The Legacy

Tuesday night, I had both the privilege and the heartbreak to attend a prayer service and calling hours for the father of two dear friends. His death a tragedy, not an illness, this man was the patriarch of his family, coming to America in 1970 with his wife and first two children from Peru with just $100 in his pocket. Over the years, family followed, and his home was open to them as they made their ways as new Americans. Working two jobs in the beginning, he went on to establish multiple businesses, including two restaurants, Garcia’s and Jack and Benny’s, where his family worked together to make them a success.

Listening to those who loved him, sharing stories and memories of this dynamic man, I was brought to tears by the thought of the legacy he has left behind to his seven children, numerous grandchildren, many nieces and nephews, great-grandchildren and many other family members.  The overwhelming sentiments of those who spoke were about his happy nature and the love he extended to his family and friends. They had less to do with his accomplishments, and more to do with the qualities of the man who accomplished them. They were about family and love, forgiveness and forget, happiness and pride. The service wasn’t about what he had, but who he had and who he was as a person throughout his amazing lifetime. With such a large family, his legacy of love will live on for many generations to come.

The ceremony made me think about the legacy I will leave behind when my time comes, hopefully a long time from now. I don't have any living children, but I have two nephews who I adore, and who I hope will have families someday who I can adore, as well. For their entire lives, I have been chronically ill and dealing with chronic pain. Their YaYa has been known as being sick, which is far from what I want to be remembered for. I've never seen them through drugless eyes, although their vivid personalities have made precious impressions on me despite it. I don't know if I honestly see them any differently now that I am off my pain medications, but I'm certain they see ME differently now that I'm more awake, aware and engaged.

Coming out of my opiate haze has been a long and arduous process of weening from prescription opiates that were my saving grace for nineteen years. I don't pretend that it's THE answer to chronic pain, but it's my answer for as long as I can cope with it. Going forward, I want my life to be defined by who I am and what I do with what I’ve learned, not by the illnesses I have and the symptoms therein. For so long, I've been known as the "sick girl", and the name has fit the situation. Now free of my opiate coma and inability to cope with my feelings, I can see the forest through the trees. I can see Jessica for who she is, not what she has, and it's been an important boost to my self-confidence to feel like something more than a "sick girl" in my own eyes.

The legacy I want to leave behind will be what I become now that I'm in a place to help others. I want to leave behind a legacy of advocating for those with chronic illness, of fighting the stigma of chronic pain, and hopefully someday, providing a place for patients with opiate dependency as a result of such illness to withdraw from their meds without having to do it largely on their own as I have. I want my nephews to remember me not as their sick YaYa, but as a woman with a cause who just happens to suffer from chronic pain herself. Perhaps this is unrealistic. Perhaps I'm asking too much. Perhaps the vision of my future is over-blown in my now optimistic and hopeful mindset. But I believe in myself for the first time in as long as I can remember. And like my friends' father who just passed, I have a dream. To not pursue it would be the biggest tragedy ever, more than anything I've already endured.

This past Saturday night, in a fit of withdrawal symptoms, I had an incredibly debilitating and scary panic attack. I was coming out of my skin, I was scared of what was to come or even if it would come. Sitting across from my mom, I was wide-eyed and freaked out by my instability at the time, afraid that it would never go away. I thought my heart would explode, it was beating so fast. Tears running down my face, I couldn't even describe to her what I was feeling other than unbelievable fear and panic. She could see it without me saying a word. In the loving way only she can emote, she asked, "What can I do? Do you want me to read you the book you've been reading about the elephants? Do you want to read to yourself about the elephants? Do you want me to be an elephant?"

I laughed despite myself. Her unconditional love has always been such a gift, and in my crisis, she was willing to do ANYTHING to make me feel better. Her legacy of love, passed down from her own mother, has been a constant source of strength and understanding throughout this process and my life. And it's that legacy of love that I want to pass down to others; not just to my nephews and their future families, but to those who have suffered as I have. I want to be a source of unconditional love and help to those who feel unloved by a system that is failing them.

I have been blessed with a beautiful family who love and support me in my recovery and in my dreams, and I hope to extend my love to those who may not have the same.  The prayer service I attended for my friends' father confirmed that it’s the legacy of love we leave behind that is the most important. Embrace those you love and don’t take them for granted.  Life is too short not to.  It's not what we have, but who we are and who we have that make our lives exceptional.

In honor of Genaro Garcia Von Lembcke 

1944-2019

 And with thoughts and prayers for the amazing family he left behind

Check out Eva Cassidy's version of "Over the Rainbow" below:
https://youtu.be/2rd8VktT8xY?list=RDwVkLg3lzfLs