For Meca, Iris, and Frances

Two nights ago, a friend of mine, Iris, died.  When I met her ten years ago, she was already in her 80s.  I was in San Juan, Puerto Rico, working for my aunt and her partner’s documentary project about gentrification.  She was the sister of Meca, an elderly woman who had been a social activist since the 1970s.  These two ladies, along with their handyman friend, Frances (also in his 70s at the time) were my best friends on this trip. They gave showered me with affection and kindness when I was feeling incompetant or out of place.  I was reminded of what it was like to have grandparents that loved me.

On my last day there, Iris handed me a letter that she specified should only be opened on the plane.  I never felt sad to leave them as I told myself I’d see them again as soon as I could.

When I got to my halfway point, I was told that my flight was going to be delayed until the morning. To make matters worse, I discovered that I had lost my money and at the time I did not even have a credit card yet.  So as I sat down on a hard plastic chair, prepping to sleep with one eye open for the next 8 hours or so, I decided to open her letter.  Inside was two hundred dollars in cash - more than enough needed for a room with a bed and some much needed sustenance.

I immediately sent them some care packages as soon as I got home and promised that’d I’d give them a call when I got their numbers.  

For stupid reasons, I always put off calling them.  I often wrote them letters which always either stayed in notebooks or in harddrives, never to be seen again.  I wrote down in my planner, in my Things To Do list:  “Call Meca” and left it unchecked, every single day.

...for for ten years.

About a week ago, I visited my aunts in Phoenix and during some catching up, they told me that they’d just sent Meca some solar powered light bulbs because people were still struggling to get electricity in some places since the hurricane.  They told me that Meca and everyone there was working really hard over to rebuild homes.  They also reminded me to just call because Meca and the others loved me, and would always ask about me.

Finally, two days ago, I decided to just call.  None of the numbers I had saved lead me to them.  One number rang and rang but was never picked up.  I texted my aunts for help and when one of them sent me a new number, I decided to put it off again for one more day.

The next day I called and Meca answered, tiredly.  When I told her who I was, she immediately started crying.  She told me that her sister Iris had died the night before.  She cried, “She loved you.”  

It seemed as though we both felt in shock at that moment.  It was hard to process so she said sorry and she told me to please call her again.  When I talked to her again, she told me that Iris went very suddenly and didn’t seem to suffer.  For that, I was grateful.

If I hadn’t decided to put it off that “one last time”, even just for one night, I would’ve gotten to speak to Iris again.

If you’re reading this and you have people in your life that you feel like you need to call but have always been anxious about it for some reason, maybe your granny, your favorite uncle, or your 11th grade English teacher, whoever, - I hope you get to do it someday.

That being said, I just want to give Meca as much as I can.   If you'd like to help me, here’s a couple of ways:

1.  Send some solar powered lights, like these, for example, to Meca (just message me for her address) so that she can either use them or distribute them to others who need them.  

2.  Down below is a link to where you can also donate whatever you can and all of it will be given to Meca for her daily efforts to help those around her that are in need.

3.  If you can think of a task that I can do for you that your donation would be a fair payment for, I will review your request, and most likely accept it.  Here are some normal things I can do for you:  read a passage outloud, draw something poorly, translate from Vietnamese to English and vice versa, proofread your email, write you a bad poem, or just send you a message every day to remind you to call someone.

Lastly, I would post a picture of them but they don’t know about it yet.  I also think I should give them privacy.  This is what they look like in my memory: