Updates to Ireland

[Kateri Rivera]

Kateri had gone into labor about six days early at about eight in the morning, much to her dismay. She expressed to the EMT of the ambulance that she'd called that she felt this was a bad sign for the future preferences of the baby, but he didn't smile. Probably because, for a small woman, she'd already managed to nearly crush his hand into smithereens with the strength of her grip. The delivery went smoothly, or as smoothly as these things normally went. The doctors were less than thrilled with their patient. She alternated between joking and cussing them out, especially when they put a band on her wrist indicating her as being at risk because she was over thirty. She was certainly not quiet about the affair, and all in all, they seemed quite happy to cut the cord off the pink, squealing baby and plop it into her arms before leaving to let her "rest." And she was tired, certainly, but she couldn't help studying the child in her arms.

She was pink and stared up at her with wide baby-light eyes, and Kateri could see the tuft of shockingly red hair on her head already. She lightly smoothed her hand over it, then laughed.

"Another redhead. Poor dad." She brushed her lips over the baby's forehead. "Welcome to the Riveras, Meg."

Later, when they collected the baby for the tests, shots and bath that her mother had informed her she would like them to do, she collected her cellphone long enough to send a message.

Hi Mum and Dad,

Just letting you know that I had the baby a little early, but she is beautiful and healthy and wonderful.

And that was about enough sap for her for now, she decided.

I'll send pictures when I have the chance. Hope you and Neil are doing well. I have the next couple of months off from work, so let me know when you want to visit and we'll work on the tickets. And you'd better come visit--I don't want my girl to not know her grandparents.

Love always,
Kat.

[Kateri Rivera]

It is surprisingly easy to be laid bare by a single phone call. Things that you push to the back of your mind suddenly come to the front. Things you’d thought you’d forgotten or at least dismissed flood back in a wave of hurt feelings and loss, and you’re not sure why. You thought you’d gotten over it. You thought you’d stopped caring. You thought long ago that it didn’t matter. Which is ridiculous. Of course it did. Of course it does. Certain things, no matter how hard you try, don’t go away. You just get better at pretending they don’t exist, and that closeness or feeling that you once had was just an illusion. It never really existed. It wasn’t ever really there. You just thought it was. If you’re very good at it, you can even get everyone to pretend along with you simply by not bringing it up. And suddenly it becomes as close to reality as any illusion can be—because you just don’t talk about it.

But in the end, the story isn’t really about you at all. And what hurts is this fact, this pretending and this loss, gets in the way of something that matters. Something that you should be able to share.

For Kateri Rivera, the story begins with a phone call at 12 at noon from an international number that she doesn’t recognize. She was home sick with the flu that day instead of attending classes. Her husband, Chris, was away doing work at the base. She was still young, impetuous, and currently irritable. Why would someone on an unrecognized international number be calling her? But she answered.

Before I continue, you should know this is not the phone call that opens people up and exposes their raw innards for the world to see. Well, it is, but not for Kateri. That comes later. But it should neither be neglected or overlooked because it does not relate to the main character. There are a lot of times when pain comes in over a phone call, or a text message, or even just a simple facebook post, and we ignore it. But that doesn’t make it any less valuable or real.

This call was from her cousin.

Kateri’s family had a complicated relationship. Her immediate family was very close, despite her decision to marry an American soldier and move back to the U.S. with him, instead of staying in Ireland and finishing her degree. She called them at least weekly, wrote letters daily, and kept in as close of touch as you could in the early 2000s without the invention of Facebook, Skype and Whatsapp. There was very little her brother and her parents did not know about Kateri, and what they did not know is stuff that you should not, by any accounts, tell your close relatives. But as for Kateri’s extended family, she knew very little. Her father had made many of them angry by choosing to leave Spain to marry her Irish mother. Her Irish mother had made even more of them angry by marrying the Spaniard pilot and moving to the city. They were wealthy, which, although it shouldn’t matter to families, always does if they can’t see why their relatives have succeeded where they have not. It didn’t help that her mother, Moira, and her father, Gabriel, both had tempers and had a tendency to shout. First came a fight over Moira’s split of the inheritance from her mother. Then came an argument over attending grandchildren graduation. Gradually, Kateri’s cousins—all 12 of them—became strangers to her as the feuding families got together less and less. She kept in periodic contact, but moving to the States made that difficult. And eventually, she just lost touch all together. It’s sad, but it happens, and more frequently than you’d think. Kateri had made a new life for herself with Chris’s American relatives, who were a little bemused by the spunky, young redheaded Irish woman who’d set out to steal their son’s heart at a very young age indeed. She’d made best friends with Chris’s sister and counted herself lucky. This was her family now, and while thoughts of others might’ve caused her pain, during her day-to-day life she ignored it and got on. She was naturally a happy person. That’s not so much a disposition as it is a choice, and that choice is often to ignore what pains you, especially when you think there’s nothing you can do to fix it.

This call from a cousin was from the one she’d been closest to a long time ago. This cousin was older than her, and brilliant. She’d been at the top of her class, beautiful, with plenty of boys lapping at her heels. She’d had big dreams of becoming a doctor, a lawyer, a psychiatrist. Of getting out of Ireland and to America, where things were better and you could make lots of money. She didn’t want to settle for anything. Kateri had looked up to her as a child as a role model, almost a saint to her eyes. But no one is perfect. Her cousin pushed herself too hard. She took a long time in university and kept changing schools as the pressure became too much. She went from one boy to the next. Gradually, Kateri lost contact and went her own way. She moved to America. She began work on her teaching credential in math. And maybe quietly, in her head, she promised herself that she wouldn’t be like her cousin. She saw so much of herself in her cousin that she began to change, just a little, to try to avoid what she saw. She settled with a guy. She didn’t pressure herself. She stuck to her guns and allowed herself to feel that anxiety and then go away. It wasn’t that she viewed her cousin as weak. It was just that she knew her cousin’s path could never work for her.

This cousin was calling to say she wanted to kill herself.

This isn’t the kind of thing anyone wants to hear from an estranged relative on the phone when you aren’t feeling well, but there was little that mattered more to Kateri than family. So she talked to her for nearly an hour. She let her cousin speak of her last relationship, where the boy had been manipulative and nearly abusive. She let her speak of her anger when Kateri had joked that it was taking her too long to finish school. She let her talk of her hurt when Kateri hadn’t attended her final graduation, even though Kateri couldn’t remember getting an invite. But mostly she just let her cousin talk about herself—her anxiety, her fears, her worries, her strain, and her bad experiences. And she reassured her cousin of many, many things. That she was wonderful. That she was intelligent. That she was a badass and that she and everyone else in her family loved her. She made her promise that she would come visit her, that she’d buy the ticket and everything and put her up in the spare room, and she could show her pale Irish skin how to tan. When her cousin finally hung up, Kateri called her parents.

Did you know?

No.

Did our relatives know?

We don’t know.

Twenty-four hours passed with no other word. Kateri stayed home again and fretted, fending off calls from her father, mother and brother with a simple ‘I don’t know.’ She hadn’t told Chris yet, not wanting to worry him and not sure what to say. In many ways, she felt this was her burden. She was the one her cousin had called. She was the one in the middle of this. Kateri rarely felt young, but she did in this moment. She was barely twenty and scared. She called the number her cousin had left, but nothing. Finally, she sent an email, asking how she was doing.

The response she got back was very simple.

I’m in the hospital under psychiatric watch. They won’t let me leave. I have limited access to the computer. Call my mum.

It was vague, and Kateri stared at it for a long time. If it was just for more information, perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad. But her cousin had revealed that Kateri’s aunt did not think very highly of her—didn’t think she cared, perhaps, about family. Didn’t think they were important enough to her. If Kateri’s aunt did not know what was going on, how would she react? Would she scream, would she yell? Would she sob or would she blame her? These thoughts were foreign to Kat but then, so was the situation. She was so used to being in control or at least pretending that this was unsettling. She didn’t even have her aunt’s number, but by contacting other relatives she was able to dig it up. It was later when she finally had the courage to dial it.

And this was the call that can lay you bare.

It was stilted. It was formal. Her aunt knew—of course she knew, it was her daughter—but both she and Kateri hedged around issues, neither sure of what the other knew and both unable to broach the topic. She knew her daughter was in the hospital. She knew it was from depression of breaking up with her boyfriend—Kat wasn’t sure if she knew it was abusive and hesitated to bring it up. She knew which hospital she was at, a fact that had taken Kateri hours, lies and pleas to determine. And then they both hung there, on the phone. Kateri wondered if she remembered how Kateri had used to cling to her skirts and beg her husband to hold her upside down by her knees. She wondered if she remembered how she’d used to watch movies her parents wouldn’t let her watch on their big, comfortable couch downstairs. She’d wonder if they remembered how she always wanted to ride their huge collie dog like it was a horse. She wondered if she should’ve invited them to her wedding after all, when she’d chosen not to because she hadn’t wanted to be hurt, knowing they wouldn’t show up.

What she said was “I’m sorry.”

Her aunt said, “Me too.”

They hung up. Kateri was still crying, not certain why, when Chris came back from the base.