I have lost a lot of things in my life, but the first memory of something that I really loved and lost was that of my beloved godmother, Bertha. She and her family were neighbors in my native Guadalajara. She was the oldest of two. Her sister’s name was Irma, and their parents were Don Crispin and Dona Luz.  They all lived together in a big house in the city.

To be sincere, I have to say that the marriage of my parents was dysfunctional. My dad was a handsome man who was lucky with women, and my mother was a well educated woman who married a man who from time to time was unloyol to her. My mother’s constant preoccupation and suffering took away her energy from us. Consequently, my sister and I spent a lot of time with our next-door neighbors.

I was only six months old when Bertha came to be my godmother.  All her family was very loving. Both Bertha and her sister were single. When my mother had my sister Laura, I was Bertha’s favorite child, and Laura was Irma’s, Bertha’s younger sister.   As soon as I began to talk, I called Bertha “mama.” Bertha quickly told me that my mother would be jealous, so she gave me permission to call her, my godmother, “Aunt” Bertha.

 Aunt Bertha celebrated every silly little thing I did. She used to make my piñatas and make my dresses for my birthday parties. I remember that I liked to dance, sing and recite. She had taught me well. When I was about four years old, I went to Aunt Bertha’s job almost every day. I liked to be there with her very much.  She worked in the Cultural Museum (Ceramic Art) of Guadalajara. The place had spacious corridors and high ceilings. The construction was extremely beautiful with its high mango trees. This place was surrounded by fine porcelain and adobe art. Nationals and tourist could find the best art of Mexico. I walked though the large corridors as I pleased. I felt that this beautiful place was mine.  However, one time I learned never to try to play with the old guard, Don Pedrito, while he was asleep in his chair because once when I went to touch him, he became startled, pulled out his gun, and almost shot me!

My godmother was not only loving, but she was also tall and strong. When we walked for long time, and I was exhausted, she picked me up and walked with me in her arms. At bed time she read me stories. She felt proud of me because I memorized them almost exactly without knowing how to read, “Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, and Little Red Riding Hood.” I went with her to see all those movies, including the scary ones, like "The Wolf Man” and “Frankenstein.” My favorites!

With her, even some of the worst moments in my childhood, like getting injections, were not so bad because she comforted me with my best goody “gansito” (Mexican sweet bread). I never had an injection without her buying me a “gansito” (To this day I’m still a coward with needles.) She was my world!

 Even though I was very young, only about six years old, I remember my Aunt in the sad days before we left Guadalajara. “When am I going to see you again - mi Blancura?” she cried.  At the train station, she hugged me so tight and we cried together very much.

 The frontier of Tijuana was an inhospitable place, and we didn’t know anyone there.  Until that moment in my life I had never felt alone. My life had changed drastically. I developed depression.  I learned to hide my big love for my aunt because I didn’t want to hurt my mom’s feelings.  I often hid under the crib of my little brother, stayed in the closet, or went to bed to cry for long periods of time. I had been spoiled by so many things during my youth, and my Aunt Bertha was the first big loss in my life. My mom had so many qualities: she was an excellent cook, seamstress, and crafter. When I was at home, I never saw her watching TV or wasting time. My mom’s hands were always busy. My mother wasn’t very happy with my dad even though she loved him very much. She showed her love for me distantly: doing my pony tails every day, shining my shoes, making my clothes, etc, but I rarely remember a kiss or a hug from her. I missed the special hugs, kisses, stories, and the closeness I had had with my “Godmother” because, in my heart, she was the perfect mother for me.

  My mother used vacation times for visiting the family in Guadalajara, so from time to time I renewed my encounters with my beloved godmother. I waited a long time to feel as a princess again…

When I was twelve, I worried about my appearance; I didn’t want Aunt Bertha to see me all grown up. I was worried. Boys had begun to look at me.   Sometimes, in Tijuana,  sneaking around my father’s vigilance, I put on eyeliner, a tiny line over my eyes, and I used my mother’s shoes and stockings. However, I didn’t want my aunt to notice I was no longer a little girl, so I combed my long hair into two ponytails, and I didn’t use any eyeliner. When she looked at me she said that I hadn’t changed a bit. That was the most outstanding compliment she could have given me! I still went to sleep in her bed, and she hugged me in the same way as she had when I was her little girl.

A couple days before the end of my vacation I opened my heart and confessed that for a long time I had felt miserable without her and I reproached her abandonment. She confided to me that she had tried to run away with me, but then my “grandpa”, her father, reminded her that I wasn’t her daughter. I know that she had suffered from the separation too.

Of course, I won a lot too. I tasted a big love, the love of my “Aunt” Bertha.  I learned to be sensitive. I still like old and romantic music because “mi abuelito,” Don Crispin, used to play the bandoleer with his friends, the famous “Tecolines,” a romantic trio. Thanks to my godmother’s custom of reading to me when I was a little girl, I always preferred reading to going outside to play with the other kids. I passed to my brothers many of the stories that my beloved aunt had taught me, and being the oldest of 8, I believe that in some kind of way she was training me to be a second mother to them too.