Today is a very special day. It is a day of reverence and remembrance. It is a day of sadness and joy. Today is a day of celebration.
One hundred years ago today someone very special was born into this world. You all most likely knew her as Rosa Victoria Fernández Catá (or simply Rosa). We all had our special names for her. To me and many others she was simply known as Tata.
Tata passed away on January 18th, 2005. It's been almost 4 years now, but the pain from the loss never subsided. I realize now that I will mourn her for the rest of my life. But the mourning is not always painful - it leads to happy memories. I have never met anyone like her and doubt I ever will again.
Tata was a kind and gentle soul, who would rarely raise her voice to anyone. I have fond memories of having dinner with her in the French Quarter. After leaving with our leftovers, the first thing she did was find someone in need and give them something to eat. She would do anything for anyone within her means and always gave the impression of being a happy person. Tata was someone who was hard to bring down and she could brighten anyone's day. More than anything, however, her family and her church were the most important things in her life...how she loved the children. She instilled in me the morals and traditions that have helped me become the person I am today.
There's still so much I wish I would have asked her, but I have no real regrets. How many people do you know that get to spend almost 30 years of their lives with a great-grandparent?
But behind the happiness and the love of family and church, there was a sadness which all of the exiles share. At her memorial service, the priest shared with us how much she longed for her homeland. She lived in this country for almost 31 years and never learned more than a few words of English. Her husband passed in 1986 so I know she was lonely, but she masked it well. She took her grief and turned it into love.
It saddens me at times to see the culture slipping away from my generation. As the oldest in my immediate family, I am one of the only ones that can speak Spanish fluently (accent and all when I really work at it), but I was blessed at an early age to have these very special people in my life. Since both my parents had to work when I was a toddler, I spent the first four years of my life with my great-grandmother and great-grandfather (I was his Pachico). At the time, the family stuck together and we lived in this wonderful microcosm of Cuban culture where I learned the music,
the food, the language - everything it meant to be Cuban. I learned all this without ever setting foot on the homeland of my family. So I guess you could call me Cuban-American version 1.1 (Take into consideration that my American mother had to learn Spanish to communicate with me because at the time I barely spoke English at all).
Today I honor Tata's memory and celebrate her life. I hope you will all join me by celebrating her life in whatever way you see fit. Say a prayer. Light a candle. Sing a song. Commit a random act of kindness. Most importantly, though, remember who you are and where you came from.
I know that wherever I go and whatever happens that I will always have her with me. That goes for the rest of the family reading this blog. She will always be with you. Don't ever forget.
Happy Birthday, Tata. I love you. I miss you. I will never forget you. I will always remember the smile on your face and the sound of your voice as you sat singing: "Ay, ay, ay, ay. Canta y no llores."
Hoy voy a cantar para ti.
Con cariño,
Bilito
This is Megan and Emma at Stephen's school. They were tailgating for the homecoming game.
