Abuela Antonia – A Grandparents Day Memory

When I was growing up in Cuba we celebrated Grandparents Day, el Día de los Abuelos, on July 26^th, the feast of St. Joachim and St. Ann, the grandparents of Jesus. With the Castro Revolution, July 26^th became the official day to celebrate the Movimiento 26 de Julio, the 26 of July Movement, one of several revolutionary organizations that fought against the Batista regime and the one that claimed triumph on January 1, 1959 after the dictator left the island. “Fidel spoiled our day,” I remember some grandparents complaining. Of course families could continue privately observing el Día de los Abuelos, but it was not the same.

Early this year Pope Francis instituted the World Day for Grandparents and for the Elderly on the fourth Sunday of July, the Sunday closest to the Feast of St. Joachim and St. Ann. It was celebrated for the first time yesterday. I am happy that the feast that we observed as children is now a worldwide celebration in the Catholic Church.  On this occasion my thoughts turn to my own grandparents, long gone to receive their eternal reward. In a special way I remember my abuelita (granny) Antonia and the relationship she had with my mom, Augusta.  

My grandmother, Antonia Bernabella Faife Rodríguez was born in Cuba in 1892. Her father was a descendant of a French family that had initially immigrated to Haiti and then had to immigrate to Cuba in the early 19^th century during the aftermath of the Haitian Revolution.  Antonia was married at a young age to José Asunción Mulkay Martinez. José, my grandfather was a doctor who sometimes would get involved in politics.  His grandfather had immigrated to Cuba from Ireland, also during one of the Irish revolts. Augusta Eulalia Mulkay Faife, my Mom, was born in 1910, when Antonia was 18 years old.

Antonia and José had seven more children.  I grew up hearing Mom telling me stories about her siblings.  My abuela Antonia delegated much of the childcare to my mom, a role that she cherished. I was the beneficiary of Mom’s rich experience caring for her siblings, and then for my own siblings, since I was the last of four. By the time I was born Antonia was already a widow. I never met my grandfather José except in the many stories about him my mom shared with me.

When I was growing up my abuelita Antonia visited us frequently.  She and my mom would spends hours chatting. Abuelita Antonia liked to travel and her favorite destination was Miami, Florida.  My mom had never travelled.  Before each of abuela Antonia’s trip she would make a list of things she would like her to bring.  That was abuela Antonia – she would bring gifts from Miami not just for my mom and my siblings, but also for my aunts and uncles and my cousins.  I remember her bringing me a pair of pink flip flops, the first ever flip flops I ever owned.

The Castro Revolution of 1959 changed everything. Abuelita Antonia, who had been an admirer of all things from the United States became a Castro sympathizer.  My mom initially sympathized with the Castro Revolution, as did the vast majority of Cubans. Soon she started seeing that the Revolution was not delivering its promise of freedom and democracy, but quite the contrary.   My mom, my dad and my siblings became counter revolutionaries.  This caused tensions between abuelita Antonia and my mom. 

On Sept. 2, 1960 I wrote a letter to my friend Ofelia who had left Cuba with her family and was living in Miami. I was 12 years old. Here is a translation of the original Spanish, without any added punctuation:

“Dear Ofe,

“Right now I am desperate. My grandma came and she just left because she just broke up with my mom because of Fidel. You know what that means that disgrace I do not know what I would do. My grandma said that “she could not stand the sight of priests” and that she did not need God.  Mom begged her to stay that she should not break up with her family on account of FIDEL and his buddies….”

Mom and abuelita Antonia eventually set aside their political differences and made peace. After my mom and dad immigrated to the United States they stayed in close contact by letters, telegrams and phone calls. 

When abuelita Antonia became terminally ill my mom was not able to travel back to Cuba because of government restrictions.  One of my aunts who had remained in Cuba heard her call for my mom in her deathbed.  “Augusta, Augusta, Augusta,” were her last words.

I recently told this story to an acquaintance. “What led them to reconcile?” I really do not remember how that happened, I just remember that at some point abuelita Antonia started to visit us again.

In our current society, here in the United States, I see families, close friends, colleagues, facing similar tensions in their relationships because of differences in their political views.  I feel them myself.  When that happens, the meaning of my mom’s words recorded on my letter to my friend Ofe, echoes in my mind:  “Do not break with your family and with your friends because of politics.”