First thing this morning, I got a phone call from my mother-in-law.
Last week, you wrote about him. You wished him terrible things and now he's sick. What did you do?
Her voice was of sheer pleasure. This leads me to believe I have done something right during my short marriage: I turned my my Irish-American mother-in-law into a Commie hater.
Last night, as soon as the news came on the radio, the hubby shouted to me to watch. We sat and watched the news in English, then switched over to the Spanish station, where they had images of jovial Miami citizens dancing in the streets, banging their pots and pans, and honking their horns.
We called my parents, who were wide awake, also watching the news. My mother's voice in the background was of surprise, shock, worry, and awe. My father, on the other hand, had a multitude of comments.
If they are announcing his sickness, it means that he's on the verge of death, Annie. Or that he's already dead.
The concept, while deep in my head, came to the surface. He could be dead? Whoa. The idea brought goosebumps to my skin, where they have periodically reappeared since. Does this mean my unborn children will be able to the land where they grandparents were born? Does this mean my American husband will be able to meet the rest of my extended family and sit down with them to eat rice and beans? So many questions... so many hopes...
I hope this isn't some cruel joke played on us by that Commie. Although, I certainly wouldn't put it past him.
As I mentioned last week, I'm not much for politics. But please visit Babalu and Blog for Cuba up-to-date information and more links. I am also finding the Miami Herald to be a good source. And, of course, phone calls to Miami every few hours.
I will definitely remember July 31, 2006 as an important day. First, we closed on our new home. And then, this. I'm going to be wound up for days. And I haven't even had cafe cubano.