The earliest memory I have of my Ita involves a cold egg and almost wordless but fervent prayers that somehow sounded like chanting. I remember crying with every ounce of my soul as I vocalized them into painful screams. I remember my mother holding me as Ita kept rubbing a cold egg in rhythmic motions all over my body. I remember being afraid, and I remember feeling sick.
Ita was my grandmother. Ita is what I called her because, as I was learning to talk, I couldn't figure out how to say, Abuelita. "Ita" is all that would come out of my mouth, so Ita, became what I named her.
To know my Ita means that you knew her as an almost legendary and mythic figure in history. You knew she was a strong-willed woman that accomplished whatever she set out to do. When she set out to do something, she was fierce in her determination. If she wanted you to eat every bite of the food that she prepared for you meant that you could not leave the table until you ate at least two servings. If you didn't eat her food, you would be in big trouble, and you never wanted to go against her wishes.
As her first grandson, I know I got off easy compared to everyone else.
I've heard multiple stories from my mom, aunt, uncles, and various cousins that confirms this fact. My grandmother became known as a curandera (or a medicine woman) because she became emphatic about making sure her family was healthy. My great aunts and uncles tell stories of sending their kids to my grandmother so that she could give them all sorts of shots.
I've heard my mother, aunt, uncles, and their cousins tell the same type of story. They all started off with someone yelling, "Aah! Run, here comes Auntie Belen, Hide!" But they were literally shouting, "¡Ay! ¡Viene Tia Belen! Escóndanse!" They would recite vivid memories of running away from my Ita. They knew her mission was to give them shots. Shots that the adults knew would keep them healthy and strong. But no child ever wants to get a shot.
They would all try their best to play a life or death version of "hide and seek" from my Ita. Hide, and maybe you would be spared from her elixir.
Ita had other plans. Ita would muster all her superwoman powers to find each and every child. Then, she would turn this hide and seek venture into a morality lesson where the moral was taught with a whipping by a belt and an injection. No matter where they hid. My Ita would find them. In the closet, under their beds, in the attic, behind the couch, in their toybox. Hide as they would, she would find them, and so would her belt and syringe.
Growing up, I knew that her love was bigger than her bark, but you still didn't dare cross her.
The first memory that I have of my Ita was her using her abilities as a curandera to save me. My mom tells me that I was really sick. I had a fever that wouldn't go away. They had tried everything. Nothing was working. And so, my Ita told my mom to grab an egg from the fridge, then she told my mom to hold me for the next several moments.
I don't remember every detail of what happened next. I can't remember the words of her chant-like praying. Yet, I remember my grandmother calling on her Jesuscito to heal me. Jesuscito, being Jesus' name but used as a term of endearment and belonging and possession. My Ita was calling on her deity, to be my healer. Even though at this point in my life, I had no clue who this Jesus is to me.
I don't remember how long the chanting continued as my Ita performed her curandera duties. How long did my Ita rub the egg all over my body? I don't know that either. But I do remember how serious my Ita looked as she was praying. It was the determined look of a grandmother doing everything in her power and her God's power to heal her grandson.
To this day, I don't fully understand the use of eggs in the curandera culture. I know it is a mix of Latin American folklore mixed with Catholicism. I've read this in books, heard this in stories, and learned about it from my elders.
What I learned that day from my Ita had nothing to do with this egg, prayers, or God. I learned that my Ita would give anything she had to make me well. The way my Ita rolled was by giving her all for the ones she loved. My Ita did this with her cooking, belts, syringes, hugs, love, and for me, I first remember that it happened with an egg.