The Bridge to Our Past; Part II

Grandparents are some of the most influential relationships we have in our lives. They influenced the way our parents raised us, they may have had a hand in raising us themselves. They can be both “parent” and accomplice, and they are our bridge to the past. They are our link, the storytellers and our proof of a life well before ours. A life we had no part in, but one our own lives depended on. 

I sit at the counter at one of my favorite brunch spots. It’s one my mom and I have brought Titi to a handful of times. I watch the server taking orders, making coffee, pouring water. I throw on my headphones and press play. I have yet to come up with a specific process for writing my grandmother’s story. Right now I listen to her weekly recordings and type frantically trying to capture her exact words in writing. Laughing, remembering, and even tearing up along the way. My favorite moments so far are the ones when I find myself removed from any of it completely. I am not a granddaughter listening to stories I have heard my whole life, but a woman learning, laughing and finding huge gratitude for those who came before her.  

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Today I think I will start with my two grandmothers. My mother’s mother was a big influence on my life. My grandmother’s shared some incredible similarities; both were married at 16,  had 10 children each and each horrifically lost 5 children. Those are some big coincidences but the similarities end there, in most ways they were very different.

An Angel 

My mother’s mother, Esther, had a very sad life in a way. She was married young, had all of these children and ran a farm with her husband and his brother. My mother talked about having wonderful memories growing up there. When my mom was about 12, my grandfather took off. He left without telling anybody where he was going, just left one morning without a word. There was my grandmother, left with just my uncle, trying to raise children and keep the farm going. One night my uncle lost the farm in a game of poker. My grandmother was left with nothing, but she had no choice but to carry on, she had children to support. 

Her oldest son had already finished school and was working but her two other boys had to leave school and work at a garage. The youngest girls went to a private French school, so in order to keep them in school she sewed the uniforms for the entire school. When my mother was 15 or 16 years old, they received a letter from my grandfather, her father. He had gone to Argentina with another woman and after all these years he wanted to come back and be with his children. My grandmother wrote him back saying ‘you are the father of these children, of course you can come back. But my husband is dead.’ 

He did come back and lived with them for the rest of their lives. I remember him as more of a grumpy grandfather but I know he loved me very much. I never knew that story until shortly before my own wedding, and I couldn’t believe it. My grandmother was always so gentle, with an extraordinary amount of respect and knowledge of her religion. But she was also so understanding of other religions and beliefs. I thought she was an angel that made miracles, and knowing her story, what she lived through, I think she was.  

My other grandmother, Sophia, was a fun lady who loved parties. From her I got my name and my love for a good party. My grandfather was a lawyer and very successful, so she wanted for nothing. While she was very kind, she was very spoiled. She had maids and nannies to care for the house and children so her only job was to entertain. She would take her friends to their farm, Mondragon, buy new dresses, jewelry and shoes imported from France. She loved to dress elegantly, was always smiling and surrounded herself with people. She was definitely lots of fun. 

The Countess of Mondragon 

Mondragon is the name of my father's farm which was in my family for a very very long time. It came from part of my family that lived in Spain. My father’s farm was lost when my grandfather, who later became senator, lost his re-election. Politics was always very corrupt, and because his party had lost; his land became property of the government and was lost from our family.  I once went to the farm when I was 10 years old. We didn’t own the house at that point, it belonged to the government, but we could tour the farm and the surrounding town. I will never forget fields upon fields of apple orchards. The entire area was breathtaking. My favorite part was probably this big white church. I remember looking at hundreds of plaques of people that had been buried there. I saw our name over and over, Velasco. It was a surreal feeling, knowing that my ancestors were buried there in that very chapel. 

There was a legend of the town that my Tia Berta would tell me, the story of The Christ of Bronze. It was said that one of my ancestors was a beautiful Countess who was married to a man she didn’t love. She had fallen in love with someone else, so she wanted to get rid of her husband. According to the legend she had him crucified and put him in her room to hide away. She started collecting bronze pins and would put them all around his body, one by one, until eventually he was completely covered. One day someone opened the door to the church and there was a Christ there, in all bronze. The Christ was still there when I visited, and that is the legend that surrounded how he came to be.  

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Our Grandparents represent our past, present and future. They have paved the way, one way or another, to where we are now. They have played a part in who we have become and can be a guide to how we navigate our life moving forward. In some instances we make it a goal to never repeat their mistakes and in others they might be the pillar of which we strive to reach. In my opinion, if we are really lucky, it is a little bit of both.