Birth and Death at the Border

We have returned to the part of the borderlands closest to my heart - Douglas, Arizona and Agua Prieta, Sonora. In contrast to the rest of the trip, everything is up in the air with our schedule. I didn't mean for this to be the case, but life got in the way. Take today, for example. This morning, we had planned to cross to Agua Prieta to visit with some friends and deliver some photographs taken on my last visit. My closest friend's daughter is nine months pregnant, though, and had strong contractions through the night, leaving her exhausted in the morning. I visited with them last night and was greeted by an extremely pregnant Annais baking 60 cupcakes for the next day. An apron stretched across her belly, her feet were bare, and she had just finished ironing her brother's shirt in preparation for a Friday night in Agua Prieta. She was the picture of domesticity, tiny and huge at the same time, and ready to make me comfortable. She refused to sit down, eager to speed along her contractions and have her baby. She demanded stories of my travels since my last visit, but sometimes her face would tighten, eyes narrowing slightly, signs of pain. "Keep talking," she would insist each time I paused in concern.

On my last visit here, Annais and her mother, Monica, guided me through Agua Prieta for days and nights, introducing me to women with fascinating stories of life at the border. They were critical to my work, and terrific friends besides. Going back to visit these same women without them really wasn't an option. Another woman who helped me tremendously on that trip was Wendy Glenn. Wendy's family was one of the first to settle in/near Douglas, and she helped me find rural women to interview and photograph. She was ever-generous with her time, and filled with knowledge of the area and people in it. As I was preparing for this trip, I received an email from her daughter, Kelly, informing me of Wendy's death, which came only two weeks after her diagnosis with pancreatic cancer. Her memorial service was today.

The memorial service was filled to overflowing at the Cochise County Fairgrounds. We arrived half an hour early and barely found seats. Even pulling in to park, I immediately saw familiar faces, some of whom recognized me and a few who did not. Local and national dignitaries spoke eloquently at the service, but none touched me more than Kelly and her daughter, Mackenzie. The crowd was mainly ranching families from near and far, but politicians, environmentalists, Border Patrol agents, and schoolteachers could be seen among the mourners as well.

I had intended to introduce my students to Wendy and some of the other members of the Malpai Borderlands Group (see them at www.malpaiborderlandsgroup.org to find out more). I hesitated to ask anyone to speak about anything while they are mourning the loss of a dear friend and family member. Two of my most beloved ties to Douglas and Agua Prieta are in the midst of life's biggest transformations. My plans are derailed, my heart is heavy, I am eager to meet a new child.

The passing of a friend, the birth of a child - they are momentous occurrences and the most human of struggles. I have certainly experienced both before, but never at the same time, and never in this place.  I am dropping in on friends as they struggle. Asi es la vida, asi es la lucha, on the border and everywhere else.