Whenever I visit the grave of my mother, María de la Luz Arellano Miranda, I follow the same ritual.
I park at a cul de sac within the Holy Sepulcher Cemetery in Orange, then wander around for at least 10 minutes, angry with myself that I always forget the exact spot where the mummy is buried. Has gone. I finally found his tombstone: black marble engraved with the years of his life, a personal message crafted by my sisters, his nickname, La Lay (“The Law”, given to him by his father, my Papa J. was, when she was just) a girl known for her absurd ways) and a small photograph of her at the age of 20, worthy of a beauty queen.
My mother’s grave is in front of a big statue Santo Niño de Atocha, a glimpse of the Infant Jesus, omnipresent in the lives of the people of the state of Zacatecas, where he was born. Many from that immigrant community are buried at the Holy Sepulcher, including both of my maternal grandparents, family friends and cousins – and, one day, me too. So I recite the Lord’s Prayer and a Hail Mary for all of us, then turn on YouTube on my smartphone and play that. Mariachi version of “Lara’s Theme” We will play the song that aunt requested at her funeral.
The moment that mournful violin plays its familiar tune, I start screaming. The pain I felt at her death from ovarian cancer in 2019 at the age of 67 is profound. I feel guilty for not meeting her enough while she was alive, for not appreciating my aunt’s love until it was too late, or for not telling her the things I wanted to tell her.
My family buried him five years ago today in a ceremony I remember like it happened yesterday.
Hundreds of people attended mass in his name at St. Boniface in Anaheim, which has been my family’s home for decades. There was sunshine in the afternoon but not heat. There was mariachi, wailing, swooning, embracing. Afterwards, we returned to St. Boniface for a reception Burritos La PalmaThe famous Southern California chain with its roots in the same Mexican city, Jerez, where my parents were from.
The rendition of the “Lara Theme” I played – titled “Tema de Lara” in Spanish – is by Los Camperos de Nati Cano, Leading LA-based organization Mamie was a fan of Linda Ronstadt supporting her during her Mariachi era. Soaring above the guitar notes of an optimistic, lone trumpet, the tears don’t stop when I think about everything I’ve learned from Mummy’s hard life, a cut just when it was about to get really good.
A year of devastating frost followed by another year of drought destroyed my grandfather’s consistent crops and he was forced to move his family to the United States in the 1960s, when Aunty was 9 years old. His declining health caused him to leave middle school. Anaheim to pick strawberries. She dealt with my father’s alcoholism and gambling addiction and his machismo from the early years of our marriage until the day he passed away.
Still aunty always kept moving forward. She got a union job as a tomato packer at the old Hunt-Wesson factory in Fullerton, which would provide her with a small pension in her later years (she would say with pride that her union representative had told the women workers that they Never let your husbands touch your money). It was my aunt who convinced my father to save enough money to buy a three-bedroom, two-bathroom house with a swimming pool in a better part of Anaheim in 1988 to raise our children.
Despite never being fully fluent in English, Aunty took us to the library as often as possible. When she realized that pulling us out of school and spending several weeks in Mexico was affecting our studies, Aunt told my dad flat out that those vacations would never happen again. When Hunt-Wesson laid her off from her job in the late 1990s, she studied to become a beautician, then turned to child care when the state wouldn’t allow her to get a license because she never graduated from high school. Did not graduate from. His example of facing a cruel world with patience and grace influenced me and my three siblings to succeed in life – or at least them. They all work in the public sector, while I, as a reporter, am the black sheep of the family.
The trumpet in “Lara’s Theme” becomes cautionary about halfway through, but I get a slight smile thinking about what I put my aunt through. I harassed him like the Mexican Dennis the Menace. As an infant, she would try to catch me and scream, “Ash!” So I used to push him away. For some reason. I talked a lot in elementary school and never got good grades in high school. As an adult, I’ve written and said the craziest things for work. But she could never stay angry with me for long – not just because I was her first son, but because Mami knew how happy I was in my career, and that happiness was what she wanted for her children. She wanted it because she had been denied it for a long time. ,
However, one thing that aunty could never forgive me for was my style of dressing. She hated my worn out shoes and worn out shoes and she always insisted on ironing my clothes even after I learned how to iron them. When I replied that wrinkles were a concern of the rich, she scolded me and said that one did not need money to show off in class. Whenever I had to wear a suit and tie, she would smile big and exclaim, “¡It’s something like that! (That’s how I want to see you!)
As “Lara’s Theme” moves toward its tragic end, I’m reminded of the last year and a half of Mamie’s life. Doctors dismissed her initial complaints about stomach pain as nothing to worry about, until she was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, which had only a 5% survival rate. This news disappointed everyone who knew her, as she was about to enjoy a nice retirement with her grown children and young grandchildren.
My siblings and I ensured that he never spent even a single moment alone. Since I had the most flexible schedule, I usually took her to chemo. We’d drive down La Palma Avenue to Kaiser Permanente in Anaheim so I could ask him about his memories of when the city was still very agricultural (he said Japanese American farmers were faring better off than white people). Back home, we watched reruns of the trivia show “The Chase” and she always suggested I join in because I was able to answer a lot of questions.
Maria de la Luz Arellano making gorditas at her home in Anaheim in 2018.
(Arellano family)
We hoped that she would beat cancer, but it did not happen. My sisters and my Tia Maria’s daughters became Aunty’s main caregivers because she refused. I was there when she got the call from her doctor saying it was time to prepare for the end. In the final weeks a parade of people stopped by our family home to tell Mummy how important she was in their lives. This did not include readers who reached out to me after writing a column about me mummy’s capirotada – Mexican Lenten Bread Pudding. I believe that abundant care – proof that she mattered – helped her endure the terrible pain of cancer better than any medicine.
She died one evening when it was drizzling – a sign that my family took as a message from God that our matriarch would eventually rest, because Aunty loved the sound of rain. I remember that night when “Lara’s Theme” ends and I dry my wet cheeks. I tell her about the good and the bad that her survivors have seen since her passing and the hole in our hearts that will never be filled. I apologize for not being a better son and take this promise with me wherever I go:
aunty, gracious for everything. I will never forget your sacrifices. I would always urge others to value their family and friends while they are still around. I will always write about your life, your lessons, your great food and wide smile and eternal love.
