When my mother was fourteen her extended family included an adult relative who required supervision, my mother never provided further details and we did not ask. This was shared as part of a story so traumatic each time we heard it other details did not matter. Eight years after my grandfather’s death my grandmother still wore long black dresses as she was still in mourning. One day the relative was dousing herself with the hose on a cold morning. My grandmother was also outside cooking over a small wood burning stove. She moved to stop the relative but in the struggle my grandmother fell back onto the stove, her long dress caught fire and she was burned to death. Sadly, there was no one else around that morning to save her. My mother was at school and was called to the hospital to identify her. My mother was only able to identify her by the wedding ring on her finger. When my mother tells this story she always composed, years had passed for her but for me the story always reminds me how lucky I am. . Dolores, my mother, is still alive today.
She finished high school, throwing herself into many activities, sports and clubs and as always doing very well in her studies. After high school she studied to be a nurse and by eighteen she had almost completed her studies.
During this same time her aunt, my grandma Cuca, who was a great cook would be asked by the Governor’s chefs for help when there were large banquets. As a thank you, my mother, her sisters and cousins were invited to these events. She recalled meeting Frida Kalho, Diego Rivera and others. She enjoyed these events as she “liked the food and dancing with the boys”. But she did not like meeting Diego, “ese gordo”.