Mama Tita
It’s a funny thing not growing up near grandparents, uncles and aunts, cousins and the like. My family moved to the United States before my two sisters and I started school. Part of the deal with this move, probably as much for our parents’ sake as our own, was that we frequently spent our summers back in Mexico, each time discovering that we had more cousins and aunts and uncles and second cousins and great aunts and uncles than we could count, much less care to keep straight in our little heads. But what we did know as little girls was that we were drenched in love from all directions and with such intensity that all the hugs our small frames sustained, the kisses our cheeks and foreheads collected, and the sweets and presents that showered us, if for no other reason than because we had simply made an appearance… in some way all this made up for the dry, drawn-out months of isolation in between, in which the only connection to the extended family came through the occasional long distance phone call. My sisters and I didn’t particularly like chatting it up with relatives on the phone anyway, and to our mother’s great frustration and disappointment we tended to flee the scene anytime aunt so-and-so called.
Sadly, as much as we loved our grandparents, we had not yet developed the wisdom to care about having meaningful conversations with them…and as the years passed, we grew into disinterested teenagers. The time between visits also grew longer and longer as my family progressed further up north, finally settling in the northeast. When we did see our grandparents and relatives, the commotion of a family reunion was too much, and the emotions so high, there wasn’t time to sit one on one with my mama Tita and ask her about her life. Like clues strewn throughout, pieces of her chronology remain displayed in pictures decorating the walls of various residences, documenting her youth, her life in the 50’s pageant scene, her love of nature, her sense of style. The rest I saw in photo albums and took in snippets of her life from my father’s own memories – her marriage to my grandfather, her four children and raising them alone, the late and unexpected loss of a child…
And when we beheld her in those summers, she was the epitome of feminine beauty. Silky smooth skin, a dazzling smile, a graceful and elegant bearing no matter what the occasion. She taught me how not to blow my nose so hard when, at eleven, I had an unshakable allergy that gave my nose the runs. She said I needed to be gentle because I’d break a capillary, and on top of that I was louder than a trumpet (but this she didn’t say). She took me out to her hair appointments as I stared in wonder – wondering mainly if this was her secret to perfect hair as I received a coat of clear nail polish on each finger. I remember one summer when I visited her exclusively without my sisters and got to sit next to her at every dinner party – that was the closest I’d been to having her all to myself, without the competition. It was heavenly.
Its hard for me to recollect all the memories now, but my mama Tita – her essence was this – she was a living legend in my eyes. I only wish I could have known more about her in her own voice. How she stole the spotlight as decidedly the most stunning young woman of her home state, how she met my grandfather and what life was like being the young wife of a Vietnam war veteran who had suffered psychological trauma as a result of his years in the trenches. What did she have to overcome? What were her dreams and her hopes? Was she happy? I don’t know if these are questions I could have asked her, but if I had the opportunity, I know that I would try.
Mama Tita, te quiero.
Baha’i Prayer for the Departed
O Lord, O Thou Whose mercy hath encompassed all, Whose forgiveness is transcendent, Whose bounty is sublime, Whose pardon and generosity are all-embracing, and the lights of Whose forgiveness are diffused throughout the world! O Lord of Glory! I entreat Thee, fervently and tearfully, to cast upon Thy handmaiden who hath ascended unto Thee the glances of the eye of Thy mercy. Robe her in the mantle of Thy grace, bright with the ornaments of the celestial Paradise, and, sheltering her beneath the tree of Thy oneness, illumine her face with the lights of Thy mercy and compassion.
Bestow upon Thy heavenly handmaiden, O God, the holy fragrances born of the spirit of Thy forgiveness. Cause her to dwell in a blissful abode, heal her griefs with the balm of Thy reunion, and, in accordance with Thy will, grant her admission to Thy holy Paradise. Let the angels of Thy loving-kindness descend successively upon her, and shelter her beneath Thy blessed Tree. Thou art, verily, the Ever-Forgiving, the Most Generous, the All-Bountiful.
~‘Abdu’l-Bahá
