Breaking Down the Barriers

Childhood

I want to start by telling you about my life. As a child of approximately eight years of age, I had the love and care of my parents. I felt valued, safe, and loved. But something that no one expected took place: my father fell ill. This was an event that affected my life for a long time.

At the beginning, no one knew he was ill. He started to lose his sanity. He did not recognize the people around him, including his family. His attitude became aggressive. No one knew why. Everything was so sudden and very surprising. My mother was very young at that time; she was in her midtwenties. She did not know much about what was going on or how to react to all that was happening.

My father’s family was befuddled by his illness because they had very little information and knew that their child had always been a healthy, hardworking man who always gave his best in life. They simply didn’t know what was happening. They talked to my mother first to know what was going on, but she was in the same situation; she didn’t know what to do.

As it always happens, misinformation came their way. My grandparents’ son-in-law, my uncle, believed in spiritualism and the occult. He told my grandparents he thought that my mother was at fault for my father’s illness. He said that she had given him a potion to put a spell on him, causing him to lose his sanity. Her purpose, according to him, was to take control of my dad’s money and property. My grandparents listened to my uncle, so they tried to have him cured in places where witchcraft was said to be treated. They took him to a witch who told them he had been possessed by a bad spirit, that someone had done this evil onto him; he was bewitched. They left him there so he could be cured, but my father did not respond to the treatment. He continued to feel bad, to sweat, to hallucinate, and to have seizures. The witch stroked herbs all over his body and lit up candles, trying to rid him of the bad spirit. She performed her ritual, and two hours later, she went out to tell them that he was cured, that things had come out all right. She said to take him home and that the next day he would be as if nothing had happened.

My mom, on the other hand, cried over my father’s absence. She would call my uncles and ask them what was happening to her husband, where they had taken him, but they would only say to her that they didn’t know anything. They said my grandparents had taken him to be cured. My mom cried uncontrollably. I would see her suffer, and I tried to comfort her, but nothing made her feel better. I tried to understand what was happening, but my mom would only say that my dad was sick, that he would get better soon. Nevertheless, she couldn’t hide her pain from me.

The day after the witch had performed her treatment, my dad continued to be in the same condition, maybe even worse. My grandparents went to ask my mom what kind of potion she had given to him and why she had done so even when my dad gave her everything. My mom was astounded, and she told them they were wrong. She said she loved my dad and that she didn’t have any knowledge of any of the things they were accusing her of. They didn’t believe her and left the house very upset.

When they realized that the witch’s potion had not worked, they took him to a psychiatrist. He was the one who helped them understand the problem when he told them that the condition was a sickness. It was a manic-depressive psychosis due to the lack of liquid lithium in his blood. His sickness could be treated, and he could improve.

Nevertheless, during the course of all this process, the whole family became estranged with my mother. They would call her witch and insulted her in a very wicked way. All his brothers took control of my father’s business and pushed my mother aside. I still remember when my mom, holding my hand, took me to the business place to ask for money for my support. My father’s brother came out and asked my mom, What are you doing here? There is nothing here for you. You are a wicked woman. My brother is sick because of you. You put a spell on him. Get out of here!

My mom replied, This belongs to my husband and my children. They need to eat and to go to school. Please understand that I didn’t do anything to your brother, to which he answered, Leave once and for all. My mom cried, and so did I. I felt so much resentment and hatred for all that they told my mom.

My mother worried about us, so she decided to talk to her parents. She explained to them all that was going on in her life. My grandparents took us in and told my mother that she didn’t really need anything because she could count on their support, and we would not lack anything under their protection.

At that time, my grandparents had money and power in Acapulco’s society. My grandmother had a strong personality. She talked to her lawyers, looking for counsel about the situation. My grandfather, who had a great heart, told my grandmother to calm down. He told her to wait for my dad to get better, and that once he was better, they would talk with him about the situation to try to resolve the issues without destroying the marriage.

My grandmother was furious about all the humiliations my mom had suffered, so she went to talk to my paternal grandparents to see what was going on. They did not have the decency to talk to her face-to-face, which made my grandmother even angrier; nevertheless, she decided to heed my grandfather’s advice and wait. Time continued to go by. Despite the love I was given by my grandparents and my maternal aunts, I missed my father.

I loved living in my grandmother’s house because we lived in the inner part of a hotel. I would spend every day in the pool with my brother, Christian; we tried to have fun. I always tried to protect him. He would ask me, Ricky [which was the nick name he gave me], where is my daddy? Why did he leave? I would tell him that he had gone on a trip and that we would soon see him. Even now I don’t know how I managed, but I always found something to tell my little brother.

After about three to four months living with my grandparents and aunts, my father came to visit unexpectedly. We received him with much love and affection. We ran to hug him and told him, Daddy, we love you, and we miss you. My father was his old self thanks to the fact that after trying spiritualism and witchcraft, his relatives realized that his problem was a sickness. They took him to a doctor who treated him, and he managed to recover.

My father spoke to my maternal grandparents and my mother. He told them that he did not remember anything. He said that his condition was a sickness. He wanted to get us back and have a family again. My mom told him about all the suffering his family had caused her. My dad was shocked. He apologized to her and told her that from that moment on, they were going to start a new life. He said he was going to put a remedy to everything that had happened. He was not going to allow his brothers to take over the business and was going to recover his property. He asked my mom to help him work since everything was hers and their children’s. My mom agreed, and we went back to live in the house we used to live together with my father. This property belonged to my maternal grandparents.

My childhood started to change; I was so happy when my parents were together. All I wished for was to see my father in great health living with my mother. It was my greatest yearning. I wished for it every day. I still remember the picture in my aunts’ room of a guardian angel before which they would recite the Guardian Angel Prayer: Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God’s love commits me here. Ever this day be at my side to light and guard and rule and guide. This was a prayer that my aunts took care to teach me. I would pray every night for my dad’s health.

Soon after getting back together, my dad started to feel bad. My mom was pregnant and close to her due date. My dad told her, Queta, I feel really bad! My mom reacted quickly. She took him to the doctor, managing this way to control his sickness in time. My little sister Lila was born, and my brother and I were deliriously happy, filled with emotion. I can’t explain what I felt when I saw such a tiny person. I still remember when I held her for the first time; I felt butterflies all over my body. It was beautiful. We all were very happy. My dad brought a big bouquet of roses that caught everyone’s attention in the hospital.

Several months went by, and everything was fine until the phone rang one night. I was watching television with my mom. My siblings were already asleep. It was Grandmother Belen, my dad’s mom, telling my mom that my uncle Alfredo had passed away. He had been killed in his house while he was sleeping. His family was celebrating his daughter’s birthday; there was music and noise, so no one heard anything. The guests were asking about him, and his wife would tell them that he was asleep but that he would be coming down soon. He had just returned from a trip and was sleeping. Realizing that he wasn’t joining the party, his wife went looking for him just to find him dead.

As it was already customary, my paternal grandparents blamed my uncle’s wife. They affirmed that she had a lover and that the lover had killed my uncle. His death was very strange. It was never found out what took place actually. Personally, I also thought it was strange since it wasn’t a robbery. Everything was left in its place, and nothing was taken. He was killed in his sleep. God only knows what really happened.

My uncle’s death caused my dad great pain and caused him to lose control. He lost his sanity again, and he started giving his money away. He sold our cars, mortgaged the business, and left Acapulco. No one knew where he had gone. Everyone was looking for him.

After approximately a month, all of a sudden, he came back wearing only a pair of shorts. He had no money and had been beaten up. He looked like a homeless person. He was taken to a hospital in Mexico City where he was given treatment. It was quite an expensive hospital, but he received good care. While keeping him company, my mom would get very depressed just by the sight of the other patients. It was a psychiatric hospital with patients suffering from different types of mental illnesses. It wasn’t easy for such a young woman to see so much suffering.

My dad managed to recover. Nevertheless, he now had to start paying all the debts he had incurred, beginning with the mortgage on his business. He didn’t remember where or on what he had spent so much money. He had no other choice but to begin paying. Our economic situation was bad, but my dad was always a very hardworking man. Soon he got back on his feet. He paid all his debts and made his business prosper.

After a year, my dad called my mom telling her that his dad had died. He had been shot during an assault in which the assailants tried to steal the money from the sales of the place where he worked as general manager. He refused to surrender the money and struggled with the attacker. My grandfather was an older man, so he lost the battle. The criminal shot him, ending his life. My dad was destroyed, and so were his siblings.

His funeral came to pass, and we did not attend it because my mom did not want us to see so much suffering. My grandfather had nine children; eight survived him. One of them, the youngest one, was two years older than me. He was the youngest of all my uncles. My grandmother had him at an advanced age. I know that his father’s death caused him tremendous pain since children are more affected by this kind of experiences than adults.

Motivated by