It’s been a minute since I’ve checked in. Many of you know that my Tía Isa passed away a couple of weeks ago. I want to thank all of you who were so kind in sending our family condolences, comfy socks, chicken soup, wine, meal delivery vouchers, and flowers. I so appreciate the love and support.
I’ve been climbing out of the haze by doing all the grown-up things you have to do to settle people’s affairs. Death certificate applications, closing bank accounts – all that official stuff. The real work, though, has been going through the things that my mother and aunt thought were vital. And for that, I had to face la maleta.
For as long as I can remember, my mother and Tía Isa told me about the suitcase in the back of their closet. It is a battered hardshell piece of luggage in that Pan Am airlines blue. It has a key on a string and an old belt from the 1970s holding it together.
Inside, Ma and Tía kept documents they knew I’d need some day, but also the ones I suspect they couldn’t part with because they told the story of their lives. La maleta had their Cuban passports wrapped in plastic, my grandmother’s welfare id card, Tía’s high school diploma and license as a telegraph operator, my grandparents’ birth certificates from the late 1800s, a prayer and medallion for Santa Barbara. I found my parents’ divorce papers and prayer cards for all the family members who died before them.
As I opened envelope after envelope, I found a collage at my feet of all they’d hoped for as young women and all they’d suffered as they aged. It was a map of their lives in Cuba and here in the US. Sitting among the piles of treasures, I felt breathless.
The suitcase, smelling of mold, was put out in the trash, although I couldn’t watch Javier do it. But the rest had to stay. Javier dug out a plastic file box from the garage for me, and I got to work labeling what I consider heirlooms. When I was done, I tucked it all on the top shelf of my office closet and had a huge cry.
I’ll show my kids where the box is, for sure. I wonder if their generation – the people of i-phones and scanned documents and e-signing – will understand my compulsion to guard these items. I hope so. Years from now, it will be their turn to be the stewards of our family story. They’ll have to add to the box and decide what’s important to hold on to. But here’s what should guide them. There was a before. There was a foundation. There were losses and hard experiences. There were valiant men and women who got us all here and who deserve to be remembered.
You can listen to Meg’s reading of Tía Isa Wants a Car, based on the real tía Isa, on Julie’s Library.
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Much love to you all as you remember and honor Tía Isa. Thank you for sharing her with us through your writing.
A beautiful tribute. We are sending you so much love.
Thanks, Daisy…I got your sweet card, too.
Thank you for this beautiful post Meg.
My mom (still with us, thankfully) sent two packages with old letters I’d written to her and other misc. mementos back in 2018, when I was in editing mode with my book. I put off opening them because I knew it would be a deep dive into nostalgia. Believe it or not, I just opened the first one last week. Found a few things I’d forgotten all about. The other package has many letters I wrote from summer camp as a kid. Sure to be fun – but I’m waiting for a time when I can spend several hours on it.
I’ve been following your posts for a while now and have really been enjoyed them. Take care and I’m sorry for your loss.
Those summer camp letters will be a treasure. It’s the little things that end up being so important.