If ever a woman was a force to be reckoned with it was Zelmira Rodriguez. Born in 1928, in the rural village of Hacienda del Tamarindo, she was the only girl in a family of five boys. She was tiny, with wild, black curly hair and flashing obsidian eyes. Her mother died in childbirth when she was seven years old. From then on, Zelmira and her brothers were raised by their Aunt Petra, another woman of force.
Petra was the only sister of Zelmira’s father, Ignacio Rodriguez, an exceedingly stubborn, selfish man. When his wife, Zelmira’s mother, was dying the doctor told him, “I can save your wife or the baby. What do you want me to do?”
“Save the boy,” Ignacio answered. Soon after he came home with a new wife, already pregnant. From that day forward, Ignacio was not allowed inside the house. Gerardo, Zelmira’s older brother, told his father, “You stepped all over our mother when she was alive. You will never step inside her home again.” It was a lesson Zelmira never forgot.
I don’t know if Petra raised Zelmira in her image, or if Zelmira was just born tough. I know that she rode horses and fed cattle, just like her brothers. I suspect that both Zelmira and Petra wore trousers, at a time when most girls were still in long skirts. She was a girl with grit. She worked hard and took risks. She probably didn’t go to school past the fifth grade but she was smart and well informed. She knew what she wanted in life and went after it, until it was hers. She was a woman who took charge of her destiny.
Zelmira loved to laugh. She loved being with family and friends. She had boundless energy and a stubborn persistence. She was determined all seven of her children would go to school and study hard. When Neto became more interested in surfing than in studying, she threw his surfboard in the trash and watched as the garbage man drove away with it.
When her oldest son needed money to go to college, Zelmira started selling fruits and vegetables out of their living room. She traveled by city bus to the big market every morning at 5:00 and came home in a taxi, with bags of food, ready to open her store.
When that money wasn’t enough, she added a small breakfast cafe on the back patio. When she realized she could make even more money by going to the U.S. to buy second-hand clothes to bring back to Mazatlán, she closed her store and moved to California, taking her youngest daughter with her. She left the two youngest boys at home with their father, with strict instructions that they needed to stay in school. She returned home four times a year, to make sure they did.
In the 1980’s, Zelmira traveled to Europe twice ~ once to Rome to see the Pope and then to Fatima, Portugal to visit the shrine of the Virgin Mary. She saw the Pope twice more, once in Los Angeles and again in Mexico City.
Can you imagine such a life? For a little girl born in 1928 in Hacienda del Tamarindo?
Zelmira’s life, was also full of heartbreak. Her beloved husband, Jesús, died in 1993. She lost two sons, as well as four of her brothers and, of course, her dear Aunt Petra. She outlived some of her nieces and nephews, and most of her friends.
Zelmira, herself, died peacefully this week at home, at the age of 93. Padre Lalo came every Sunday, to give her the last sacraments. We all knew that Zelmira would die when she was ready.
She will be buried next week in the family cemetery in Hacienda del Tamarindo, in the town she loved, next to the people who made her who she was.
Vaya con Dios, Mamacita. Go with God. We will never forget you. Your feisty spirit will live in us forever.