It is all about the light

Last week I inadvertently shared a draft of this post! WordPress sometimes gets me confused. If you enjoyed the draft, take a minute to read the final version, there are some additions.

Today I will share the story of a woman who held great significance in my family. I share it because, if I don’t tell her story, who will?

Geraldina was born in the countryside of the Brazilian State of Minas Gerais in 1935. She was one of about 14 children born into a family that struggled to provide for even one. Hence, it wasn’t surprising that, at the age of 15, her parents married her off to Humberto, a considerably older man. It was a practical decision to alleviate the financial strain on the family.

Humberto, though a good man and a hardworking agricultural laborer, had a peculiar problem: every few years, he convinced himself that someone was trying to harm him, prompting the couple to relocate frequently. Geraldina and Humberto journeyed across the Brazilian southeast until they settled in the bustling city of Rio de Janeiro.

In Rio, Geraldina took up work as a housemaid, a common occupation in 1970s Brazil when middle-class women began pursuing careers, necessitating domestic help. This marked the beginning of a 25-year intertwined connection between Geraldina’s story and our family’s. Her job was to watch over me and later, my sister, and perform the domestic duties my mother couldn’t because she worked full time. Geraldina resided with us, visiting her husband on weekends. Living with us provided her with stability and a sense of home, freeing her from Humberto’s constant need to move, and allowed her to save money for the future.

“Dedé,” as I affectionately named her during my toddler years, didn’t learn to read and write as a child, and remained illiterate as an adult, despite my parents’ efforts to teach her. At one instance, a private tutor was hired for the task, to no avail. It’s not that Dedé couldn’t learn, she was smart, but she refused to engage in any type of formal learning . Despite that, she possessed an innate understanding of money and math and navigated the world adeptly.

Dedé’s urban lifestyle coexisted with remarkable skills from her rural upbringing. My parents owned a farm where we used to spend summers. In the farm, we found out that Dedé could efficiently process a bird from killing to preparation, preserve meat without a refrigerator using pork fat, and utilize local leaves for holding and drinking water from a creek. Her incredible knowledge of edible plants showcased her family’s reliance on foraging for food.

Most of my street smarts were learned from Dedé. She was a wealth of information on bus routes, local store prices, and safe walking routes through the neighborhood. She taught me to use public transport, always take the aisle seat, remain vigilant for suspicious followers, and avoid displaying house keys prematurely when approaching the house, to prevent potential assaults.

Dedé had diverse interests. She enjoyed watching TV, dancing, chatting with friends, and listening to the radio. Excelling in taking care of me and my sister, cooking delicious meals, and effortlessly making friends, she also mediated conflicts within the family and with neighbors, offering psychological advice. Despite her excellent health, Dedé frequently visited doctors, collected prescriptions, and rarely adhered to advice from her providers. For example, when one of her physicians suggested that she walks every day to lose weight, Dedé replied that she already worked plenty around the house, and that the only thing she wanted to do with her free time was to rest.

In her late 40s, Humberto passed away, and Dedé subsequently found companionship with René, a construction worker several years her junior. Upon retiring from working for my parents, she moved in with René, and together, they built a charming pink house, the most attractive in her neighborhood. In her later years, Dedé embraced religion, with the church becoming a significant part of her social life. She confided in me about her regret for not putting more effort in learning to read, expressing a desire to read the Bible.

On February 2, 2022, I received the somber news of Dedé’s sudden passing from a stroke at the age of 87. She had no children of her own, no contact with her blood family, and is survived by her husband René. While I was saddened by the news, I also found solace in her swift departure after a long and fruitful life. Not everyone is as fortunate to be able to live independently and with a clear mind until the very last day. Dedé, my second mother, was a source of pure love—an angel in our lives and in the lives of many others.

The featured photo, a portrait of Dedé, was taken during the Christmas of 2018, the last one we spent together. Among the photos I have taken, I believe this to be one that will stay in the family for a few generations. Of the photos you have taken, which ones will survive the test of time in your family, and which ones will they throw away as soon as you die?

Dedé, my sister Vanessa, and I, 2017