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Culture March 1, 2022
This piece is part of the 2022 "Stories Matter" collection.
Photo by Erol Ahmed onPara mi Mamá Sefe en honor a su vida, fuerza, y sabiduría.
For my Mamá Sefe in honor of her life, strength, and wisdom.
Su casa era pequeña pero llena de amor.
Her house was small, but full of love.
In the twenty years that I have lived, only fourteen days were spent with you. And I remember how you always talked about your house and your dream of having your whole family together. You took so much pride in your Puerta Azul.
Por fin miré la puerta azul, the door that got to see mi papa y sus hermanos crecer, grow up.
I imagined you opening that door, pero no me pudo abrir esa puerta.
From heaven, you were able to see me walk through your house and your city.
Desde el cielo me miraste caminar por su casa y su pequeño rancho.
I close my eyes and I see you, I open them pero ya no estas. One thousand four hundred eighty-two miles separated Santa Barbara and Michoacán México. This distance is a rather large number, pero su amor fue mucho más grande.
Your love was much greater. It extended beyond any distance and financial hardships that made traveling nearly impossible. This made us both miss the opportunity to love one another and embrace in each other’s arms.
When your eternal sleep came I wasn’t there to kiss you goodbye, but I know you loved me very much.
Your love created a beautiful legacy that has extended across multiple generations.
Mi papa grew up without his father. Mamá Sefe, worked tirelessly to protect all of her eight children. She managed to provide even when circumstances weren’t in her favor. Resources were very limited, but that didn’t stop her from creating the best she could.
For as long as I can remember, Tio Rafa, Tia Chelo, y mi Papa have been sharing memories of Mamá Sefe. The hurt they feel from her eternal sleep is overpowered by the fulfillment they have experienced with Mamá Sefe as their mother.
They told me of one room where nine people lived. Only two mattresses and everyone felt blessed to not be sleeping on the bare ground. When they would lie down they felt the springs of the mattress digging into their backs, but they preferred this instead of el piso frio. No kitchen. No living room. No bathroom. Just four walls that watched everyone grow up, and a little petroleum candle that shined as bright as la estrella de Belen.
Su casa era pequeña pero llena de amor.
Her house was small, but full of love.
Mamá Sefe valued her time with her children, so she would wait for everyone to delight in her food. She would always have tomatoes, jalapenos, onions, and tortillas because those were the items she could afford at the time. This was the best food they would taste for the day. When
they had queso fresco or carne asada it was a luxury.
My grandma and her children would all sit down on the ground and take turns dipping their tortilla in the salsa. When it was her turn she would look away or direct the next person to dip their tortilla.
Her children were her priority.
Sus hijos siempre eran su prioridad.
She would make the best salsa because she knew it would be one of the few things they would eat that day. She valued her family so much and tried to do the best she could for them. Todos los días había tortillas calientes.
The warmth extended much farther than simply the tortillas.
Everyone would laugh, share about their time in the fields and the crazy challenges while herding sheep. Lambs would be born quite often, and my Papa would take care of them just like Mamá Sefe would take care of him.
They would tell stories about the horses and how slow they would move. Sometimes when they had a little bit of extra money they would fight about whose turn it was to go buy a cold Coca-Cola.
My Papa remembers the navy shawl you would always wear and how he would hold on to it because he felt protected and reassured by the rebozo you had. At the bottom of the cotton wrap, you could see pieces of fringe that were slightly longer than others and starting to look a little tattered. This is where my Papa held on to it. The shawl gave Mamá Sefe warmth, but it gave my Papa a sense of security.
I close my eyes and I see you; I open them and see mi familia. They are the ones who gave me the opportunity to know you through their memories. I learned to love you through the stories of others. Every day is a challenge knowing that you are no longer here, but your legacy is in me.
Your wisdom inspired me to be as strong and courageous as you. The hardships you endured didn’t define you, but instead, they encouraged you to transform them into opportunities for joy.
Fourteen days were spent with you. I didn’t know that would be our only time together, but I wouldn’t change it. I remember seeing you hold your cold Coca-Cola in one hand as you wrapped your other arm around me. You hugged me tightly and whispered in my ear, “mi escritora, my writer.”
Every day we create new memories and I’m grateful that out of the seven thousand three hundred fifty-nine days of my life you were in fourteen. Less than one percent of my memories are with you, but you influenced my life in a much greater way. You showed me the value of love, the importance of living life one day at a time, and living in the moment.
You saw me as a writer, even when I wasn’t ready to see myself as one.
Abuela…my grandmother… your courage is in me.
But now I do see myself as a writer. I am a writer telling the story of the person she learned to love deeply through the memories of others.
Para mi Mamá Sefe en honor al legado que ella creó para mí.
For my Mamá Sefe in honor of the legacy she created for me.
My name is Kimberly Quezada Carrillo and I was born and raised in Santa Barbara, CA. I am a Junior at Westmont College majoring in Communication Studies with a minor in Writing. I have always loved to write because I get the opportunity to create a new arrangement of words every single time!
