Juli Cofresi
Bio
processing through writing, and letting others know that they are not alone in what they have felt or experienced.
Sharing my journey to healing
Stories (3)
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The Last Christmas Gift
It was a hot summer day and I was making my rounds because I worked in the activity department of the nursing facility. I went to check in with those residents who didn’t get visitors frequently or who did not leave their rooms enough. Celine was a French woman in her 90’s and she was always so sweet. I went in to see her and as usual she was seated in her wheelchair in front of her wall with a box of chocolates and a photo album. Celine was always making her rounds around the facility but as of lately she had usually been in her room and somedays she would just stare at the wall or forget where she was; Celine had Alzheimer's. That day I had the chance to sit with her and join her as she looked through her photo album. As we looked through each photo, each one held a different memory or a different funny story for her. We made it to a photo of her and her husband, it was a photo taken in the 50s in Montreal. Cecile loved her husband, they married when they were young but when Rene was in his 30s, he died of a heart attack. Celine never remarried or had children. So, with Celine’s permission and that she frequently sat in her room in front of the wall, I suggested we get one of her photo's poster size. Celine agreed and we collectively decided on this one after looking through some more photos, with her permission I held on to the picture to get it blown up, however, life happens and important things get put off for a time. Fast forward to the week of Christmas and Celine was on hospice care. I remember when I first went to see how Celine was when I found out she was on hospice that she woke up crying and clutching her chest saying it felt like she was having small heart attacks and begging me to help her, I remember how tight she clutched my hands with tears in her eyes from the pain. I went to the nurse and asked her if she would be able to ask if they could administer morphine for comfort as they do most patients on care and comfort. The nurse declined and said she was not due for her morphine for 4 hours. I explained to the nurse that she was in extreme pain and that it was causing her duress. The nurse still declined to speak with the doctor or consult anyone else to see if it could be given sooner for comfort. I then went to the charge nurse and explained what was going on with Celine and she went into the room to see her and when she came back out, she told me she would take care of it. The nurse then came in and apologized to me and said to let her know of anything else she could do to make Celine comfortable. The week of Christmas I made it a point to sit with Celine whenever I had time just so she would not feel alone, as she did not have many visitors apart from her niece. Her sisters would come to visit as frequently as they could but they also lived a ways away, and were older as well. We sat, we talked, somedays I would do her nails, massage her hands, pray with her (I am not religious in the least), and sing to her or with her and laugh. Christmas eve came around and I finally had time to get the picture we had spoken about that summer blown up poster size. I wrapped it and texted a coworker that I was at the facility so they could let me in as visiting hours ended at 8 pm. I went into the room and Celine said her usual “hello dear”. I handed her the wrapped gift and her eyes got wide “what is in here dear, such a big gift”. I watched as she tore the paper off to find the photo of her and Rene. In that moment she remembered me, her eyes were filled with tears and she said she could not believe I remembered and that I actually got the photo blown up for her. She told me it was the most thoughtful gift she’d ever gotten and asked me if she was dying. I could not answer quick enough because there was a lump in my throat that made the words sound faint, Celine then told me that she could not wait to be with Rene again, she then gave me a long hug, told me she loved me, gave me a kiss on the cheek and thanked me for always being kind to her and taking care of her and that she would miss me. Celine told me not to be sad when she died because she would be with her husband again and that was all she wanted. I hugged her one more time and then told her I would see her the day after Christmas. She responded by asking me why I was crying and who had gotten her the beautiful picture, She then showed me the picture and told me how beautiful she thought it was. I then, again, gave her another hug and tried not to cry. She thanked me for the hug and I told her I would see her the day after Christmas. My coworkers let me know that Christmas day, Celine passed away. At her funeral her sisters and her niece who by the way, was named after her aunt Celine told me they were all fighting over the picture because they loved it. I worked with her and many other residents for 3 years, every single day, even snow days (which I slept over the facility with a coworker once), we became family, and I was very lucky to know her.
By Juli Cofresi5 years ago in Humans
Things a smile can’t tell you
Today I am going to take you back to when I was about 15-16 years old give or take. I remember like it was yesterday. I love my mom, but, I would lying if I said there were times in my life, on multiple occasions where I felt less than loved. One would even argue that I was seemingly uncared for. The thing about familial relationships, especially those with our mothers, they tend to be complex. When you’re like me and understand people almost to a fault. You tend to not lay blame on them, and more so, turn the blame, guilt and shame on yourself. If you ask me what circumstances were leading up to this event in my life. I would not be able to tell you because there was no “moment”. There was not a single thing I did wrong to anger my mom as much as I did that day or need to go through that situation as young teenager. I remember we were talking in her room one moment, and another moment passed and it was like someone flipped a switch and my mom was gone. She was replaced by an angry, hateful women in front of me who seemingly was filled with rage. She made a comment and I responded, and I remember specifically that she lifted her hand to slap me, and I caught her wrist. I could feel the sensation of terror creeping up on me, realizing what I had just done. Defend myself, because in the Puerto Rican culture, god forbid you defend yourself from abuse. Let’s call it what it is, it’s not corporal punishment, it’s abusive behavior. After I caught her hand, any chance of my mom being in there had all but deminished by now. She kept at me and put both hands around my neck. She was now choking me and holding me against the wall. I was fucking terrified. I just started panicking thinking to myself “why the fuck didn’t you just let her slap you”. Her grip was tightening and I was choking. It started to really set in. Oh shit, my mom is choking me. I grabbed at her wrists until she let me go. I caught my breath for a second and ran to the phone. “If you fucking touch me again, I will call the cops on you for abuse”. My mom got this frightening look in her eyes like she might really hurt me, as though, hurting me might bring her some actual joy. She looked crazed, like she snapped. My stomach sank at her response “oh yeah you little bitch ? I’ll you a reason to call the cops. She kept at me again, we struggled against her bed because she was trying to pin me down, and, was just swiping at me and hitting me. I jumped on to the bed and grabbed her chair that was in front of her vanity. At this point I was fucking absolutely terrified. My mom had been long gone in this moment. Replaced by what I would later find out was likely the irrational, abusive behavior of a cocaine addict. Which, was not uncommon in my family, I was just a kid though, and, I didn’t know any better. I held the chair up to her, shaking, and yelling for my brother or sister. I was holding the chair with one hand with the legs facing towards her like a lion tamer trying to hold off a lion. I used the other hand to bang on the wall as hard as I could until my scared brother and sister ran across the street to get my grandparents. They showed up about 5 minutes later, which felt like an eternity. They escorted me out of the house, sobbing, and a mess. While I listened to my mom say awful things about me and how ungrateful I was. Me being an ungrateful little bitch, is a pattern in my family, you’ll learn more about that in another article. But for now, I wanted to share this experience because it is one that traumatized me, and stayed with me into adulthood. I can recall this as though it happened yesterday. I have had to examine a lot of not only friendships but familial relationships after having my daughter, because, it has triggered me into wondering what kind of parent I will be and want to be. Could I ever do those things to my own daughter ? Probably not. It also leads me to question, why, culturally this is acceptable behavior. Why is it that Puerto Rican parents are so suffocatingly controlling ? Why are you treated like an extension of them and not your own person ? So many questions and no real logical answers. The only thing I can do because I cannot change the past, is move forward and be a better parent, and, break the cycle. My daughter will NEVER know such pain, such guilt, such unresolved anger towards me. I will not put her through that, ever.
By Juli Cofresi5 years ago in Families
No more shame
I’ve had a lot of time on my hands to think lately and, I think back to times when I shared my life experience with what I thought were “safe” people. When it comes to the subject of rape, it’s interesting how when it is something that is not controlled by the victim; people always lay blame on the victim, for putting themselves in dangerous situations, by, drinking too much, or, wearing a revealing outfit when in fact most of the time it has nothing to do with that. It has to do with another persons sense of entitlement to their fellow humans, body. It is the culture our society creates that somehow, if you wear the right clothing, don’t drink, go to church, do ABC, you should be ok. It’s deplorable. I remember all the times after mine how I talked myself into believing it was consensual because I was too terrified to face the truth. The truth being that my first time having sex, was not consensual, I said no, several times. The first boyfriend I ever had, raped me the first time I ever had sex. It is something that has been engrained in my mind for nearly a decade. You can do everything right, you can say no, you can try to be in control but when fight or flight hits... you can’t control how your body will react, you float off into the deepest parts of your mind and disappear. It’s interesting because a lot of my old friends know this guy, they hangout with him, shit, their probably friends with his sleazy ass. I just know it’s been weighing on my mind quite a bit lately, and, I have nothing to be ashamed of. Nor should any other victim of rape. No is no, no matter what. If you know who I’m talking about, just be weary because he’s a disgusting human being, and, also stalked me for 2 years after we broke up, we only dated 6 months. Isn’t it crazy ? The lies we tell our minds because we’re just too ashamed to admit the truth because the truth is just too much to face sometimes. It’s been 9 years, and yet there are days where I’m so disgusted with my own body that I can’t get out of bed because of this fleeting moment in my life that was stolen from me. Yet, this man probably never even has a second thought of me.
By Juli Cofresi5 years ago in Viva
