Greetings, everyone
Today in Venezuela and in many parts of the world we celebrate Mother's Day.
With the possible exception of Christmas, Mother's Day was the biggest family event in our culture. Sons and daughters would make especial arrangements to go visit their mothers no matter how far they lived. Especial attention was usually given to the honored woman, even if she had been neglected for the better part of the year.
Presents, drinks and special food completed a social event that allowed friends and relatives to unite after long absences. That has changed considerably and now there are thousands of mothers whose children had to migrate and who they may never see again.
Even though I am still in the country and my mother is only a two-hour drive away, it is usually very difficult for us to go visit her (even before the pandemic issue). I'd like to tell you a little bit about my mother. The picture above is the earliest image I have of her. It was taken around late May or early June 1976. It is also the only family picture that gathered almost the whole family (my oldest brother is missing here because he had had an accident that day and he refused to appear in the picture because he'd got a bruise on his face).
My mother was born and raised in Yaguaraparo, a small farming town on the South-East part of the state of Sucre. Her family actually came from small settlements in the mountains that surround the town, Los Marines, thus named after her maternal family name, Marín. She would spend as much time in those mountains as in the town itself and that experience of hard work in the cocoa haciendas and discipline would shape her life and ours. I know every child thinks their mother is the best in the world. Very few people would acknowledge having lousy mothers; but we know they exist. Sometimes, they change and asume some responsibility at the end of their lives as a way of vindication or compensation. That was probably the case with my grand mother. They could not have been more different in their expression of motherly love.
My mother became an orphant at age 9 after her father died of a strange infection after having a tooth pulled. She had 5 little siblings to take care of given that shortly after her father's death her mother found a love interest and followed him to her disgrace, despite my mother's warnings. They became antagonists ever since. That story would repeat itself at least twice, resulting in two more siblings. However, my mother never neglected her mother and taught us to honor and respect her regardless of how she might treat us. I learned about their issues only after grandma Luisa died.
Knowing how much my mother had to put up with and how she could still love and respect her mother and other relatives was a shocking and challenging experience. I knew my mother has always been a good person. I never thought she could be that good. I think most people would have harbored resentments; she would not entertain such a thing. For her, family came first, and elders had to be respected.
This is her and my father in 2008. I had just come back from the States after a seven year-absence and brought her two granddaughters who she was delighted to tell stories and spoil
My mother was a hottie when she was young. I lament that pictures in those days in this particular region were very rare things (I have no pictures of my mother's father or grand parents). She loved to dance and sing. She tells me stories of how men would fight for her and court her in countless ways. But she had priorities: working to help raise her siblings. She was skinny but strong and she could do any man's work. From age 9 she tells me she started to work "like a mule" and never stopped. She would be up before dawn, prepare corn for arepas, sell those; wash and iron others' clothes, do farming, and all kinds of chores. She kept suitors away until she turned 17 and married the wrong guy. She left him shortly after and became a single mother. She left my elder brother with her grand mother, Inginia, and went to Caracas to work as help or maid.
That did not last long either. She could not live away from her son and her grand mother was too old and now sick. She kept working and taking care of siblings and elders. Grandma Luisa would come and go, depending on how badly her lovers hit her. Then, my mother met my father and settled for good. It was not an easy marriage and I admire her profoundly because of all the shit the put up with so that her children would not grow up without a father.
Here is my mother at the town cemetery in 2008. Her favorite brother, my favorite uncle, had been killed 3 years before. The crime was never solved. The family never recovered from that blow.
My mother raised us alone, for the better part of the journey. My father was a national guard, usually absent; usually drunk when present; a gambler and an abuser. He compensated eventually and that, too, was due to my mother's unwavering resolve. She taught him how to be a better father and husband. Her generous love, spiritual strength, and total devotion to her children kept the family together until my father died and she became too old and sick too keep straightening people up.
Here around 2010, my mother celebrates her birthday with my children.
My mother's energy was something out of this world. She never faltered, never lost her temper, never lost hope about any cause, no matter how lost that cause was (once she was told by a doctor that one of my brothers, who had suffered some respiratory arrest, was dead. She managed to resucitate him. He's 53 now). When someone got sick or died in the family, she was the one to take care of everything. She was a manager. She had the capacity to make people do things they did not think they could do. She was resourceful, vibrant, enthusiastic, and creative. Her physical strength was super human. I have memories of my mother spending nights in agony, affected by different diseases and getting up before sunrise to manage the house as if nothing had happened. She had, thankfully still keeps some of that, a wonderful sense of humor and a contagious laughter. She could easily cry with laughter.
But time and suffering takes a toll on people and my mother was also human. She is 80 now. She has suffered strokes, VTEs, and heart attacks. She has lost most of her energy and is unable to perform the tasks she loved the most, especially cooking.
On a good day, though, she can act like time has not passed. She can sneak in a kitchen and prepare some stew, soup, sweets or preserves before anyone can notice and remind them who was born with that gift. Even though the family is quite scattered now, my mother still remains the loving force that keep us together. We all know the stories of her 8 deliveries. Those were difficult times for a woman. Motherhood superceded personal aspirations. My mother could have been a designer. She had photographic memory and was able to make a dress after having briefly seen a picture on a magazine or someone wearing it. Her mother never supported her aspirations; grandma Luisa actually beat my mother up when she asked her for the money to buy a sewing machine. Thus, she settled for the domestic life that was meant for most women back then. We all know how hard it was for her every time. We all know how close she was of dying and how much she fought to keep us alive. She got every one of us out of so many problems we will never be able to repay her
I do my best every day to honor her life and her devotion. Today, isolated by a pandemic and deprived of many things, I wish my mother and every mother who has brought children into this world, taught them to be good people, and shown them how with their very example