My family and I arrived in the United States in 1961 as emigrants fleeing political repression and Communism in Cuba. I was two years old, the youngest of 4 siblings. I was too young to understand the situation at age two, but am sure my family felt incredibly fortunate and blessed to have been welcomed with open arms to “the land of the free and home of the brave” that the United States of America personified to foreigners.
We were allowed to leave legally, but lost most everything in the process, except for the few pieces of jewelry my maternal grandmother had the foresight to sew into the hems of our dresses and some cherished family photographs. My maternal grandmother, 58 at the time, sold her diamond wedding band to buy airfare for the family members who came with us, which included some of my mother’s cousins. We were not allowed to access bank accounts, sell our homes or other properties that the government eventually confiscated, but we were free to leave our homeland and seek a better life, free from political tyranny.
Not strangers to life in the States, my maternal grandfather had done his residency in Orthopedic Surgery in New York City in the 1920’s when my mother was of preschool age. My mother and father had both come to the States to study, even before they met and began a relationship. My mother attended Barry University in Miami to learn English and secretarial/administrative work at age 16 and my father attended LSU, where he graduated with a degree in engineering in the 1940’s. Widowed and with 4 small children under age 6 by the time we left Cuba (my father died from severe burns over most of his body, in a laboratory accident when my mother was 8 months pregnant with me) my mother was able to easily find work in the “land of opportunity,” since she was already fluent in English.
Our two grandmothers, who did not work in Cuba (or speak much English) and who both had a small staff of domestic help in Havana, ran the household, cooked, cleaned, ironed and tended to my three older siblings and I. They were both women of unwavering faith, strength of character and resilience. I cannot imagine how difficult the transition must have been for them, but they did not complain. As young children, we spent a great deal of time praying the rosary with them, praying for all those family members who had passed and for anyone still in limbo/purgatory (I know :)) Their faith is what undoubtedly got them through the greatest of upheavals and tragedy in their lives.
My siblings and I grew up with very modest means, but we were happy, didn't know any different. When we first arrived in the States, we were given government assistance in the form of food staples that consisted of powdered milk, powdered eggs, Spam, Velveeta cheese, Karo corn syrup and peanut butter. My maternal grandmother, who did not cook in Cuba (they had a cook), did wonders with these staples. I don’t think my siblings and I had any idea we were eating government handouts. We wore mismatched hand-me-downs from our older cousins who had a working father, since there was no surplus of money in our household to buy us clothing. The grandmothers were very conscientious and taught us to always thank and think of others. One remark I remembering hearing often was not to let any food go to waste because there were “children starving in Africa.” They never imagined in their pure hearts that this was by design. We would also clean out our closets to give away what we no longer needed, to those less fortunate than us.
My maternal grandmother would rinse and reuse aluminum foil and paper towels. She taught us not to waste water or electricity, something I carried into my life when I was raising children and still practice. I remember her saying once, “We are poor now,” but I couldn’t understand why she would say that. I didn’t feel like we lacked anything. We had a clean and orderly home, a television, furniture, food to eat, clothing and shoes, a rich spiritual life and the love of two wonderful grandmothers and other family members. I have no recollection of my mother when I was a young child. She was rarely home while I was awake and not involved in our lives.
We were not wealthy in Cuba but we were upper middle class and lacked nothing, including some luxuries. My family loved their lives in Cuba, their social circles and country club lifestyle. While my maternal grandmother was a constant in our lives, my father’s mother would take turns staying in our home and my cousins’s homes. When she stayed with us, we shared a bed. We were 7 people living in a small three bedroom home without enough beds. My eldest sister, then 6 or 7, shared a room with my mother. I remember my mother’s younger brother sleeping on our sofa when he was still single and came to visit. I loved sleeping in the same bed with my paternal grandmother. She was joyful and the epitome of maternal, gave birth to eight children and helped raise and educate two other children from the neighborhood. My grandmother smelled of Yardley’s English Lavender soap and wore her naturally gray hair in a long braid. She wore scapulars around her neck and spent most of the day in prayer. She was also deathly afraid of cockroaches, which was rather funny. She would scream and climb up on a chair whenever she saw one and my maternal grandmother would show up with a broom and swiftly kill it, mumbling something under her breath. She was fearless.
My maternal grandmother was the CEO of the household and did most of the housework. Petite, determined, smart, wise and energetic, a natural problem solver, and never one to sit around doing nothing, she became my role model until the day she passed away from natural causes a few months short of her 100th birthday. She was never ill, lived an active and vibrant life well into her mid-nineties. She took no pharmaceuticals drugs, refused diagnostic tests and understood the human body from being married to a doctor. She didn’t drink, smoke or overeat. She had no vices and dedicated her life to the care of her family, including my aunt and uncle’s children who were born a few years after my siblings and I. Abuelita (little grandmother in Spanish) didn’t think she’d live to see me married. She lived to not only see me married, but to experience the birth of my 4 daughters. My youngest was 8 months old when she died. Baby Margarita softened the blow of losing my Abuelita. My grandmother was everything to me; mother, grandmother, mentor and spiritual guide as well as my confidant when I was in my 20’s and single.
Abuelita believed we would only be staying in the States temporarily and that the situation in Cuba would resolve soon enough. She would iron our clothes dressed up, wearing a pearl necklace and heels while she listened to news about Cuba on Radio Reloj. She was never not put together, even when cleaning and cooking.
Years later, well into her late 70’s or early 80’s I would sometimes catch her gently crying in her bedroom at my aunt’s home, saying how much she missed Cuba and her former husband, who died during a routine operation in Havana. They gave him the wrong blood type and killed him, shortly after we arrived in Miami. We never saw him again after leaving Cuba.
Despite my family’s trials and tribulations leaving Cuba and starting over in the States, I had a wonderful and blessed life. I traveled extensively for two years while working for Corning Glass Works in my early 20’s, then worked for Nestlé, the Swiss company for a year, before marrying an Anglo from North Carolina, starting a family and living the American dream, in so many respects.
You are #blessed indeed to have such a grand and proud heritage! the resilience of the human spirit, buoyed by faith in the Living God, gives me hope every day. i remembered my grandmothers and cousins after reading about yours...
And His mercy is upon generation after generation Toward those who [stand in great awe of God and] fear Him.
Luk 1:50 AMPLIFIED
What experiences you've had! Thank you for sharing this. Throughout reading it, I felt treasured gratitude pouring forth. Thank you and bless you!