By Lucia A. Crespo –

Lourdes Lisette Crespo was disciplined, loyal, loving and also extremely goofy.

“Lourdes por favor, por favor!” yelled out abuela to mami.  Abuela was not a jokester like mami was; she was more firm and serious.  Many times mami used to like cucando abuela.

Simba, Tribilina, mufasa, Philomena were some names that my mother used to call me, my friends, and cousins.  These were just random names she’d call us because it was funny.  My grandmother would yell at my mom because she said we had names and she should call us by them.  Of course this was abuela being up-tight because she was old. Although, mami would make abuela grouchy they still had a bond like no other.  They were like two peas in a pod.

I remember the plastic bag that smelled like fresh coconuts in which mami kept her rollers and coconut oil for her hair.  “Lulu ayuda me con esto,” mami used to tell me right after she finished putting a bobby pin on her last roller. It was time for bed.

At night she would lay next to me scratching my back so that I would fall asleep. But mami always fell asleep first.  After scratching my back for a few minutes, I felt her hand gradually drift down. I’d shrug my back a little and she would then quickly bring her hand up, scratch for a few seconds and then drowse back to sleep.

There were only a few times that she would get mad and that’s only if you really pissed mami off.  For instance, one night we were driving to my sisters’ sister-in-law home. Her name is Mari and because she is three years older than me she got to sit in front.  I was furious. As my mother was driving, I kicked Mari’s seat and cried non-stop.  Then I heard the engine turn off and before I could even blink mami pulled me by my shirt and spanked me (Fuakity).  This happened when I was six years old and like any other child I was stubborn. I was done crying from not only being able to sit in front but because I just got my ass beat by mami.  The rest of the ride home was utter silence.

Indeed, there were a few more times that I got my ass beat, but let me not recall those moments.  Every morning I woke up to the brew of Café Bustelo and panesitos.  Oh and let me not forget to the show “Despierta America,” was always on in the kitchen.  At night mami would watch her novelas with abuela because like any other these Spanish soap operas were really good.

Friday nights were get-together nights in the Crespo household.  Family and friends would come over to play dominoes and pool table in our basement.  Mami with the help of my dad would make arroz con gandules y pollo guizado.  The food was so delicious that you knew it was made with some TLC (tender loving care).  Mami would always serve me because when I was younger I did not like the beans.  However, as I remember I used to call the beans, bones.  “Lulu you don’t want bones in your rice?” mami would say hoping that one day I would say yes.

On Saturday evenings mami and I had pizza and a movie night.  I would always look over at my mom who started snoring within the first 10 minutes of the movie.  That always made me laugh because I would say, “Mom wake up.” Her response was, “Sorry es que me duele los ojos,” meaning “Sorry it’s because my eyes hurt.”

As I got older I learned many lessons from my mother.  One was that it is okay to be goofy but also know when to be serious. She told me that way you’re on point with what’s important in life.

In September 2001, my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer.  Every day after that she had to go to chemotherapy.  Papi would stay home to take care of mami during the day to make sure she was okay.  Although, she was sick she still acted as if she never had cancer and was still in her goofy ways.  The reality was that she was dying slowly and laughter was the only way to stay the pain.

A week before mami passed away she was hospitalized. On April 13, 2002 at around 6:30 a.m. my sister’s cell rang. I was sleeping next to her and I woke up. As soon as she hung up she said, “Get dressed we have to get to the hospital.”  Running into my other sister’s room and my dad’s room I woke them up and told them the same.

Going up the stairs we were getting closer to the intensive care unit.  I remember falling up the stairs and it was right there when my stomach started turning.  Once we got to the doctor he said, “I’m sorry to tell you but, your mother had a few heart attacks and strokes.”  She was in critical condition and the doctor said that they can either do code-blue or pull the plug.

That’s when my older sister looked at me, my dad, and my other sister because she already knew what mami had wanted.

“If anything goes wrong don’t try to revive me because I don’t want to come back as a vegetable,” mami said.

We went inside the room and watched the doctors pull the cord. I held her hand.  One by one we whispered in her ear telling her, “You’re going to a better place to be with God.”  We all had our moments in the room alone with her. As I hugged my mother and held her hands one last time, she knew she was leaving this world. A tear fell from her cheek.

I was only 13 years old at the time, and even though mami is gone today her mark in this world is not.  I say now that I am living through my mother and grateful to have become the strong, confident, and goofy woman she has raised me to be.