she comes again as you roll your eyes. You think, She needs to chill out, and that she is a drama queen or an attention-seeking goon. You want to diagnose these people with Munchausen syndrome and feel bad for their kids. I know there are true diagnoses of Munchausen but tread lightly on that of a parent who has gone through hell and back. They are scared. People, unless you have experienced raising a child with special needs or have risked the fear of death for your child, you will never understand. Give those parents a break. They have gone through the worst fear of loss and made it out with minimal sanity.

We knew her doctor well. I took her in that day thinking, My daughter is going to have a wandering eye the rest of her life, or she’s going to have to wear glasses. It never for one second occurred to me that something else could be wrong. I was already devastated that my perfect baby may have to wear glasses! She sat in her carrier, and we waited for the doctor. The doctor came in. I think he was tired of us, and I couldn’t blame him. He was of medium height and build, was balding, and had dark skin, droopy eyes, and slicked-back black Tres Flores-managed hair. He was pleasant enough, but I had exhausted his pleasant demeanor by now. I didn’t intentionally take her in often, but I was so scared. So he walked in and said with his thick Spanish accent, So, Mrs. Ramirez, what brings you in today? with some exaggeration and emphasis put on today. I see here your daughter’s eyes are crossed. Señora Ramirez, this happens sometimes. It is not always bad.

I said, I understand that, but the book said—

He stopped me. He said, ‘The book said, the book said. If I hear you say ‘the book said’ one more time… What is this book you speak of constantly? Is it the Bible?

I said, Well, it’s kind of like my bible, sir. I asked if he could just take a look.

He rolled his eyes and said, Ven paca, hermosa mia, as he reached for my Cierra. "Let’s take a look and see why you have your momma toda crazy today." I got Cierra out of her little pink carrier. I sat with her as he looked into her eyes. He pulled away and looked again as if he was confused. When he looked a third time, I didn’t like what I saw. The face he was making, it was the face of concern. He hadn’t looked like that since the first time he had seen her and she was a yellow baby alien.

I said, What is it? Doctor, what is the problem? Will she need glasses? Both her father and I have perfect vision. What is the problem?

He said, "Mrs. Ramirez, Cierra has a severe issue. It is possible that she may be blind. She will have to see una especialista, un endocrinologist. I will schedule you an appointment right away. You will see her tomorrow. The world stopped spinning. Everything slowed down. All I could see was my baby. I couldn’t ask questions. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. I was paralyzed. I never, for one second, reached out and said, God, please protect my child. God, perform one of your miracles again. God, where are you right now?" I never once thought about giving this to God. This was my problem and mine alone. What was I going to do?