Bernice Walter Casas

Sometimes, there are no words. Tonight, was supposed to be about my mother, the last child of my grandparents, John and Corina Walter. I thought about this all day, planned it in my head, and put it off because the closer I got to it, the more I lost all the words. 

I spent hours tonight, going through photos of my mother, trying to put together wonderful stories of her life to share here. And there are wonderful stories. So many. But they were all lost in the shadows today. All I could hear was the silence of her absence. It can be deafening at times, even nineteen years later.

I realized, I don't have anything to say tonight, other than to my mother. I hope she's listening.

Hey Mom,

I'm so thankful you left all the photos to me. You knew the girls would have thrown everything in the trash, but I would go through each piece as if they were gold. You were right on both accounts. Finding the pictures of you as a kid has been one of the best gifts you could have ever given me. I like to look at you in them and imagine what your life was like. I can hear the stories you told me about your childhood and now I can picture you in them so much better because of these photos. Even though your shared memories are shadowy to me, thank you. For every word.

Seeing the pictures of you and Dad when you were dating through high school has been hilarious. It's also been eye-opening. You weren't as sweet and perfect as you had us girls convinced you were. I like that. We were more alike than I think I ever realized. I don't think you really liked that about me. Sometimes, it felt like you didn't like me at all. Was it because I reminded you of yourself? 

You were always so beautiful. Not just when you were young. Always. You never saw that though. You were so freaking hard on yourself all the time. Then you were hard on me. What was going on with you and why couldn't we just talk about it? Did I do the same thing to my kids? I think I did and I hate it. You were such a great mom who was convinced she wasn't. I hope you know the truth now.

Of all the guys in all the world, how did you end up with this Spaniard?  You always said you didn't like him because he was arrogant when you met and he beat up local boys that liked you. Then you marry the guy. You two were always a lot to handle but I'm so glad it was the two of you. I can't imagine it any other way. How could I? I wouldn't be here. Unless I was actually adopted like I always thought I was. Remember Aunt Sisi telling me Despot was my dad and I could have been Marla Minetti? You did not think that was funny at all. Sisi and I laughed like hyenas over it. Why was it so much fun to annoy you? I really want to apologize but do I have to mean it?

I love this picture of you and Dad so much. It always hung in the hallway in South Gate. What an odd place to hang it, in a tiny, dark hallway where it was difficult to see. It's such a fabulous picture of you both but especially you. The war bride, before her fella heads overseas. You never said much about those days. Maybe because Mr. CFC did most of the talking. He was always center-stage with his crazy Big Fish stories. But I know the truth. I can look back and see it was you all along that kept this crazy train on the tracks. He might have been the locomotive but you were definitely the steam. 

I will never forget the example you set for us girls about what it means to live a life to be proud of. You didn't just say it, you did it. You loved Dad's parents even when yours were gone, you made a small house in South Gate seem like a mansion to us because of all the living that went on there. You loved your husband through some trying times and never gave up. You also never gave in. I was never anything but proud of you as my mother. Why didn't you believe that? Do you believe it now? I sure hope so.

I loved the way you and Dad always danced. Not just at weddings and parties but at home. You could be not speaking to him and I'd put on Glen Miller and beg you two to dance and you would. It's pretty much how you did life, right? Everything could be going wrong and you'd just keep dancing through life until everything was right again. I'm like that. I think it's because we're stubborn and giving up is not an option. Not that you didn't want to give up sometimes. I know you did. I remember. I feel the same way now and then. But you didn't quit life and I won't either because I'm your kid. 

One question. How could you be so fancy and think you weren't? What did you see when you looked in the mirror? You were so good, Mom. On the inside and outside. I never once heard you accept a compliment. Not about yourself, or something you'd done, or your cooking or your kids. Why is that? Did you think you weren't good enough so nothing else was good enough? You were more than enough. You were everything to us. To me. 

I laughed so hard when I found these pictures. Do you remember? You wanted to own a restaurant so Dad bought you one in Maywood. You named it The Mighty Taco and spent forever getting the inside and outside fixed up and ready to open. Then, you spent every day there, cooking and making friends with every patron. I don't think it was but a few years when Dad said you had to close the restaurant. Do you remember why? You had made so many friends and wouldn't charge them for their meals. The restaurant was going broke with your friends eat free program. So, The Mighty Taco closed and your regular customers started showing up at our house, where you fed them and gave away all of Dad's booze and had parties. And my kids wonder where I get it from.

Your smile. You had the best smile. Seriously, the best out of anyone I have ever known in my entire life. And your laugh was infectious. My best days were making you laugh. Whenever I made you laugh, I felt you liked me. Isn't that strange? It wasn't until your last year on earth that I knew you weren't always disappointed in me, like I thought. Why did we wait so long to talk about things? You taught me a lesson though, Mom. I don't wait anymore. I tell my kids how much I love them and how proud I am of them. When they piss me off or I'm disappointed in their choices, I still love them and tell them so. I work really hard to not let my crap become their crap. I don't always succeed but I'm trying. This mom gig is hard. You made it look so easy.

You had the weirdest sense of humor. Like pretending to stab Dad at your 50th wedding anniversary party. We all laughed but we also knew it was a miracle you never snapped and ended up on the lamb. Like you always said, "You girls have no idea what it's like dealing with your father." I always thought you were really mean to our poor, perfect father. Then he came to live with me after you died and I swear, I could hear you laughing sometimes when I was ready to snap. That Spaniard was a lot of fun but he was a handful. I miss him. I miss you both. 

                                                                                                  Love,

                                                                                                          Me