Mama Tana passes away/1991

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.

(Psalm 116:115)

We called my beautiful grandma, Mama Tana. Mama Tana was a saint. She always prayed, she would say, “Rezar,”which meant to pray in Spanish. She used to tell me Jesus loved me.

When I went to stay with her, I could hear her stirring in the kitchen early in the morning, she would copy scriptures, as I opened my eyes, I could see her sitting on the table hunched over, writing with tiny scribble. She had the worst handwriting.

She had a defective pacemaker in her chest, and the doctor couldn’t remove it because she was, as momma would say, "five pounds over," which meant that she was overweight. Her heart used to tick wildly, the palpitations like the feet of running mice. Then she would sit in the chair in the kitchen. She would walk from her bedroom, only feet away to that chair, absolutely exhausted.

Before she became ill, I called her every night, I wouldn't always stay on the phone long, but I wanted her to know that I loved her, and I always thought of her. Like the Willie Nelson song, "You were always on my mind," she was always on my mind. Even when I lived with daddy, I called her. It annoyed daddy if we were in the car, when I insisted, he stop at a pay phone so I could call.

When Mama Tana became ill, momma announced that one of us, my sisters and I would have to stay with her. I told my momma I would stay with her. So, I left daddy in Fowler to take care of Mama Tana. Grandma was too weak to bathe herself. I didn't know then she was dying.

She used to be vibrant, taking the city bus to spend time with other senior citizens at the Mosqueda Center. Sometimes I would see her on the bus when I came back from classes at City college. It was comforting to see her on the bus to sit next to. Even though I was already in college she would always slip me a few dollars to buy a soda. It humbled my heart to know how much she loved me.

Mama Tana was born Matiana Gonzalez, on September 27, 1918, in Mercedes, Texas and was the youngest of her family. Except for her brother Tio Pancho, I never met her brothers and sisters. Three of her sisters died young, and her oldest brother and sister lived in Texas.  Her father was a full-blooded Comanche Indian who was kidnapped from a reservation by a Mexican family who had lost their own son. Mama Tana’s mother, was Petra DeLeon Gonzalez, I only saw her in an old black and white photo.

Momma said Mama Tana dropped out of school in the 10th when she had to go to work in the fields to help her family. She spoke in Spanish, but usually spoke to us in English. She is the reason I understand Spanish, as momma and daddy always spoke to us in English. She used to say, "Si Dios Quiere." It means "If the Lord wills." God said in the Book of James, "We are but a vapor."

Mama Tana gave birth to momma when she was 26 years old in Mercedes, Texas, which bordered with Mexico. Mama Tana lived with her mother, momma called her "Ama Petra," her niece, and her three children in a small house. Because my momma’s father was a gambler and a womanizer who left his family in deep poverty. Grandma had to raise three children on her own, (Tia/aunt) Dalia, momma, and (Tio/uncle) Frank the baby. Mama Tana would work in the fields from sun up to sundown, picking whatever was available. Her husband would return only to mess up any kind of aid they might receive. Then he would leave again. In my judgment my grandfather was evil.

Momma told me how her father slammed the window hard on her fingers when she was only a kid. Whether it was done on purpose she never said. He beat Mama Tana when he was with her, cheated on her and I know he was the reason my momma could never really trust men.

When Mama Tana came home from the fields in the evenings momma said she used to whistle so momma and Tio Frank could know she was on her way. Momma would tell me how poor they were growing up. For Christmas Mama Tana would lay away toys for her three children, Tia Daila, momma and Tio Frank at the store where she got credit. Tia Dalia and Momma were given dolls. Momma used to tell me how much her doll she named Sowie meant to her. Tio Frank was given a cap gun.

Momma used to tell us the story of Tio Frank getting bitten by a rattle snake when they would cross state lines to work. Tio Frank was about 10. They would ride in flatbed trucks, that used to transport farmworkers across state lines. When they stopped to go to the bathroom, Tio Frank was too embarrassed to pee with the other men, and went into the tall grass when he was bitten on the foot. One of the farmworkers shouted, "Vibora," which meant snake in Spanish. His foot swelled up to the size of a basketball, and one of the farmworkers had to cut his foot to suck out the poison.

Mama Tana came to California with two of her children in 1959, when momma was about 14. By this time her older daughter Tia Dalia had already married at 13 to Tio Che Che whose real name was Jose, he was 25. She threatened to kill herself if Mama Tana didn’t sign for her to get married as she was only 13 years old. It broke Mama Tana's heart to sign for her, as she didn't see Dalia for years at a time. Immediately she moved to another state with her new husband to work.

Momma used to tell me how she and Tio Frank would lay under the shade of the vineyards, while Mama Tana picked most of the grapes and laid them on the paper trays. But Mama Tana wouldn't have had it any other way. On Saturdays she used to buy them a piece of pie and a glass of milk. Mama Tana was too nice, I think that's why she said, "Don't be nice to the girls."

A few years after they came to California, Mama Tana married the man I knew as my grandpa, Gregorio Hernandez. She married grandpa in 1961, two years before momma married daddy. Grandpa was a kind, chubby, bald, dark man who served in World War II as a cook. He was an intelligent man who was knowledgeable about many subjects. Grandpa was good to my grandma, Mama Tana. When they met he was the gardener and Mama Tana was the maid.

(Mama Tana and Grandpa)

Mama Tana wasn't even 47 when I was born in 1965. She had grey hair already. She already looked old to me when we used to go to Roeding Park on Easter Sundays. The lines that formed on her brown face were deep, and familiar to me, the glasses she always wore, later I would understand the reason why old people wear them. But then I didn't as my vision was 20/20.

When I was a little girl, Mama Tana and Grandpa lived in the country near a ranch where they both worked. I remember there was a canal barely filled with water where polliwogs swam and the moments when we tried to catch the scurrying lizards from the walls of her small trailer.

The day of the car accident, momma went to pick her up, Mama Tana was standing near the dirt road in the country, cradling her injured arm, the blood dripping down made me realize for the first time that I could lose her. She never drove her red Toyota again, so grandpa would drive her in the Turquoise Pontiac he bought from his sister Simona.

The Pontiac they used to pick us up in whenever we would miss the last city bus home. (as the buses stopped running earlier in the 80's). Mama Tana always came with grandpa bundled in her burgundy sweater. It was usually Jimmy who missed the last bus and called Mama Tana from his girlfriend Irene's, (who later became his wife) house to pick him up. Even though momma told us not to bother her and grandpa, as they were already settled in for the evening watching television. They never scolded us or complained. We would catch an earful the next morning from momma.

I was so excited when Mama Tana surprised me on my 14th birthday with the stuffed rabbit I wanted. I called him Junior. Junior was a stuffed pink and white rabbit with long ears and long legs who had paw marks at the bottom of his feet. I loved him until his ears began to fray, exposing the wire.

For my 15th birthday Mama Tana gave me the purple silky jacket I wanted from K-mart with the roller skate design on the back of the jacket in glitter that read roller disco. I chose to go to Storyland for my birthday and she came with momma and my sisters to Roeding Park to celebrate with me. I wore that jacket everywhere until there was a tear underneath the arm of the jacket and the emblem began to fade from all the washing.

When I graduated from high school Mama Tana bought me yellow luggage from Fingerhut so I could go on my first airplane trip when I went into the Army. Since I never traveled, I didn't have my own luggage. When we used to go to Disneyland on vacation in the summers, we usually packed all of our things into the same suitcase.

She used to give me $20 inside a birthday card. It was a lot of money for her as she lived on Social Security. Despite that Mama Tana never forgot my birthday.

I remember the duster dresses Mama Tana used to wear in the summer.  Especially the white duster with the pink butterfly designs on it.  She used to order her clothes through the Lane Bryant catalogue. After so long, she was finally able to buy nice dresses.

During the years momma and daddy were married, I know that Mama Tana hated that daddy beat momma. There were times she saw momma with bruises, because momma tried to hide them from her. But whenever she saw them it made her protective enough to confront daddy. Daddy would respond by telling Mama Tana she had to leave and wasn't welcome in our house. When the blood went far enough under the bridge, daddy always let Mama Tana come back to visit.

Of course, Mama Tana always prayed. But she had a feisty side that I had always admired. I didn't appreciate her faith until I had faith of my own. It was especially hard to believe that Jesus loved me back then, when daddy hit momma and we were all helpless to stop him. We couldn't leave, momma felt Mama Tana was too poor to take her and us in. She never wanted to burden her. Momma stayed as long as she did because she had come from a broken home and wanted a daddy and a house for us.

In the past women stayed and really tried to make their marriages work, momma saw Mama Tana struggle in her own marriage for years until her father left her for good. Through it all Mama Tana prayed that daddy would change.

When momma finally left daddy we stayed with Mama Tana and grandpa in their trailer. Mama Tana used to tell momma, “Don’t be nice to the girls” right in front of us. I was chagrined but said nothing. None of us ever talked back to her, ever. We reverenced Mama Tana, it never occurred to us to ever raise our voice to her. I always loved her, the deep wrinkles, her round cherubic face that was brown, like my own. Even when she scolded me, it was not the same as momma's harsh words, and I missed her when I went into the Army. She was hurt when she didn't receive my army pictures. But I had sent hers and mommas at the same time. When Mama Tana's pictures came the next day momma said she was elated. I knew she was proud of me; she hung my platoon picture on the wall of her trailer.

Even when momma began to drink after the divorce, Mama Tana never disowned her, but loved her through the terrible episodes momma used to have. She and grandpa used to drive to the apartment whenever the girls used to call her when I was in the Army. The girls, my younger sisters Monica and Missy depended on her like a mother in those days.

After I came back from the Army we moved in an apartment across the street from Mama Tana and Grandpa's trailer on Tulare. Maybe, I took her for granted, walking across the street with the food she used to give us. She used to give me the second tortilla she made and I would smother it with butter. I absolutely believed that she would be here longer than she was. I think, momma believed that too.

But Mama Tana's joy was my baby sister Mia. Momma had her late, she was 41 already. Mama Tana loved Mia more like a daughter than a granddaughter. She used to keep Mia for hours, some days overnight, especially when she was sick, Mama Tana felt Mia needed her even more when she sick.

In the mornings she would make Mia pancakes from scratch. She used to sit Mia up on the counter whenever she would make her breakfast. Mama Tana and grandpa would take Mia out to eat with them. Grandpa was always buying her apple juice and other groceries he knew she would like.

In the afternoons, they both used to sit at opposite ends of the trailer, both doors wide open, where they would sit waiting for Mia to run through the trailer to color or play with them. Grandpa usually fell asleep sitting in a chair with a crayon in his hand waiting for Mia to come back and play.

After a few hours, Momma used to send my sister Moe and me to pick her up from grandma's. "Go pick up your little sister, give your grandma a break." We'd traipse across the street to the trailer where she lived with grandpa, Space 52.

"We came to pick up Mia." It was kind of funny how grandma used to tell us to get out, and she would slam the door on us. Mama Tana didn't want to part with Mia. Then I would turn to Moe and tell her, "We tried."

(left to right Moe, me, Mama Tana, Mia one her lap and Misi.)

I remember one afternoon Mama Tana and I walked to Tia Dalia’s house which was near Easterby Elementary School. Before we started walking, she handed me a thermos with coffee. I specifically recall how she told me to hold the thermos. As any young person, “I said yeah." not really listening. I simply nodded. Halfway there, I spilled the coffee. Mama Tana looked at me and I lowered my head, I knew I hadn’t paid attention and was ashamed.

Now her heart was failing her. The days leading up to her death we didn't realize we were losing her, we hadn't noticed she was really dying. If I had I never would have left her the way that I did. I wish I would have talked to her more and heard more of her life. I never got her recipes. She used to make empanadas, tortillas, beans and rice, pan de polvo and persimmon cookies, and peach cobbler.

Momma and Mama Tana were extremely close. She saw Mama Tana every day even though she had a relationship with Roger. She came to the trailer and drank coffee with her every morning until she started working in the IRS full time. It was more than coffee, it was "Cafecito," it was spending time together to deepen their bond. Grandma, Mama Tana was an important person to my momma, and we knew if she ever passed away, momma would take it the hardest. Her siblings knew that momma was Mama Tana's favorite. In a sense, they were enmeshed, their way of thinking.

I appreciated and was amazed how Mama Tana never lost her temper with momma. Even though she didn't approve of momma going out with Roger because he was married at the time. Mama Tana never judged her. Momma never let herself get too angry with Mama Tana, she would leave before heavy words were said, instead she would kiss her on the forehead and leave without saying words that could damage their relationship.

(Momma and Mama Tana in the late 1980's)

Every morning Mama Tana used to say she was “Bright and bushy tail” until one morning she told momma she felt “lousy.”

The afternoon Mama Tana passed away we saw momma sitting near the street on the curb, the look on her face was utter devastation. Moe and I were on our way back from the store, when we noticed momma's crumpled frame near the side walk. I didn’t want to ask momma why she was sitting on the curb, I think we both knew Mama Tana was gone.

When Moe and I went to the trailer park, the police were already there. They just left her body on the sofa for hours, frozen, they were waiting for the coroner the ambulance had come but didn’t take her since she was already dead.

Mama Tana, my grandma, passed away April 2, 1991. She had a massive heart attack one afternoon, it was especially heart wrenching for me, since I left her where she was on the sofa, I turned on the T.V. for her to watch Maya the Bee, and I got her a pillow to rest on. I couldn’t wait to leave, my guess to see someone who didn't even care about me.

She was one of the only people who truly loved me. She used to tell me with a twinkle in her light brown eyes,

“Don’t you know I love you.”