Advertisement It was night.
The river was cold.
As hypothermia set in, she told her companions to leave her behind.
But they didn’t.
And so on Sunday, when I went to Place of Grace to meet with the local Hispanic community on the Day of the Dead, Nemecia told me her story.
The Day of the Dead celebration, like most experiences on this continent, is colored
by European immigration
500 years ago. It originated with indigenous peoples but since has blended with the Roman Catholic All Souls' Day.
Now people make altars in their homes in Mexico to deceased family members and pray and dance by their ancestors’ graves. Some stay in the cemetery through the night.
Many also celebrate Mass.
In La Crosse, Mexican and other Hispanic immigrants went to Mary, Mother of the Church, where they wrote down the names of the dead for the Rev. Marco Vela, from Peru, to read aloud.
Nemecia, 40, wrote down “Sergio,” her son who died of asthma at 2 months old.
As she sat on the Place of Grace front porch, she cried as she talked about him and her husband put his hand on her shoulder.
She now asks Sergio to look after her other son, who also has asthma and lives in Mexico near the U.S. border. He’s 22, but she worries about him because he can’t read or write. She also has daughters living in Mexico.
After Nemecia crossed the border six years ago, she became separated from the group she was traveling with and wandered the New Mexico desert alone until coming upon a farm where other immigrants worked.
The farm family — Americans — clothed and fed her and helped her get to Chicago.
Nemecia now works in La Crosse.
On Sunday, she sat with her husband, who has been in the United States for seven years, another Mexican couple and Sharon Chavolla, who translated their words for me.
The reason she is in this country, Nemecia said, is so she can feed her children.
“That’s why everybody is here,” said fellow immigrant Eva Maria, “to feed their children in Mexico.”
Vela, the priest, also was at Place of Grace that day. Before he left, he told me about the community of immigrants he ministers to here.
“What they look for in the depths of their hope is to live in peace, work in peace and to grow in peace in a culture that’s not theirs,” he said.
As the immigrants spoke, the sun set and the horizon turned pink west of Hood Street.
The four said this year was the first time they felt like a community as they celebrated the Day of the Dead since coming to the United States.
After they left, I wondered what it would be like to have to risk my life and move to a strange culture to feed children back home. And I have to admit, I felt sadness for the way my own people have not always acted as hospitable as these immigrants were to me that day.
Joe Orso works part time for the La Crosse Tribune and the Franciscan Spirituality Center. Opinions in this column are his own.
