tribute to maria hernandez - 05 may 1927 - 05 october 2007
Please excuse me for reading my remarks from a piece of paper, but I'm afraid if I tried to speak from memory in front of a sea of expectant faces, my mind would go blank and I would be left speechless until someone kindly led me away from the podium.
I had a long drive here last night from San Francisco, but it gave me plenty of time to think about what I would like to say about Mamacita. She's been Mamacita to me for as far back as I can remember - never Mrs. Hernandez, for that was too formal and she was not the formal sort, and certainly not Maria, for my parents never would have allowed me to call an adult by her first name, especially the parent of a school friend.
I've known her for about 25 years and I feel that I can say with some authority that she was one of the kindest, most caring people I have ever known. Any conversation I had with her always included questions about my family's well-being and was generally followed up by a compliment of some sort and perhaps a remembrance of time spent together. For instance, she would ask how my mother was doing, remark what a nice person she was and remind me of the time we spent Christmas together and how much fun we had. Even when I moved away and got married and had a daughter, it was still the same, even though she didn't know my husband and daughter as well. And it was always obvious that she was truly interested and not just being polite. That's where her caring really showed through.
When I would call on the phone to speak to Joe and she happened to answer I would usually practice my very limited Spanish on her by saying, "Hola Mamacita, it's Tracey, como estas?" More often than not, she would respond, "Oh, Tracey, my other daughter, how are you?" and so on. I always felt so honored that she considered me as a sort of honorary member of her family. I've never experienced that with anyone else and I will cherish it for the rest of my life. That is kindness beyond measure.
I felt like it should have rained the day she left us, a sign of sorrow from God that he was taking away someone we loved and cared so much for. But then I realized that people lose loved ones every day, and it can't constantly rain on us. So I choose to believe that God let the sun shine down as a sign that she is in heaven now, free of pain and sickness, and happy to be near her creator who she loved so while she was with us on this earth.
I've always prided myself on my ability to come up with the right words for whatever situation I find myself in, but this is one of those times when I seem to come up short. To the family, I say to you now, I'm sorry for your loss, and I hope it's understood how much more it means than those five simple words. There is a wealth of love, compassion, caring and sorrow that is attached to that statement, and I hope that each of you are able to take what you need from it and carry it with you to comfort you always.
I had a long drive here last night from San Francisco, but it gave me plenty of time to think about what I would like to say about Mamacita. She's been Mamacita to me for as far back as I can remember - never Mrs. Hernandez, for that was too formal and she was not the formal sort, and certainly not Maria, for my parents never would have allowed me to call an adult by her first name, especially the parent of a school friend.
I've known her for about 25 years and I feel that I can say with some authority that she was one of the kindest, most caring people I have ever known. Any conversation I had with her always included questions about my family's well-being and was generally followed up by a compliment of some sort and perhaps a remembrance of time spent together. For instance, she would ask how my mother was doing, remark what a nice person she was and remind me of the time we spent Christmas together and how much fun we had. Even when I moved away and got married and had a daughter, it was still the same, even though she didn't know my husband and daughter as well. And it was always obvious that she was truly interested and not just being polite. That's where her caring really showed through.
When I would call on the phone to speak to Joe and she happened to answer I would usually practice my very limited Spanish on her by saying, "Hola Mamacita, it's Tracey, como estas?" More often than not, she would respond, "Oh, Tracey, my other daughter, how are you?" and so on. I always felt so honored that she considered me as a sort of honorary member of her family. I've never experienced that with anyone else and I will cherish it for the rest of my life. That is kindness beyond measure.
I felt like it should have rained the day she left us, a sign of sorrow from God that he was taking away someone we loved and cared so much for. But then I realized that people lose loved ones every day, and it can't constantly rain on us. So I choose to believe that God let the sun shine down as a sign that she is in heaven now, free of pain and sickness, and happy to be near her creator who she loved so while she was with us on this earth.
I've always prided myself on my ability to come up with the right words for whatever situation I find myself in, but this is one of those times when I seem to come up short. To the family, I say to you now, I'm sorry for your loss, and I hope it's understood how much more it means than those five simple words. There is a wealth of love, compassion, caring and sorrow that is attached to that statement, and I hope that each of you are able to take what you need from it and carry it with you to comfort you always.