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Today is His Birthday

When we are grieving the loss of a loved one, it’s tempting to think about their last day, especially for suicide survivors. I prefer to think about their first day, their birthday, and how we celebrated. Pablo and I made so many beautiful memories. And a lot of them included Cuban food.

I frequently see 10:23 displayed on my phone, and I saw it twice daily in the weeks after his death a little over ten years ago. I always say, “Hi, Pablo!” Because I can think that today is his birthday, and I will never forget him.

Today is his birthday.

This year, however, the day snuck up on me. Yet, it must have been on my mind last Sunday when buying deli meat at Publix. I almost said aloud, “But I want a REAL Cuban sandwich!”

So, I looked up my Cuban Pork Roast recipe after stepping away from the counter and updated my list to include bone-in pork butt and sour orange juice. Before Hurricane Helene, I had real sour orange juice in my freezer. But it didn’t survive the week without electricity.

Pablo would have used a fresh ham, but it’s just me, and I wanted something smaller. A bone-in Boston Butt is perfect. And I had seen the ‘sour orange juice’ bottle on the International Aisle at Publix. As I took it off the top shelf, I couldn’t help but look at the ingredient list: orange juice, grapefruit juice, and more that told me it wasn’t sour orange juice. But it would have to do.

My pork roast was 3.1 pounds, so it was easy to halve the ingredients.

Pablo’s Cuban Marinated Pork Recipe

6-8 lb. pork roast

12 garlic cloves, divided

¾ – 1 cup sour orange juice

1 tsp. ground oregano

Salt and pepper, to taste

½ – 1 cup Spanish (white) cooking wine

1 onion, sliced

Start 1-2 days before serving. Peel and crush all of the cloves of garlic.  Use the point of a sharp knife to make deep slits all over the meat. Combine garlic, oregano, salt and pepper. Insert garlic mix into slits in the meat, pushing down with your finger.  Put meat in a large Ziploc bag and pour citrus juice and wine over the roast. Place the onion slices on the meat. Let the roast marinate in the refrigerator for 8-24 hours, turning occasionally.

When ready to roast, preheat oven to 325°F. Line a roasting pan with a large sheet of heavy-duty aluminum foil.  Place meat with fat side up onto the center of the foil. Pour the marinade over the meat and create a pouch with the foil to keep the steam and the marinade in. Roast until internal temperature reaches 170°F (approximately 35-40 min/lb.). Allow the meat to rest for 15-20 minutes. A boneless roast may require an additional 5-10 minutes/lb. to cook properly. Reheat in a 300°F oven for 45 – 60 minutes until warmed through.

How did it turn out?

This was the best Cuban roast pork I have ever made. I cooked it an hour longer than the recipe called for, which seemed to be a good thing. The meat is tender and flavorful.

Last night, I had a plate of pork, black beans, and white rice. Today, I made a Cuban sandwich. Both times, I raised my glass to Pablo. And then, I spent some time remembering our times together and his stories, which always made me laugh. The stories often revolved around fishing.

I also remember us sitting at Heathrow Airport’s Havana Club Rum bar. It was good rum, but it came with bittersweet memories. Pablo was born in Havana. One uncle worked in the cigar industry, and another uncle was an executive with Bacardi. The entire family fled in the early 1960s after Castro came into power. None of them settled in Miami. At first, their new lives began in Tampa, Florida, with the cigar factory and Bermuda, the new home of Bacardi.

In the early days of our relationship, when we got together for dinner with his parents in Tampa, making a pitcher of frozen Bacardi Daiquiris was guaranteed.

Later, when Mojitos became the rage, I asked him why we didn’t make them. He said no one in his parents’ circle drank them in Havana. It was always daiquiris.

I can’t remember the last time I made daiquiris, can you?

Sometimes You Need a Break

Sometimes, it’s difficult for me to focus. I’ve been told, and rightfully so, that I can get distracted by the many areas of life that give me joy. That changed recently when I realized that sometimes you need a break.

It’s all about community.

God stepped into the lives of many in the southeastern United States recently and gave us a break. At first, losing my power and running water for eight days was startling. But others suffered real tragedies: lives lost, homes destroyed, and vehicles swamped. Without a digital connection to the outside world, we lived in the small worlds we shared with close neighbors, unaware of the extent of this storm beyond.

Planning was Crucial

As a native Floridian, I experienced Hurricane Donna in 1960. Even today, Hurricane Donna is the only storm to affect every state along the Eastern coast with hurricane-force winds. At the time, my family lived in a wood-frame, two-story home with a half-basement. The house was surrounded by acres of citrus trees, with a lawn that flowed downhill toward a crystal-clear lake. There were mature avocado trees on both sides of our home.

Part of our preparation was filling the bathtub with water we planned to drink. Since my sister and I slept upstairs, we came downstairs on Saturday, October 10, 1960. I still remember the casement windows rattling within their frames as the hurricane approached. The whole house creaked, and the wind howled. But I still fell asleep, trusting that we would be okay.

A tree had fallen before the backdoor when we awoke the next morning. I hurried to peer out the windows along every wall. The ground was strewn with branches wherever I looked. As Dad retrieved a chainsaw from the barn, my sister and I were tasked with picking up debris in the front yard. My first thought was, “No school. We are still on summer vacation!”

We began walking down to the lake to take daily baths. Soon, we were tired of the extended two-week vacation without power. Sometimes, you need a break from the break.

We cheered when Mr. Kier from the power company showed up at our house. We knew him well back then. It always seemed something was happening to our electric meter. A non-poisonous snake coiled itself inside it, and later, a black widow spider took up residence.

I Prepared for Hurricane Helene

In hindsight, I wish I had filled my bathtub in my North Carolina mountain home. But I was luckier than many. My house is clear from the danger of fallen trees, plus my driveway is flat and close to a paved road. Although I’m only 1/3 mile from a bridge across the South Fork of the North River, it’s all downhill, which eliminated the danger of flooding for me. My only route out was a quarter-mile uphill, where my road intersected a larger two-lane road.

If only I had consulted with my Florida friends who experienced the quadruple hurricane threat of 2004. Then, I wouldn’t have needed to drive out daily to charge my phone and look for a cup of coffee.

Next time, I’ll have these items.

My friend, who just waited out Hurricane Milton in Englewood, FL, suggested I get some portable chargers. My sister told me a French press saved their coffee-loving lives during the 2004 Florida hurricane season (Charley, Frances, Ivan, and Jeanne).

Since this post is about hurricanes, in 2004, between August 13th and September 25th, Florida was blasted with four hurricanes. Most of my friends and family lived in Florida peninsula’s center, in Polk, Orange, or Osceola counties. And hurricanes were always more of a problem along the Atlantic or Gulf coasts. That’s why I hadn’t experienced many in Florida. Then I moved to Colorado at the end of the last century. I guess I’m pretty lucky with extreme weather. However, I did get caught in a snowstorm soon after moving to the Denver area – another story for another time.

What was the break like?

It became an easy routine. I woke up with the sunrise and went to bed shortly after sunset. My supply of scented candles from High Country Candles in Blowing Rock was enough to light the major rooms in my house, but if you can’t read or write by candlelight, you might as well sleep.

Fear tends to grip us when we are off the grid. Staying home, reading a book, and sitting on the back deck watching the birds seems safer. Later, I realized the lack of information was a blessing. Everyone else was seeing the destruction and worrying about their friends and family.

Information was more likely from my son in Texas than anywhere close to me. For the first four days, my phone vacillated back and forth from one bar to SOS mode at my home. But I could receive texts, and when I ventured out using my charger in the car, I had excellent service in West Jefferson.

Within the first twelve hours, the nearby towns of West Jefferson and Jefferson had power, and locals had cleared many roads of fallen trees. For me, it was easy to drive twelve miles into town and visit my favorite coffee shop or fast-food restaurant for my morning coffee. But it took me a few days to realize it was even possible. And when I realized this would take a while, ice was difficult to find.

I had no email and no Internet. I had plenty of potable water, propane, and a gas cooktop to heat water and water in buckets from the storm to flush the toilet. The temperatures were pleasant.

How I realized the power was back on.

On Saturday afternoon, I sat with the dog on the back deck, watching the birds. I apologized to my dog for the interruption, as I needed to use the bathroom.

Before I even sat down, I noticed an unfamiliar sound. Then, it hit me like a ton of bricks! The toilet was running, which meant the pump to the well was on! I rushed to the one clock I had left plugged in and gazed in wonder at the flashing numbers.

Quickly, I calculated the most likely time the electricity had come back on – 2:19 p.m.

What did I do first?

I set an alarm on my phone to turn on the hot water heater.

A few months earlier, I had a new hot water heater and well pump installed. One of the qurstions I had for the plumber was about losing electricity. He suggested I turn off the hot water heater if that happenned because it would damage it to suddenly turn on if empty.

Thirty minutes later I enjoyed my first shower in over a week. It felt like heaven on earth.

How has my life changed?

At first, I started slipping into using electricity as I had always done. But after some soul searching, I realized how much I enjoyed my slower pace.

Now, I deliberately give myself breaks from the TV, social media, my laptop, and my phone. It was hard to write this, too. And I’m doing it differently. Rather than write in Substack, I’m writing this post on the website blog I’ve had for years. Then I’ll paste it into Substack to share with you.

I don’t know how often I’ll write, but I know it will be with more thought and love than before. Because sometimes you need a break.

 

How Keeping a Diary Helps Both You and Your Loved Ones

Journaling is beneficial for airing your feelings. It is a private musing where you can write anything your heart desires. I highly recommend it, but diaries are helpful, too.

How keeping a diary helps your grieving process.

The photo above shows three of the forty-five diaries my mother kept. Although they have been in my possession for almost two years, I began reading them yesterday, Saturday. On Friday, I started feeling extra sad about the ninth anniversary of my father’s death, and I wanted to read what Mom wrote in her diary on that day.

The three of us were together at the dinner table when Dad experienced extremely labored breathing. As he sought relief, he experienced dizziness and difficulty standing and walking. I physically supported him as well as I could while Mom called 911.

Each year at this time, I read my story of his death and the aftermath, My Father’s Love: You’re One of the Good Ones, remembering how grief has its ups and downs.

What did Mom’s diary reveal about her grief?

Mom was a very private person who kept her feelings close. Her diaries are filled with minutia about what she ate, who called, or who she saw at the local cafe in The Trading Post. Mom never spoke about that day, but her life was irreparably changed as she wrote, “Swede started gasping and died at 5:45 pm.”

Perhaps writing this helped her organize her life in an orderly fashion she could manage, just as the daily recitation of meals helped her close each day before heading up the stairs to bed.

She read her entries occasionally after finishing the last book she borrowed weekly from the library. She noted the book’s title in her diary when she finished it. In addition, she kept a running list of all the books she read to avoid re-reading one.

Mom was a voracious reader, finishing six a week.

When she noted something each day, it was important to her. That is how I saw that her loneliness and grief were gnawing away at her personal security. She recorded how many mice she had caught in traps or if she had seen a mouse. Finally, in desperation, she got some rat poison, and the mouse problem was resolved.

Next came plumbing problems, with a stopped-up upstairs bathroom sink and a toilet that quit functioning. The final blow was her inability to lift up the heavy cattle gate at the driveway entrance. She was good about asking local friends to help her, but she began to feel like a burden. Swede would have taken care of all those problems when he was alive, so it was no wonder that she called out to me for help.

“I can’t live alone anymore, Dawn!”

I responded as quickly as I could, coming to help with everyday problems and then bringing her home with me, where she remained until she fell six years later.

How could it have been easier for Mom?

Communication was almost nonexistent in my family. We talked about lightweight subjects unless it was current events or the bonehead play in the latest college football game.

It might have been different if I asked simple questions.

“What was the highlight of your week in your diary, Mom?”

She might have tried to avoid answering, but I could have creatively pursued a fuller reply. Of course, I can’t relive the past, but I can act differently in my other relationships.

I’ll continue reading Mom’s diary entries, remembering events, and feeling her spirit around me. I know she loves me and enjoys hearing my voice when I comment on a new discovery of her love.

Now, her diaries are helping me in my grief.