Bilingual Insecurity in the Face of Loss
By Bailey Cohen-Vera
I didn’t go to the funeral. The previous Saturday had been the wedding; missing the busiest shift at the restaurant two weekends in a row was something I knew I couldn’t afford. My mother did everything she could. I could sense the frustration she tried to mask several times leading up to the weekend, when we talked on the phone and she reminded me to call Karine. “La mamá de Karine falleció el día de hoy, es muy posible que este fin de semana sea el funeral, apenas sepa que día te aviso,” she told me that Tuesday. It will probably be this weekend. I’ll let you know. I’ll admit, this should have been enough. I should have called out of work; I should have lied and said I was feeling terrible, gotten paid with the sick hours I managed to accrue exhaustively. I should have grieved.