Duelo (s.) / The Spanish translation for a cultural grief
07/23/20
By Cynthia Salgado
The stay-at-home order in Chicago went into effect on Friday, March 20th. Roughly two hours after it was announced, I was on my way back to school, Coe College in Iowa, to pack my dorm room and move back home until further notice. While packing, many things crossed my mind, but I was mainly feeling uncertain and confused about what was next. I never anticipated the pain that this pandemic would bring and how mourning a loss would change in an unimaginable way.
It was early April, and there were not as many COVID-19 cases in Little Village as there are now. We had just lost a family member and the last thing on our mind was social distancing. Gathered at my aunt's house, we hugged and comforted each other in this time of unbearable pain. Most of us were in disbelief, hoping that we were all sharing the same nightmare and tomorrow we would wake up and be told that this was all just a bad dream.
Although social distancing was the least of our worries that day, it was not as if everyone completely forgot what we were dealing with. The elder family members walked in with face masks, showing emotional support to my aunt, and as the day went on, most if not everyone had a face mask. You could spot hand sanitizer on tables all throughout the house, and people sharing their personal ones with each other.
You may have a lot of questions by this point. No, it was not the funeral yet, deep inside us we knew there might not be one. What was that gathering then? It’s just a cultural thing among some Mexican families, paying respects on the day of the passing, to say our final goodbyes.
On those kinds of days, there always are tears, hugs, broken hearts, but this time, something new came with the pain, our feelings were covered under face masks and hand sanitizers. A combination that one would never imagine experiencing.
To help you picture this scene, imagine over 20 family members, relatives and friends coming in and out of a house, some outside in the parking lot because we would take turns. It was a Wednesday morning, and those who weren’t working or could leave work early did so to say their farewells.
I can only tell you what I saw on the inside, I can’t tell you what it looked like to the neighbors or anyone who walked or drove past the house. In a moment when I was looking for something to drink I heard, “The cops are here.” Those who heard looked at each other in utter confusion.
“The cops?” Yes, the police showed up some time between 10am and noon. Someone called the cops and told them that we were having a party. After we explained to the cops that there was no party going on and what had happened –that my uncle had passed away earlier that day due to a natural cause– they expressed their condolences and let us be.
Family altar with two candles. Photo courtesy of the author.
In the Mexican culture, for those that are catholic, it is believed that the person will go on to the afterlife. That means that from that day on out, their loved ones here on Earth will do what they can to help them whether that is through prayer, altars, or simply always having a candle lit for them as a source of light. In addition to all of this, it is sort of a habit for the family to always be together in times of grief. The immediate family of the departed is never really left alone, with people always visiting or sometimes family members staying with them to help them cope, clean up around the house, and tend to the visitors. Family and friends can thus be of help in a time where you should not be worried about washing the dishes but rather processing what has happened and coping.
Over the past couple of months, you could say there has been a mixture of lack of awareness and disbelief in the Latinx community about COVID-19. Many are wondering if this whole thing is just a government hoax. How is it that some people have it but have no symptoms? How do we know they aren’t giving the poor people the virus?
At that time, there seemed to be new findings every day. My mom would hear one thing on the news but my sisters and I would read something different from the English language media. We didn’t really know what would be next, as though every day the CDC came out with new regulations.
Days went by, and still in disbelief, we were told that there would be a funeral and a service, but only 10 people would be allowed to attend. Immediate family gets priority, of course. As for everyone else, we could see the casket from afar, in our cars, stop for a few seconds and move on so the next car could get a turn.
That also meant that, at that time, my aunt was no longer taking any visitors who would go and personally express their sympathy about what happened to my uncle. Those who would show up would sit at a safe distance from her.
About a month later, my grandfather was really sick. At this point everyone figured that it was the virus. He was taken to get tested but because of his age (85) and the fact that the testing site was inside, they suggested for him not to go in. He was not tested, but it was clear that he had COVID-19. Days later he ended up in the hospital, and as if we were on a roller coaster, in a couple days he got from worse to better, then went back home to quickly go back to the hospital again.
Patients in the hospital are not allowed any visitors. His doctor was kind enough to connect us through FaceTime to say a final goodbye. Despite the fact that not everyone had the opportunity to reach the doctor, we must hold onto our last memories with him.
There are many differences between these two losses. One was due to a natural cause and the other was surrendered by this novel virus. When someone infected passes, their body must be cremated. This can be against some people’s wishes, but unfortunately, the family has absolutely no say in the final decision.
I am not sure if that is the usual for all catholics, but it is my family’s custom that after someone passes away you pray a rosario every day for nine days. This is a novenario or a nine-day period of mourning. These days are crucial in helping the family cope and they are typically held in the home of the deceased. After the rosario is done for the first eight days people usually take a combination of things to snack on after, often pan dulce and atole or other forms of merienda.
These nine days allow for the family to come together, even those who had not been around in a long time. You reminisce about the past and all the memories you may have with your loved one who passed. On the end of the ninth day, there is a bigger meal, actual food and not just snacks. The family sits together to have this meal and again, to show their sympathy for those that were left behind.
My family wanted to have a novenario for both family members, but we understood the fact we could not gather. Instead, the rosarios were held over Zoom calls. When we could not physically be with each other, praying together, albeit through an app, was better than nothing.
Preparation for a Zoom rosario. Photo courtesy of the author.
Amid all of this, the one feeling that everyone who has lost someone during the pandemic have in common is grief. Whether the loss was a result of the COVID-19 disease or not, the feeling is the same. Somehow, along with grief, many feel alone. Due to the fact that most are still practicing social distancing and those who are essential workers try and have little to no contact with others, it is very hard to get closure when alone.
Something about having grief and doing it alone is a process that many of us had never seen or experienced. You begin to think that no one understands you. Perhaps those feelings are connected to not being able to gather with your family. But even though you feel alone, the reality is the opposite: no one is truly alone because someone out there feels the exact same way. The only problem is that we don’t speak about it and are unaware. This new condition of going through grief alone has made many feel as if better days will not come.
The most important thing here is to remember that life continues and memories last forever. Call or text those close to you, remind them that you love them. Tomorrow isn’t promised.
Cynthia Salgado is a young reporter and writer. She has been part of journalism and radio-production class and internship at Yollocalli Arts Reach since 2018. Currently, she is attending Coe College in Cedar Rapids, Iowa for a double major in Communications Studies and Spanish.
Cynthia Salgado worked on this piece as part of Yollocalli Arts Reach Journalism, Storytelling and Radio Internship Program.