...everything that befalls us
remains within us. [1]
Everything I learned from my Abuela was what I heard when I was on her lap or lying in bed together. In my early childhood and at different times in our life together, my grandmother María Luisa’s many stories filled my head and were stored safely for later use. It is now at 68 that these stories of her life come back to me and give meaning to how I picked up my life and moved to Portugal. The three things that always stayed with me, though I didn’t have the words to describe them then, were her response to adversity, her loving relationships, and her lifelong sense of adventure.
When we left Cuba in late 1959, she was about 67. She had no English language skills or ability to learn the language, though she did try hard. She knew the basics, and she managed pretty well with her warm and engaging smile, “Please” and “thank you,” and to our beloved milkman Johnny, “Please, milk and ice cream, vanilla.” He understood perfectly, and when she handed him clothes my brother, and I had outgrown to help with his seven children, that memory was sealed in my heart.
In 1951, five years before I was born, my grandmother set out on a solo adventure to Europe. According to shipping records, she left New York for LeHavre, France, on August 4 and returned on October 13, 1951. From the postcards she sent back to my mom, she traveled through France, Italy, Switzerland, and England. Except for a brief encounter with her niece, she traveled alone, and from her picture in Venice, she seemed to be having a grand time. Ted and I hope to travel through Europe in the months and years ahead, and I will take her enthusiasm and fearlessness with me.
What you will always get is narrative about events from their childhood, which are never straight replications of what happened, but are the bones of the event, enfleshed with image and with anecdote and with narrative. In a strange way, nothing is ever lost or forgotten; everything that befalls us remains within us. [1]
When I arrived in Portugal, I was 67, and even though I had better prospects of learning the language than Abuela, I remember her not being afraid not to know but always trying. At relatively the same periods in our lives, we moved from one country to another, one not by choice. My Abuela adapted and thrived amid significant change and lived to teach me some of life's greatest lessons. As I become more comfortable with many things here, I draw on her courage and wisdom.
My great-grandmother, Guadalupe, died in childbirth in 1900 when Abuela was just six years old. She recounted that she cried so much there were no tears left for the rest of her life. Her sister Albertina was her consoler during this time. Abuela married Juan Gallart in 1918, and by the time my mom was ten in 1929, his infidelities were well-known. When my mom was 19 and my grandmother was around 44, he left for work and then called later to say he was not returning. Mother and daughter coped differently, but Abuela decided that walking for hours on end in Havana helped ease the depression.
What I got from her recounting was that she was the lucky one, as my grandfather never got to meet me or my brother John and know that joy. Never did I detect hatred, nor did she speak ill of him—both the walking and her attitude towards that betrayal were comforting examples for me when I dealt with post-partum depression and my mother-in-law with mental health issues.
Renowned doctor and author Rachel Naomi Remen, in My Grandfather’s Blessings, Stories of Strength, Refuge, and Belonging, speaks of her Hassidic grandfather’s influence early in childhood and how it has always informed her practice of medicine and life. As he neared death, she asked him if she would be able to see him after he died,
“No,” he told me, “but I will watch over you and I will bless those who bless you” Almost fifty-five years have passed, and my life has been blessed by a great many people…Each of you has been my grandfather’s blessing, [2]
As I live in this new country, the same age she was when she arrived in the United States, I need to remember her more when I have those days of delays, frustrations, tongue-twister language learning, and the heartache of loss that catches up with all of us fortunate to love. However, I hope not for a long while. My Abuela María Luisa continues to inspire me with the love she gave me and how she lived her imperfectly perfect life with grace, laughter, and compassion. I can’t lay claim to most of those qualities, but her spirit of adventure is alive and well in her beloved granddaughter.
Sometime if you stay the course long enough, divergent paths reveal themselves to have the same destination. [2]
As always, até logo! — see you later. I’m deeply grateful for your time and attention. Please comment if it strikes your fancy and hit the “❤️” button at the end of the post. It helps other readers find me. A special thank you goes out to my Supporting subscribers.
This blog is a subscriber-supported publication, and you can subscribe for free and receive all the content.
However, if you find my content valuable, please consider becoming a Supporting Subscriber for a nominal fee, either monthly or annual.
You can buy me a glass of wine, a cup of coffee, or a treat for Stitch, our wonder pug, here.
Notes & Sources
[1] John O'Donohue; John Quinn. Walking in Wonder: Eternal Wisdom for a Modern World (p. 150). The Crown Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
[2] Rachel Naomi Remen, M.D. My Grandfather’s Blessings, Stories of Strength, Refuge, and Belonging (p. 13, p. 4). Riverhead Books.
Your abuela sounds much like my late grandma: determined, stubborn, and absolutely wonderful.