How We Began a New Life After We Died to Ourselves

Hiking in the desert. Image created by Canva.

My mother and I lived on a quiet suburban street until I was seven. Her mother, Sophia, an Italian who immigrated from Naples to San Diego in the sixties, owned the home. It was the family home. At the end of every week, she hosted spaghetti Sundays, and the whole family had a (mandatory) invitation. 

Then, she became ill. Soon she passed, and we no longer passed the pasta bowl around the table. The family’s nucleus faded away. 

Squabbles over the will naturally follow. Sophia was from the silent generation. So, she never spoke of her wealth—not to my mom and her sisters anyway. Rumors later spread that her father had stolen thousands of dollars from the Mafia, and that’s why they fled as far away from their home as possible. 

The men inherited the wealth. Some of them invested the money, others financed their dreams. The ladies were left to beg for the homes. Despite their protests and legal actions, the family homes were sold for half a million a piece. 

My uncles promised their sisters a split of the proceeds. But one uncle, Richard, had another plan for my mother. And he pleaded with her for years to agree to it. 

“Come up to Oregon,” he told her. “By the time you settle into life up here, my return investments will be enough to buy your own home for you and your boys.” 

After two years of deflecting his offer, my mother, Diana, accepted. 

You see, she recently divorced my dad—who would get very angry sometimes. Then one day he had had enough. He slammed his truck door and drove away. We talked on the phone a month later. He told me that he moved across the country. He also told my mom he wouldn’t be paying any alimony. She had nothing to lose. Everything was already gone and ripped up from underneath her. 

At the end of my school year, our trio drove a Uhaul truck up the spine of California. The trip took three days. We were pioneering to a foreign land. Our destination was Bend, Oregon. 

First Months in Oregon 

Once we arrived at Richard’s home in Bend, we were shown our new living space: A guest room with one king bed, and a guest bathroom. The space was enough to fill my head with imagination. However, I’m not sure what my mother thought. To this day, I’ve never asked her about that period in our lives. 

My mom placed me in a nearby school. After class, I was packed on a bus and shipped to the Boys and Girls Club in the city. I spent most of my early childhood at afterschool programs like these. 

While I was roaming the playrooms with air hockey shuffling and Outkast bumping on repeat, my mom was shopping for our new home. 

She struggled to find meaningful work. Vocationally, she was a licensed massage therapist—but only in California. Renewing her title in another state was out of the question. My mom borrowed thousands from my brother’s savings account and never forgave herself for it. My brother doesn’t like to about it, except sarcastically. 

Instead, she humbled herself. She picked up as many shifts as a Starbucks barista as possible, while she anticipated her share of her mother’s inheritance. Everything depended on it. Everything weighed on Richard’s word.

Diana's Search for Happiness 

My mom suffered from low self-esteem and regret. She dreamt large dreams but became a mother of two unexpected boys instead. Much of this anxiety from unrealized hopes manifested into a depression. She searched many religions to fill the void. 

Naturally, when she studied massage therapy, she explored the Eastern philosophy that came with the practice. 

I recall one day so vividly. I walked into the kitchen of the apartment we lived in after we lost our home in the suburbs, and saw her moving her arms around an invisible ball. Out of childlike curiosity, I walked toward her. As I stepped into her personal space, between where her arms were motioning, I asked, “What are you doing?” 

She looked down at me in contempt. I stole the peace from her or something. 

“Jimmy!” She said. “You burst my ball of energy!” 

“Mom, you’re silly. I don’t see any ball. Where is it?”

Suddenly, she laughed. I laughed, too.

Richard Kicks Us Out 

I was too young to know better what my mother and uncle used to fight about, but later on in life, I would learn that Uncle Richard changed his mind about some things. 

“Richie,” said my mom, “I have great news!” 

“Great. Did you finally land a job other than Starbucks?” He snorted under his breath.

I came into the kitchen and looked up at him. I heard the sarcasm in his voice like a bowed arrow pointed at my mom. He started circling the rim of his wine glass with his pointer finger. 

“Not yet,” she started, “but I’ve been talking with a realtor about that house in the neighborhood they’re building. We’ve reviewed the floor plans for a couple of months, and everything’s finally finished. Isn’t that great?” 

His left lip tagged his cheekbone and slumped back down to a straight face. 

“And have you figured out how you’re going to pay the mortgage?” He asked. 

“No. But I thought with my share of the inheritance you’ve promised us, I could make the down payment. For a start.” 

Uncle Richard’s finger stopped circling his glass. He brought both his hands down on the table in front of him. They turned into fists, and he glared at my mom. 

“Your share?” He asked in a raised tone. “You realize that if I give you the money, I’d be financing a sinking ship?” 

“What do you mean? My inheritance could cover the—”

“Stop! Stop pretending like you have an inheritance. You were adopted, Diana. She was my mother, not yours! It’s my generosity with my inheritance. And I will only approve giving you some of my shares if you prove to me that you can manage the money without losing all of it!” 

As soon as Uncle Richard started to shout, I ran back to the room, hopped on top of our bed, and turned on my Gameboy Advance. They both began screaming at each other, but all I heard were muffled voices like the adults in Charlie Brown. Except, these adults were angry. 

Mom Finds the Church 

A few weeks later, our trio moved out. Uncle Richard didn’t want to give my mom any money, but she couldn't afford any housing. So, he expensed the bare minimum at a duplex, resting at the feet of a mountain called Pilot Butte. Our new neighbors were nice, another single mom and her son. We used to ride scooters together and make spears out of the sticks we found in the park. 

One day, Mom came home with light in her eyes. She hadn’t had this much peace on her face my whole childhood. She found something, and I was about to discover that it would change everything about our lives. 

“Jimbo,” she said, “This Sunday, I’m going to take you and your brother to a new place. I think you’re going to like it. There’ll be other children your age to play with, and you’ll get a free hot breakfast! How does that sound?”

I agreed. I don’t think I could’ve said no, but I also had no inch of me that wanted to. I felt pulled to this mysterious place she talked about. 

That Sunday morning, she drove us to a building that neighbored small businesses built in garages in an alley. Our destination was at the end of the alley, overlooking a valley below. On the side of the building was a playground. That excited me. 

As we walked up, I saw a woman with her husband yell at Mom. 

“Welcome back, Diana! I’m so glad you came back today. We were looking forward to seeing your boys.” 

My mom and my older brother went into the big hall, and they sent me into a room with other kids my age. Today, we learned about the armor of God. 

Up until then, I didn’t know what a soul was. But mine felt light, lifted, and ascending. I liked this new place. Their words gave me rest, and their smiles were so genuine. Unlike the kind of smiles Uncle Richard gave me when I came home from school. 

We attended this small church for a few months, and soon we were invited to family get-togethers and barbeques. Our family grew larger, and I had friends to play with.

Things were good.

My Mom Confronts Uncle Richard

Charlie and I liked to play Lord of the Rings with our homemade spears and bows. We fought orcs and goblins on the side of the duplex, where there was lots of grass. At sundown, his mom always called him back inside. Normally, my mom would call me back inside, too. But today, I got to stay outside and play until I tired myself out — and defeated the dark lord.

About an hour after sundown, I returned to my mom on the phone. She stood in the kitchen, leaning on the counter with a Mona Lisa smile.

I recognized the voice over the phone. It was Uncle Richard.

“Diana,” he said. It sounded like he’d been crying. “I’m so sorry. I’m the reason you’re in Oregon, and I turned you away.”

Mom paused. She searched for the words to say. At one point, it looked like she stopped listening to Uncle Rich and prayed. Then he continued.

“The truth is,” he said, “I lost the rest of the inheritance I promised you. It was a bad investment. It’s all gone. I hope one day you’ll forgive me…”

She drew a deep breath.

“Richie, I can’t thank you enough. You dragged me up here on your false promises. And if it weren’t for how things played out, I wouldn’t have found the Lord. But I did find Him. I found Jesus, as He willed it to be. And for that, I’m richer than any amount of that inheritance you could’ve offered me.”

She hung up shortly and told me to wash my hands. Dinner was ready, and we still had to give thanks for our meal. Tonight, I would say grace.

The Day I Died at Smith Rock, Oregon

It was our first summer in Oregon, and it was hot. The air was dry, and the breeze felt like warm breath. We went on a hike with our church family at Smith Rock. As we walked to the mountain, my friends and I pretended we were a caravan of bedouins wandering in the desert. 

Mom hollered for me not to run off too far ahead, but we were racing towards the top. We wanted to be first! 

Gradually, we passed less and less of the parents on the trail. We no longer recognize the older people we ran past. The closer to the top we trekked, the steeper the incline. I ran out of water once we neared the peak. I tried to keep my breath, so I slowed down. My friends were native and climbed like mountain goats. I couldn’t see them anymore, but I heard them ahead. 

I had to stop for a moment. They would be there at the top, waiting for me. I’m sure of it. It was so close. I desperately needed water. I panted with embers burning in my mouth. My chest emblazoned. The fire from within drenched my skin in a hot sweat. 

A few more pushes, and I reached the summit. In the distance, I heard them shout: “Come on, Jimmy! We’re going to hop over this gap!” 

Crazy, I thought. 

I walked up to the gap they hopped over. My legs wobbled near the edge. The crevice went at least a mile down. That’s too risky of a fall for a stupid jump. I went around the gap instead. 

Looking down from the summit, I saw them sliding down the steep path. The sediment was loose and filled with tiny pebbles, which they ran and slid on. 

Alright, I can do this. 

I ran and leaped forward. I landed on the tiny pebbles and began to slide. 

Ha! I got this! 

I motioned to gain more momentum before leaping again. However, as I was in the air, I realized that the path made a sharp left turn. But it was too late to stop. I landed and slid toward the edge of the mountain. As my feet rolled over the pebbles, they struck a plank of wood that poked out onto the path’s edge. Both feet hit the plank at the toes, and I leaned head-first over the side of the mountain. I stared down at my death at the bottom of Smith Rock. I saw all the rocks I would smack against before rolling to the ground. Everything happened so quickly. As my body fell over the edge, a hand firmly gripped the back of my collar, halting my descent, and then swiftly it yanked me back onto the mountain path. 

I fell on my bum. I looked behind me to thank someone for saving me. But no one was there… I frantically swiveled my head back and forth, scanning for my savior. My friends were so far ahead, that I no longer heard them yelling and laughing. 

Silence. The wind gusted the hair out of my face. The breeze suddenly chilled, and my skin breathed the cool, fresh air. 

I sat on the dirt and stopped searching. I accepted that no one was around, as much as that puzzled my imagination. Then I paused, looking at the earth in front of me. With a pensive gaze, I lifted my head to the clear blue sky above. 

“Vindicate the weak and fatherless; Do justice and maintain the rights of the afflicted and destitute. 

Rescue the weak and needy; Rescue them from the hand of the wicked.”

Psalms 82:3–4

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