I can ask forgiveness from Elena, for the harm that all this caused her. Because of something so silly and so sweet, Elena lost her best friend, and it nearly cost her her career as a jewelry designer when my mother declared open war against her on Twitter. Lots of people stopped buying her pieces. And I also just want to say, thank you, Elena, for loving my mother with all of your heart, and for loving my brothers and sisters with all of your soul. I will never forget that. Maybe, just maybe, some people misinterpreted all your kindness and undying devotion to us.
17.
THE DAY I LOST MY MOTHER
I lost my mother on October 2, 2012. Another date on my calendar. And there’s no delete button to erase it from my heart.
My family, her fans and the whole world said good-bye to Jenni Rivera on December 9 of that same year, but I lost her first, on that strange Tuesday earlier in the fall. That was the moment when my pain and mourning began. The heaviest weight I’ve had to bear thus far.
I remember our final meeting down to the last detail. The clock showed it was nine in the morning. We’d be seeing each other soon in Long Beach, our sweet old Long Beach. My mother had me meet her at a Bank of America, where we kept a safety deposit box registered under my name. We’d kept money and important documents there for several years in case of emergencies.
As I pulled up, I saw her there in her gray Mercedes. My tía Rosie was sitting next to her. My mother and I hadn’t spoken to each other since the previous Friday, when the bomb about Elena and Esteban had gone off.
I parked next to her, and I’ll never forget the feeling of dread I had inside me. I didn’t know how she was going to react. My mother always kept a card up her sleeve whenever she was angry with someone, but that morning she had such a happy look on her face that it inspired confidence. Her hair and makeup looked wonderful, and she was wearing a long, blue dress. I couldn’t help but say, “Wow, Momma, you look beautiful!”
“Really, mija?”
“Yes, you look divine,” I insisted, with admiration.
She replied in her sweet voice, “Thanks. We have a meeting after this; that’s why your tía Rosie is here with me.”
We waited there for another minute before entering the bank and I told her that I also had an appointment later: an acting class. She seemed to be interested.
“Oh, that’s great, mija! Is this your first class? You know, I always hoped you’d become an actress. The world of singing can be so ungrateful and demanding.”
The conversation flowed naturally, giving me the impression that everything was fine. My sweet mom looked serene, almost tender even. My heart was filled with hope. Everything will get back to normal between us, I thought. Maybe she spoke with whomever she needed to speak, and all those old rumors got cleared away. There was nothing I wanted more in this world than that.
Once I signed the document to release what was in the safety deposit box, a bank assistant opened the box in our presence. We took out every bill and slip of paper it contained. Part of the money went into my mother’s purse, and the rest that wouldn’t fit went into mine. When we finished, I had to use the restroom, but first I asked her to hold my bag for me. I didn’t want her to think I was trying to sneak anything out.
When I returned from the bathroom, Rosie and my mother had gone out to sit in the car and wait for me. My mother returned my purse, which had already been emptied, and without wasting another second, she simply said, “Okay, mija, we’ll talk later.”
I got in my car and we waved good-bye to each other through our windshields. That’s the last image I have of my mother, her looking at me with a smile on her face. We never looked into one another’s eyes again. I never saw her smile at me ever again.
The gray car slowly pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared into the traffic of the city that saw us grow together as mother and daughter, and, at times, almost like sisters.
With no idea of what was to come, I actually felt happy that things had gone rather well. There were no bad vibes and my mother had spoken to me again. I was so happy and relieved.
That night I went to dinner at Corky’s BBQ with my friend Dayanna. I wanted to tell her how excited I was after meeting with my momma. We sat down in a booth, and no sooner had I ordered my Coke than my phone beeped. I had just received an e-mail from my mother with a subject line that read “Lights On.”
In the ten neatly written lines of that e-mail, she officially accused me of having been in bed with her husband, and that she knew this for a fact. She went on to describe, in detail, how and where we had our encounter: the previous Thursday, at the house in Encino after the movie, while she was out talking with Elena’s girlfriend, in her bedroom closet. In capital letters, she let me know in no uncertain terms that I was out of her life forever. At that point, I couldn’t even finish reading it. I slammed my phone down on the table and began to cry. What began as a rumor between a couple of old fools was quickly becoming something much more sinister, something monstrous!
“Sister! Are you okay? Dayanna asked, astonished.
“No. I don’t know. My mother went crazy. I don’t know what’s going on. I need to get out of here, please.”
We put a twenty-dollar bill on the table and ran off.
Ever since that day, whenever I drive down that street and see that restaurant, my stomach twists into knots. It hurts me to the core.
From there, we went straight to the house in Encino. That level of accusations and pain needed to be resolved face-to-face. But when we got there, I discovered—much to my surprise—that all the locks and key codes had been changed, and nobody was answering me on the intercom. I got down on my knees in the middle of the driveway, right in front of the iron gate. I cried, I shook, I wept. What was going on? It was the most twisted nightmare a daughter could ever imagine.
I called my sister Jenicka. She didn’t pick up. My siblings had already been warned, and I’m sure my mother had ordered them not to speak to me. Eventually, Jacqie took my call, and I asked her, “Jacqie, did you know about this?”
“Yes, sister. I’ve been praying since yesterday. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Just the previous day, Jacqie and I had spent hours looking for dresses for Jenicka’s quinceañera. Hours of shopping together, two good sisters and friends, talking and laughing.
“Why didn’t you say something to me? And do you really think I actually did that?”
Her answer killed me yet again. It was another stab directly into my gut.
“Yes, sister. Yes, I do.”
“What???” I screamed. I couldn’t even go on. I felt so angry and confused that I just hung up.
If my sister thought I was capable of such a despicable thing, then everyone would. The key was to find a way to get in touch with my mother and talk directly with her. She was the only one who could get me out of this mess.
I asked Dayanna to take me to my grandmother’s house in Lakewood. Eventually, my mother would have to go there to pick up Jenicka.
Damn those L.A. freeways! It seemed like it took an eternity and a half, but finally we reached my grandmother’s street and parked around the corner from her house. From there, I called my tía Rosie. I didn’t want to barge right into my grandma Rosa’s house and concern her with all this drama. Rosie answered on the first ring, but she asked that I just give my mother some time. It wasn’t a good idea to see her right now, she said. Clearly, she knew about everything, and clearly she was involved in that little scheme that my mother put on at the bank earlier that same day, pretending that everything was fine.
From my vantage point, I saw the gray Mercedes drive past. It was a cold gray. Not shining like it was that morning. We didn’t dare follow it. My mother had made it very clear that she didn’t want to talk with me, let alone see me in person. She parked right at the front door, and like a flash of lightning she was in and out with Jenicka in hand. She left without ever seeing me there, without giving me so much as a second to hug her, like I wanted
to do, as a means of explaining that I could never do such a horrible thing. Never! Esteban never looked at me with anything other than the eyes of a caring stepfather. Ever!
That night, my mother changed her phone number and e-mail address. But before that, she sent me another round of horrible messages. Words that I haven’t been able to delete from either my computer or my heart. Words that still haunt me in my dreams. For a moment, I thought about calling Esteban. He’d been in similar situations, and worse. Surely he would understand.
My tía Rosie had told me that, after the huge fight we all had at the house on that Friday, Esteban had gone down to San Diego to spend some time with his parents until the storm passed.
Dayanna grabbed my arm and stopped me before I could dial my phone.
“No, Chiquis, don’t make it worse,” she said with all the love of a dear friend. And she was right. Talking with Esteban would just make my mother even more angry.
Poor Esteban. I, more than anyone, know how much he loved my momma. But fear stopped me from calling him. Better to not push him on this. He was an intelligent man and I trusted that he could take care of himself.
In the midst of all the fear and anguish, the only thing that was clear to me on that night of October 2—as I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, exhausted by all the drama—was that Esteban had lost the love of his life, and I had lost mine. A daughter is bound to her mother by a lifetime of stories, and the love she has for her is a truly great love. In fact, it’s the greatest love.
When I woke up the next morning, the first update I got was from my mom’s secretary Tere. The meeting my mother had told me she had after our meeting was, in fact, with Esteban. It was a calculated joint meeting, just as mine was.
That same afternoon of October 2, Jenni Rivera, wearing her beautiful blue dress and her finest makeup, said good-bye to me in Long Beach, drove down to San Diego, and, in front of the entire Loaiza family, she personally served divorce papers to the man who—until just a few days prior—had been the perfect husband. Almost perfect. Esteban’s divorce proceedings started on that day, and so did mine.
The next surprise would come later that afternoon. In her weekly radio show, Contacto Directo con Jenni, my mother said—very calmly and matter-of-factly—that she had filed for divorce from Esteban, and that she wouldn’t be giving any further details because the reasons were so awful and she didn’t want to hurt my grandma Rosa, who adored her son-in-law so much.
With that announcement, the fuse had been lit, and there was no way to put it out. However, the worst bomb of all—the one the media would set off—had yet to detonate. That would be the bomb that would destroy me too.
Amid all the explosive news, I almost forgot that it was October 3: Jenicka’s birthday! We had planned a little get-together for that evening. I kept telling myself, You have to go; you owe it to your sister. In a moment of innocence, I even imagined that maybe my mother hadn’t told anyone outside the family about her horrible suspicions regarding Esteban and me, and that perhaps I could enjoy the party as just another guest.
The party was to be at a bowling alley in Studio City after the radio show.
I went by myself, putting on the best face that I could. I remember walking into the place and seeing the whole family looking super happy and more united than ever.
My mother didn’t greet me. Her friends ignored me like a shadow. It was obvious that everyone knew. I tried to stay on my feet, but my head was reeling. I felt awful, monstrous even, but I promised to be strong for Jenicka’s sake.
Jacqie seemed to be the only sibling present. My mother and Jenicka spoke only to her. I started to wonder whether Jacqie enjoyed my times of stress, and was happy to command all of my mother’s attention. Maybe I’m wrong. I love Jacqie, but at that moment, there were all sorts of strange feelings that seemed to be taking over me. I felt like the girl at school who got trapped in a corner by all the other kids. I was now the outcast.
Obviously that was not the time to try and seek justice, so I decided to leave the party early with a polite smile and a good-bye that no one seemed to hear. But at least I was able to give Jenicka a big hug and wish her happy birthday. It was well worth all the humiliation for me to do that for Jenicka.
Three days later, I would have to face scorn and rejection yet again. And that time, there was no escape. On October 6, the long-awaited quinceañera was celebrated. Jenicka would be the first of the sisters to celebrate it with a real party, just like the rest of us had always dreamed of. I couldn’t miss it. Plus, my sweet little Jenicka still wasn’t aware of the extent of the family drama. All they told her was that Mom and Chiquis were mad at each other. Nothing more.
That Saturday, I got up and worked up some courage. I put on a golden skirt and a salmon-colored blazer: the official party color. I was in no mood to wear a gown. And just like that, clad in those sweet tones, I went, alone, to the slaughterhouse.
I felt so small and vulnerable! Like a huge weight was crushing my chest. My knees were shaking and the whole way there I wanted to turn around. How had I gone from being my mother’s right-hand woman to the most hated member of the entire Rivera family?
I walked into the hotel where the religious ceremony was about to begin. Upon direct orders from my mother, I was forbidden from bringing any guests, and even a few of my friends had been disinvited via a scathing e-mail she had sent the night before.
As soon as I entered, Vanessa, one of my mother’s closest friends, looked at me with such hatred in her eyes that I thought she was going to choke me. Other people who always used to greet me were now ignoring me completely.
My mother entered through a different door, also alone, in her new role as the recently separated woman, and sat down near the front. Nobody asked her about her beloved husband. Friends and acquaintances alike seemed very well informed about the new family order. At this point, everyone also knew that I was marked with the proverbial scarlet “A” on my forehead.
Even with all this tension in the air, I felt obligated to sit in the same pew as my mother, as we had planned in the rehearsals. Together, and yet so very far away from each other. Sitting seats away from each other, but with miles between our two hearts.
The ceremony began, and soon came the time where I would have to get up and walk down the aisle under the scrutinizing eyes of everyone. I had promised that I would give the speech celebrating the passage from girl to woman and place the crown on Jenicka’s head. It meant so much to me. I’d spent days preparing those words for my beloved sister. It was her big moment.
When I got to Jenicka and stood next to her, I was stunned. Frozen. I imagined that once I started speaking, everyone would break into cruel laughter. That the whole crowd was backing my mother. Everyone on the side of the great Jenni! She was the one with the money and the power. It was more convenient to go along with the great Diva and to hate me, even without knowing the details. I felt so betrayed by everyone.
Despite feeling overwhelmed by fear, I managed to break my silence and say a few words. I couldn’t remember the speech I had memorized, so instead I improvised a few lines, offering good wishes of love and affection for my sister. For better or for worse, one of the most terrifying moments of my life was over relatively quickly. I turned around and went back to my seat. My face was burning. My mother was just two steps away from me, in the same row, but not once did she turn her head. She never even gave me the slightest glance. It was like sitting next to an iceberg or a steel robot. There were no feelings at all emanating from her, and I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper into that torturous chair.
The only people who sat and spoke with me for the rest of the entire night, including dinner and dancing, were my tío Juan and my tía Brenda. Juan insisted that they should give me a chance to explain my side of the story. He was the only one who had the balls to go against my mother’s wishes and tell her to calm down.
“I’m not taking sides one way or the other,” he said, trying t
o explain it to my mother. “I just want to fix the problem.”
But his words would fall on deaf ears. Between the music and the laughter, nobody heard him.
As the night was coming to an end, my mother went to change clothes. When she returned to the ballroom, there were only three or four of her friends still there. She sat down with them and poured a round of shots. After their drink, she burst out laughing. I know that laugh. She was acting. Her real laugh was joyful and mischievous. Even today, I can hear it in my heart. But that laugh—the last one I would ever hear—was the one she used when she was furious but wanted to hide it.
Nothing more to do here, I thought, so I turned around and left.
Outside on the hotel steps, the night was getting cooler. Halloween was coming up soon and a chill was in the air. It seemed to take forever as I waited for the valet to bring my car around.
My tío Juan came over and gave me a hug. He was also leaving the party. Just then, the gray Mercedes blew past us. My mother was behind the wheel, with her eyes focused straight ahead, and Johnny and Jenicka were with her. None of them turned to look at me. Not one.
That was the last time I saw my mother alive. On the night of October 6. Her salmon-colored dress—which was the color Jenicka had chosen for her party—is now on display at the Grammy Museum. It was brought there, some months later, by the whole family, during a small ceremony in her honor. Who would have thought it, the last dress in which I’d ever see her walk, dance or raise a toast.
The next day, after the nightmarish quinceañera was over, I got another one of her crushing messages, delivered via a family member: do not come by the house anymore. There was a restraining order against me, and I was not allowed to see Jenicka, Johnny or even Mikey anymore.
In desperation, I turned to Twitter. How else could I contact her? I didn’t have her new phone numbers. “Please, Momma, listen to me, I love you and I need you to hear me.” I sent this as a direct message, of course. And of course, there was no reply. Soon after, she blocked me.
Forgiveness Page 14