We were at my son’s school concert when the text message
came…”se murio Fidel”, “Fidel is dead…”. Even as
I dismissed it as yet another rumor, I was overwhelmed by a flood of memories,
long forgotten! Memories of a childhood marked by insecurity and fear, of my dad
being taken from our home and missing for weeks. Memories of hushed whispers
about the government, of long lines to buy basic necessities, of feeling as
outcasts because of my parents political views.
Our childhood was one of constant waiting for the day of the
“salida”, the day we would be allowed to leave our homeland, of nervous
anticipation, yet fear of how our lives would be changed forever. The most intense memory I still hold is of the
night of our departure! My grandmothers tearful prediction that this would be a
parting until forever, my mother’s sad eyes, my father’s muffled voice as we
said goodbye to our home, seem so vivid today when, once again, rumor has it…”se
murio Fidel” . Children may not
understand the complexities of politics nor the reasoning which goes into their
parent’s decisions, but they certainly understand sadness, despair, pain and
loss.
I never saw my parents look back, cry nor shrink back from
the decision to leave their home for a new life in the United States. They had
too much ahead, a new language to learn, the struggle to find work, to adjust to
a life and culture very different from their own. They relentlessly encouraged
me and my sisters on the path to education, to not accept circumstances as
final, to have faith in God and ourselves, question authority, be skeptical of politicians,
and never to forget how uncertain life can be….theirs was changed in an
instant. I am sure that privately they grieved, but we were not made privy to
their sorrow!
So what if Castro, now 86 is dead? We call the US home, our
children were born here, and our oldest family members rest in cemeteries in
Miami and across this great land that we have learned to call our own. Few of
us would contemplate going back to the land of our parents, yet the news affect
us still!
Today in a dark auditorium, hearing my youngest, American born son sing, I was reminded of much I had chosen to forget, feelings long buried, unspoken losses, unshed tears! My children sympathize, but they do not really understand how or why an old dictator’s life or death should mean anything to their grandmother, their aunts or to me. To them it is all but a story, and Fidel the comic book villain therein. To those of my generation it is much more!
Today in a dark auditorium, hearing my youngest, American born son sing, I was reminded of much I had chosen to forget, feelings long buried, unspoken losses, unshed tears! My children sympathize, but they do not really understand how or why an old dictator’s life or death should mean anything to their grandmother, their aunts or to me. To them it is all but a story, and Fidel the comic book villain therein. To those of my generation it is much more!
Fidel is dead…se murio…yet
again! Should I pray, mourn or dance for joy on that day which is sure t to
come….who knows? Perhaps, for those of
us who still recall life as children in Castro’s Cuba, his passing, whenever
that occurs, will give us a chance to truly grieve, to heal from the wounds of
our childhood, to finally turn the page in a story that has affected us for as
long as I can remember.
For tonight, with those I love and still can remember how it was, perhaps
it will be enough to speak about old times and sip a few mojitos.
Blessings
Seraph
Blessings
Seraph
