The Tragedy by Gisselle Murillo

1943 was the year my life changed forever. I was a normal woman, just like you and anyone else. I lived in Mexico, had all the land, and I never starved. Often times I walked down the streets of Acambaro, my homeland, and saw beggars everywhere. My mother always said to me, “you have no money to be wasting on these people who are too lazy to get a job.” She was right, but me being me, I had to give them something. I couldn’t just walk away. I was a couple days away from my wedding. I could feel the nerves starting down my spine. My mother, on the other hand just wanted to get things over with since she was against the entire matrimony from the start. My father was the one who convinced her to let me be happy with who I chose. His exact words were, “Let her be happy. When we were young, your mother didn’t approve of me, but what did you do? Marry my anyway!” My mother wouldn’t even look him in the eyes; she would just continue what she was doing, which clearly meant my father was right. After my marriage with Efrain, everything was going better than I could have ever imagined. I moved in with him, and at first my mother couldn’t bare the idea that I was going to leave. Again, my father interfered and said, “She needs to move in with her husband. She needs to go out and explore. What will she ever learn if she is attached to you her entire life?” Like usual, my mother would continue what she was doing in silence. My husband’s mother had an enormous house. I have to admit, they were very rich. Her husband and all the men who were married in the house went to the United States to work and earn their living. Of course, they returned with more money than anyone could ever make here in Mexico. I begged Efrain to take me with him, but he would always refuse. I despised being left alone in that house. For some reason, I had a feeling his mother never liked me. She always gave me this sense of insecurity and lack of trust that I never felt before in my life. My mother felt the same way toward her as well. Even though I didn’t feel comfortable, I was forced to stay in that house until Efrain returned. I had no choice. The months he was gone turned into years for me. A couple years into our marriage, we had three daughters. The oldest one was Noemi, then Beatriz, and finally my Lilia. I had gone to the doctor to find out that I was about to have another child. I knew deep in my husbands heart he wanted a son, so I prayed everyday it would be. One day he noticed me praying and he said to me, “I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl. Either way I will accept him or her and love them just as much as the rest of my kids.” After that, I stopped praying because I was content with whatever I was going to have, boy or girl. I was eight months pregnant, and Efrain left to the United States so he could return to see his newborn child the following month. I was scared because I had had a dream the previous night that I had a premature son. I woke up and began to cry because I felt so alone. I couldn’t tell Efrain my dream because he was miles away, and I had this bad feeling that something bad was going to happen. My emotions were correct, because the following week I had my fourth daughter. That’s right, another daughter. I decided to name her Juana. My mother-in-law sent for someone to call or find Efrain and tell him that his daughter was born so he could return to Mexico as soon as possible, but not to worry because even though she was premature, she was as healthy as could be. When Efrain heard the news he was in shock. He immediately took the next bus to Mexico along with two of his brothers. On their way back, the bus encountered a place called La Rumorosa, which was somewhat of a mountain. The bus was rolling down full speed because the road twisted around the mountain and continued from top to bottom. For some reason the bus driver lost control, and so the bus ended up crashing at 80 mph and killed everyone inside. I was washing the dished when I received the phone call. I was happy that my husband would be arriving in a matter of hours and he would be meeting his daughter. In fact I was even singing, something I hadn’t done in months. Then the phone rang. “Hello?” I said. “Is this Carmen Lara?” a desperate voice asked. “Yes, this is she. How can I help you?” I replied. “I’m so sorry to say this, but your husband, Efrain, his bus just crashed and everyone he was with on the bus, they unfortunately passed away….” I couldn't believe what I heard. I dropped the phone and left the man talking. I told my husband’s mother to watch the girls because I had to do something, and I would be back later on. I could tell that she noticed I was nervous by the way she stared at me. I rushed out of the house immediately and ran to the bus station. A part of me kept telling me that the man who called me was only playing a sick joke on me. The other half was asking what I was going to do if it was true. If Efrain was dead, how was I going to support four daughters on my own? Then it hit me. Efrain didn’t even get to meet his youngest daughter, Juana. I began to cry, and a lady next to me asked me what was wrong, so I told her. She seemed worried because her son was on the same bus my husband was, therefore we shared the same desperation. We both ran to the person in charge of the place and asked what time the bus would be arriving, and if he had any news for us. The man looked at us and said, “The bus is scheduled to arrive in about an hour or so”. The women and I were full of anguish, but we had no other choice but to wait, so wait we did. There we were, for two hours waiting, but nothing. Suddenly the man in charge came to us and he said, “Excuse me, but unfortunately the bus you are waiting for was in a terrible accident. I have no idea what happened, but please leave me your number, and I will call to inform you if we are told anything else.” That very moment, everything I thought I knew was gone. I didn’t know what to do. My eyes filled up with tears. I could barley hear my thoughts, since the lady next to me was screaming like I never heard anyone scream before. People walking around just stared at her, and I just got up and walked away. I didn’t know what I was going to tell his mother. I didn’t know how I was going to tell her, I just knew I had to. So I forced myself to walk the entire way so I could allow myself to think. What was I going to do with four daughters? How was I going to support them? Worst of all, what was I going to tell them when they grow up and asked about their father? I didn’t want my daughters to think their father left them. On the contrary, he was a man like no other. He loved his daughters. The whole accident happened because he was on his way to see his newborn daughter. But why did it have to be him? What did I do to deserve this? All these questions were racing through my head and I wasn’t paying much attention to what I was doing, so I made it to the house and walked inside. It appeared his mother was waiting for me the entire time. She asked me what was going on, why my face was so red, and why I was crying. I looked at her and said, “Efrain was in an accident on his way back.” She fell to the floor and began to sob. I had only said he was in an accident, I couldn’t imagine her reaction when I told her he was dead. She asked me if he was fine, what hospital he was in, and she kept talking but I wasn’t even listening. I stopped her and said, “He’s gone. He’s dead” She grabbed everything she could reach and flung it on the floor. She was screaming, and after a couple minutes she just fell to the floor and began crying. Not the kind of crying that you could hear across the room. It was the kind of crying that hurt your ears, and that you could hear across the entire city. She was in so much pain, and I was just standing there, so I ran up to her and hugged her. For the first time since I had moved in, I felt a connection with her. I felt like we understood each other, for she had lost her son, and I had lost my husband. I had to see my own husband be buried. I had to live the pain of seeing the love of my life move on, without me. How would I fix the emptiness my daughters felt when they saw a daughter holding their father’s hand? Only the future could tell what was lying ahead.