sandra

  

we belong  

to our mothers 

before we ever 

belong to ourselves 

and so, my story begins

as all children’s stories do-

with her story 

she was born 

to Amelia Lopes 

and John Santos 

of Stonington, Connecticut 

on Sunday April 4,1954 

her given name; Sandra Lopes Santos  

the last child  

and only daughter 

born to Azorean-Portuguese parents

her older brothers 

were John and Kenneth 

one a Harvard cardiologist 

the other a fisherman 

she was born with  

cerebral palsy-  

(a birth defect)  

physically  

it affected her 

ability to walk  

with ease 

and restricted the  

use of at least  

one of her arms 

 i imagine  

the emotional toll 

of her disability 

too large 

to quantify  

she graduated  

with Stonington High’s class of ’72 

but she never learned  

to drive a car 

or hold a job 

in June of 1979  

she married Ned, 

my father 

two years later 

I was born. 

sandra santos august 1968

about this writing

this piece of writing is part of a bigger project: (my second book) Born On a Sunday. Born On a Sunday is a particular kind of memoir; it’s a book full of stories told and memories revisited through poetry + personal narrative, photographs and other art mediums. I’m sharing this writing in particular because today is the 27th August 2nd since my mother Sandra passed away and in just one week’s time (spirit willing) I will turn 43- the age Sandra was when she died. I understand the ways in which I view and experience life may seem a touch unconventional to some. there is a mystery and a magic, a romanticism present each day of my lived experience and for so long I thought I’d be better off ignoring or hiding those parts of me. it’s only been in the last 6-7 years that I’ve come to know and own that fact that had I been unable to access this place within myself, the place between the physical and energetic worlds, I probably wouldn’t have survived many of the days of my life. it’s Leo season and I know that sounds a bit dramatic and so perhaps it is – but it’s also the truth. and so I want you to know, I am not this way because my mother chose to give me away, I am this way because this is who I am & also who I chose to be – I came in this way and then a lot of shit happened, not unlike you and your life experience and so in this moment in time, during this sacred (to me) stretch of days and weeks, when there is so much to feel, what I feel most deeply (this year) is love and a deep belonging to myself and my loved ones + so I thank you for that, for being here & reading my work week to week, month to month but for also meeting me off the screen too, for seeing + celebrating what it means to be all of Stephanie, xo!
the rock that found me on my morning walk today (8.2.24)

2 responses to “sandra”

  1. Lovely poem–simple, honest, compassionate. As always, I am equally touched by your explanation with it’s truth and vulnerability. One of my writing teachers said the strongest statements are “I am…” I loved yours.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. thanks deb, i value your notes & feedback so much 💫💝😽

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