Welcome

The purpose of this blog is to serve as a public accountability for a personal project. I seek to uncover and more deeply understand the struggle and sacrifice of my aunt, Nordia Esther González Hidalgo, during the Nicaraguan Revolution. I will be sharing my readings, research and reflections. This is my story of how I found hers.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Poesía

It seems like every November 16 I manage to submit some kind of entry on this blog, regardless of how faithful or not I've been during the year.  Part of my problem is having access to a decent computer.  My personal laptop is an ancient 2005 Powerbook G4.  I'm way overdue for an upgrade.  I think the majority of my writings on this blog have come during some respite in the workday.  Unfortunately, relying on the work computer means I have to give my job the priority.  Lately, I'm too busy at work to squeeze in personal time.  Yesterday, I decided to crack open my dusty laptop for a different writing project that needed my attention.  In doing so, I uncovered this Spanish poem I wrote 8 years ago after the death of my grandmother.  I remember I specifically wanted to try to write another poem in Spanish as I had done for my Tía Nordia in 2004.  I feel that in this journey in has been very important to remember both of these strong and amazing women.  As I search for the aunt I never knew, I am reminded of the grandmother I barely knew and the longing I have to know my family overall.  Despite the distance, whether across the land or far beyond, I will always carry them close to my heart.



Abuelita


No pude despedirme.
Ni un abrazo,
Ni un beso
Nada.

No pude estar a su lado,
En estos momentos difíciles.

Solamente pude ofrecer mis oraciones de lejos.

Una tristeza pesada,
Buscando la esperanza.

Aúnque lejos quedo,
Cerca de Ud. siempre estaré.

Hay millas hasta Nicaragua,
Pero nada puede separar el espíritu.

No pude despedirme
Porque va a quedar conmigo
Mi angelita abuelita
Cuidandome del cielo.

No pude despedirme.
No debo desperdirme.

English Translation:



I couldn’t say good-bye.


Not a hug,
Not a kiss.
Nothing.

I couldn’t be by your side
In these difficult times.

I could only offer my prayers from afar.

A heavy sorrow,
Searching for hope.

Although distant I remain,
I will forever be close to you.

There are miles to Nicaragua,
But nothing can separate the spirit.

I couldn’t say good-bye.
Because you are going to stay with me
My grandma angel
Watching over me from heaven.

I couldn’t say good-bye.
I shouldn’t say good-bye.

Friday, June 13, 2014

More than a Memory

In 2013 I made the resolution to write a new blog entry every month and I fortunately achieved that.  However, I did not renew that commitment into 2014.  I felt I might have been forcing myself to blog without as much content.  It felt more like personal sharing than successful research and discovery.  I didn't want to post without progress.  Unfortunately, instead of pushing myself to actually dive into material, everything has slowed down and now half the year has gone by without a notice.  I feel like I'm really failing to unearth my aunt's story.

The year hasn't been a complete dud.  I did attend an enjoyable Carlos Mejía Godoy concert and mini Nicaraguan festival.  I made the effort to watch the 1983, Under Fire, an American movie on the Nicaraguan revolution inspired by the murder of ABC reporter Bill Stewart.  It left me with mixed feelings.  Sadly, neither of these activities found their form online.  They remain as merely activities of my Nicaraguan nature.

We did however, uncover one important little gem.  I noticed on the back of an photograph of my mother some handwriting that said, "Esteli, Nov 76."  This photo is from the same day of pictures as the nice group picture of my mom, grandmother and aunt as well as the Nordia image my sister and I carried to Fort Benning.  We now finally had context.  A photographer would only be visiting if there was a party going on and since it was November it meant they were celebrating my Abuelita's birthday.  It was the last birthday they would celebrate together before my mom left for the United States.  Interestingly, it turns out that the photographer is my cousin Yahoska's great-uncle, Donaldo Picado.  He loved taking pictures and always brought his camera around.  I was surprised to see how the story of simple photograph could continue to grow.

  




Today marks the 35th anniversary of the attack on Colina 110, when mi Tía Nordia and 30-plus other teenagers were gunned down by helicopters, tanks and plowed through with bulldozers.  Two years ago as I remembered her death, I started this blog to write about her life.  Today it is again her death brings me back to write about her and explore her story.  I must renew my commitment to this journey.  In honor of her I wanted to light a candle by her picture on the mantle as my mother always does in our living room.  The only picture I had of her was a print-out from this same photo session slipped into the binder for my notes and so up it went.  This work is her memorial.  If I want to honor her life, I must make this photo more than a memory.