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One of the reasons I’m not completely screwed up is the same reason I kinda am screwed up – fear and guilt. My Salvadoran mother did me a solid and scared the crap out of me when I was a kid. She’d threaten, if I got pregnant, she would send me to El Salvador to live with my aunt who didn’t have running water. If I didn’t make my bed, she lamented to everyone around how her daughter would be alone and barren because no decent man would marry a woman that lazy.
The fear and guilt weren’t all bad. They kept me out of trouble and left no question in my mind about college and grad school. However, even as an adult, I never discussed sex or drugs with my parents because deep-rooted shame and inadequacy stuck. Even my happily married sister probably felt fear telling my mom she’d be a grandmother because that meant she did…(you-know-what).
My sisters and I turned to Dr. Google and we found a world filled with families also battling Alzheimer’s disease. Many were dealing with this disease better than us, and they reported, it was all thanks to cannabis.
This was our secret, mine with my sisters.
Medical marijuana is legal in California, where we live, but as I walked to the legal dispensary for the first time, I couldn’t shake the expectation that the cops would show up any minute. The locked door and ID checking made me even more nervous. But, once I made it to the other side, the soothing music and gentle lighting eased my fears. The budtender listened. She didn’t look at me like I was crazy. She recommended a tincture other folks in similar situations use. I tucked it in my bag and got on the bus wondering if anyone knew I was hiding a controversial substance in my purse.
Last week, I got up the courage to ask him if he knew what it is. He said “Si, marijuana.”
I was flabbergasted; my father had known. He just didn’t care because it’s helping mom. I joked about the cost, suggesting we might have to grow it ourselves. Dad quickly offered the backyard garden and if I got him some seeds. He hopes to grow it alongside his aloe vera plants. And he wasn’t kidding!
While we keep striving to find my mom’s perfect dose, things are getting better. Dad’s less depressed. And though mom can’t communicate, I can sense that she too feels relief. Marijuana has brought a little light and humor to our difficult situation.
I’m not sure what I’ll do now. Maybe I’ll start a blog. Maybe I’ll open a dispensary specializing in medical marijuana for Latinos. Maybe I’ll start a podcast. Maybe one day, when mom doesn’t require so much care, then I’ll find the perfect pulpit. For now, I’ll be sharing our story and helping others discover this plant so that they can find some serenity just like mom.
Evelyn is a nonprofit professional in Los Angeles. Her father and mother, Isabel, immigrated to California from El Salvador in the late 1970s to escape the civil unrest in the Central American country. Although Isabel’s memory is quickly fading, she still enjoys seeing her grandchildren and spending time with her 3 daughters. Learn more about Evelyn on her blog, Stop It Some More.Trending Now
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