blurry condiments

On the right: Liliana in March 2006
On the left: Liliana yesterday, trying on some earrings and new clothes

Last night I woke up at three a.m. with an intense need to blow my nose. After getting some tissue in the bathroom I noticed our kitchen light on and heard some shuffling. I peeked into the kitchen to see Tia Liliana standing with the fridge door open. I asked if she was hungry. No, just getting water. "But," she said " There's so much in the fridge and I don't know what it all is. So I was just looking. "



It's an image I won't easily forget. A woman who I knew as a confident and gentle preschool teacher, an active member of the women's group at church, a loving mother, has now become emaciated, attacked by cancer. A victim of poverty all her life gapes at bottles of condiments. She has experienced the loss of dreams, of her husband, of her strength, her social position, physical pain. And in the darkest times, the loneliest times, she stumbles upon a fridge full of bottles of ketchup, containers of bran muffin dough, mustard, maple syrup, ground seasame seeds. It's three a.m. and in sleepless struggles, a mind is simply bewildered by rows of chutneys.

Tia Liliana's appetite is returning slowly and her newest love is hot dogs. Hot dogs and catfish. I'm glad we've got a fridge to keep them for her.