Forgiveness

by Chiquis Rivera

  “Chiquis, she never left your shoes. It was you who kept her at a distance. But that’s over now. I’m so happy. Now go put on those stilettos and walk strong!”

  “I promise I will, sister. I’m gonna keep on singing, and fuck what they think about me. And yes, I’m gonna fight for custody too. Now I feel strong enough.”

  “Yes, well, for that you’re gonna need more than just a prayer, sister,” Dayanna said, laughing. “May God and a couple of good lawyers give you their blessings!”

  Blessings! If that’s what it’s all about, the first blessing I would need would be from Rosie. I didn’t want to get into a legal battle with my own family.

  “Why, Chiquis?” she asked me when I brought up my intentions. “Do you think I’m not doing a good enough job?”

  “No, tía, that’s not it. It’s just that the kids and I talked. They agree. Johnny wants to know why I’m not fighting for them.”

  “Okay, it’s just a piece of paper, Chiquis. I never wanted to take your place, but if that would make them happy, then I won’t oppose it. I’ll never fight for something that belongs to you. And the kids have always been yours.”

  That was the green light and the blessing I needed.

  A few days after our conversation, I met up with Rosie again, this time at the office where she was waiting with her attorneys and the documents, which had already been signed. As I walked into the room, I overheard what they were saying:

  “Don’t worry, as executor, you will still control the money.”

  “No, it’s fine, I’m not worried about that,” I interjected, completely at peace. “All I want is what’s mine: the children.”

  I don’t think that people understood that I was happy being disinherited. In fact, I feel that my mother did me a great favor. If she had left me with millions in the bank, I think I would have lain down in bed and cried, and I would have sunk deeper into depression. Not having life all planned out left me with no other choice but to go out and fight each and every morning to earn my bread. I make every dollar I have. I’m a hardworking woman, just like my mother was her entire life. And thanks to that, I can honestly say that I wake up every morning feeling proud of exactly who I am.

  With nothing else to discuss, I signed the custody papers, and all that was left was to wait for the judge, who was running a few minutes late.

  Meanwhile, with or without the legal status, I continued to play the mother role there in Encino. A mom who occasionally had to get tough. Raising two teenagers is no easy task. “Chiquis, don’t get mad, but Esteban invited me to Universal Studios, and I want to go see him.” Johnny was asking permission, hoping to see his best friend and sports hero. I knew he’d texted our former stepfather to apologize for being so nasty toward him during the divorce scandal. And I felt that would be my mother’s wish: that her children would make peace with the past and be able to move forward, so I had no objections to these calls and conversations. Nor am I opposed to the fact that the two of them still see each other, over a year and a half later, recovering their lost friendship. That afternoon, Melele took him to the amusement park. I chose not to go. It was about reuniting Esteban and Johnny, not Esteban and Chiquis. Some months later, Esteban would break his silence and send me a text to say hello. I was happy to hear from him and replied back warmly, but to this day we have yet to meet in person, and we don’t have any plans to do so. I know that someday our paths will cross again, but I’ll leave it up to fate to decide when and where. This is another one of those stories that is better left without an ending.

  And speaking of endings, I had other, more important battles that I needed to resolve. I had to show the world that I would not crack. That Jenni’s daughter had inherited the balls to leave nothing half done. I went back to the studio and recorded my second song, “Esa No Soy Yo.” The lyrics fit like a glove. I wrote it with Julio Reyes, who is also my vocal coach and close friend, and it was about many things, some personal and some not so personal. It was the perfect song to put an end to “poor Chiquis” and kick off my big moment. This one wasn’t dedicated to my mother, but she was very close to my heart while I wrote and recorded it. The premier would be onstage at the Univision Youth Awards.

  “Are you sure about that, Chiquis?” my publicist, Iris, asked. “Remember that’s a very prestigious award show. It’s broadcast in several countries, and all eyes will be on you.”

  “I’m ready, love. I couldn’t care less what they might say. And remember what my momma always said: ‘Don’t worry about bad things being said about you. The time to worry is when they’re not talking about you at all.’ ”

  “You’re right. Damn the haters! You are not alone.”

  That’s how it was. I was not alone. I didn’t feel it for a second, even when I got to Miami. During rehearsals, my mother was with me. When I was trying on the dress that was designed for me by the Estrada twins, she was there to give her approval. When the fans along the red carpet were yelling, “You look just like your mom!” I said, “Of course! I always do, no matter what I’m wearing. Telling me I look like her is the biggest compliment!”

  That night, I could hear the crowd cheering from the dressing room. Great performers were already heading onto the stage, which promised to be the most anticipated event of the summer. My team was nervous, but ready to take the stage and succeed. We brought Javier de la Rosa from Mexico just to do my makeup. Javier was a friend of our dear Jacob, and they both had a similar style of work. Javier talked a lot about Jacob while he transformed me for my performance, and I felt him there, with us, as was my mother, arguing about the eyelashes or what lip gloss to use, and telling jokes. Meanwhile, my manager, Guillermo Rosas, was coming and going, giving orders to Iris and answering calls. We were all there, just like the old times!

  “Chiquis to the stage! Chiquis to the stage!” they shouted from down the hall. It was time. Jose Manuel Martínez, el Torito, my good friend and assistant, took my hand and led me to the seat where I would be lifted by a crane to the very top of the auditorium.

  Guillermo gave me one last hug and said, “Chiquis, we’ve been together for nearly two years now, and no matter what happens tonight, we’re going to stay together.”

  I smiled with infinite gratitude. And as I was being lifted up through the air, I heard Torito shouting after me: “You’re awesome, and everyone who ever talked shit about you is gonna have to shut up!”

  Ah, my faithful Torito . . .

  Being up there, suspended in the air over the impressive Bank United Center, with thousands of people packing the place, I heard my mother’s voice, strong and clear in my head: “We got this. Everything’s under control.” It was the first time I’d heard it since the Graduation! Then the crane began to operate, lowering me down into the center of the stage, and when the camera focused on me, I took a deep breath. I grabbed the microphone with the same strength that I used when I held on to my mother during those bike rides as a child. “Just a little step . . . Slower . . . A little louder . . .” My mother’s voice was guiding me. “Another little step . . . To the right . . . Head up . . .” She was coaching me through every move. Feeling neither fear nor nerves, I started to enjoy my moment. “Take a step . . . Wait for it . . . Now hit it!” And with that voice in my heart, I belted out the final verse:

  But you got it twisted

  I’m not that girl

  I’m not that girl . . .

  And that’s when I shouted, “Gracias! I love you! I love you all!”

  Two producers helped me down the difficult stairs, and the first one to meet me at the foot of the stage was Guillermo with a look of total bliss on his face.

  “You fucking rocked it!” he said, totally thrilled.

  “You did it! You did it, baby!” Iris congratulated me, running up to give me one of her massive hugs.

  Everyone was waiting for me in the dressing room: my siblings, Dayanna, my tío Juan, my tía Rosie. Everyone united, laughing and celebrating a family victory. Just
the way my mother would have wanted it. We were all there, including her, without distances, without fear, without misunderstandings. Together and at peace.

  As I was removing my makeup in front of the mirror—and while the rest of the group was laughing and raving—I thought to myself, I promise you, Momma, that this year I’ll change my name. That will be my gift to you. No more Marín. My driver’s license will say Janney Rivera. Yes, that’s me.

  26.

  DON’T WORRY

  Here it is, Chiquis. I think it came,” Melele said, holding in her hand one of those manila envelopes that normally contain documents.

  “No way!” I tore into it right away, while Jenicka smiled and Johnny was looking on impatiently. “It’s a present from Mom: approved!”

  “Congratulations,” my Johnny said, his voice very serious. “You just gave birth to a couple of teenagers. You’re a hot mom.”

  Waving the papers in the air, we had a group hug. Even Melele joined in. The process of taking over custody of the kids, which had started months before, was now final. A simple little term, but with so much significance attached to it: I had always been their legal guardian.

  A few days after the custody papers came, my tía Rosie decided it was time to start her new life as well. For the time being, she would move in with Grandma Rosa before deciding whether to look for a new house or stay at the one in Lakewood.

  The morning of her move, I found a note on the fridge:

  Thank you for sharing your home with us, and for always making us feel welcome here. This isn’t good-bye, because we’ll see you tomorrow. We’re family.

  My eyes filled with tears. Rosie and I shared pains and sorrows together when we were kids, but it was nothing compared with what we’d been through in the past two years. It hadn’t been an easy road for any of us. And now it was coming to an end.

  I ran out to find her, and I caught her just as she was loading the last of her suitcases into the trunk of her car. Her husband and her two beautiful girls were waiting for her.

  “My work here is done. Don’t be sad, Chiquis. We always knew it was only temporary.”

  “Yes, but I don’t want you leaving thinking that we ran you out or something.”

  “No, it’s all good. The most important thing is that we all do what your mom would have wanted. It doesn’t matter what she wrote in her will. We both know she wanted you to stay with the kids. There’s no doubt about that.”

  “Thank you, tía. This will always be your home too.”

  “And it will always be the home of Jenni and Chiquis.”

  And with a deeply felt “I love you,” we bid farewell to that stage of our lives.

  When the car had disappeared down the hill, I went back inside the house and shut the enormous doors with the wrought iron monogram that read JR.

  “Now I’m the one telling you, Momma: don’t worry. Your family and your home are all good. I got this.”

  YOU don’t worry.

  EPILOGUE

  The last lesson my momma taught me is one that gave me my masters degree from the university of LIFE. She taught me not to depend on anyone, because even our shadows disappear in the darkness. I strongly believe that she subconsciously left me two months before graduating to heaven so that I could learn to stand on my own two feet and be strong enough for my siblings. Thus, I was left two steps ahead in the grieving process for a reason. All the pain and sometimes anger generated fire in my soul forcing me to press forward, especially in all of 2013. I didn’t understand it then, but now I’m ready and willing to earn my doctorate degree as I wait to graduate from this world. The world may be tough, but I’m tougher. Now, more than ever know that instead of running from the pain, I was built to embrace it, because every experience is an opportunity to learn something new about ourselves and together, grow from it. After all, pain is only a pass to mental and spiritual promotion. If you’re wise enough to receive it, you’ll gain it. Life is a big mess, but that’s the beeUty of it. . . We’re meant to evolve for the better good. #BeeWise #QueenBee

  Much has happened to me in my twenty-nine years on this earth. Some of it has been wonderful, some of it has been terrible, some of it has been hard to comprehend. And forgiveness was not my first instinct when life was tragic or confusing. But today I can finally say that I hold no resentment toward anyone or any circumstance that has happened to me. I accept with grace all that occurred during my childhood at the hands of those who were truly troubled. I accept with grace all that has happened since October 2012 and the decisions that my mom made. I accept with faith and humility the path that God has put me on since I first entered this world; I may not always understand it, but I feel free and content with the plan that He has for my life.

  Now, as I finish these pages, I’m reminded of the fact that forgiveness should always be a two-lane road. So I want to apologize to those whom I’ve already forgiven in due course, but to whom I haven’t officially offered my own apologies for the pain I caused them.

  The first one I would like to apologize to is my grandma Rosa. Throughout this whole family drama, I feel that we lost sight of you, Grandma, and that we didn’t listen to you as we should have. You gave us so much advice, and yet we always seemed to get it wrong! You, Grandma, have the wisdom life and your enormous love of God have given you. Forgive me, also, for not calling or visiting you more often, and for not giving you the attention you deserve. After all, you were my first mom, the one who gave me my first real home, and, of course, all those beans.

  Forgive me, Tío Juan and Tía Rosie, for pushing you out of my life. I was so focused on my own pain that I lost sight of the fact that you also lost someone: your sister. I know that everything you did during those two years was for our own good, and I apologize for not understanding it at the time, when I was wallowing in my own sorrow. Pain can sometimes make you selfish. I’m sorry.

  And I need to extend more forgiveness to another guy who has also been like a father to me. How could I ever forget those bags of crispy taquitos you brought me each day just to see me smile when you walked in the door of the house on Ellis Street? My dear tío Lupe, even as I write these words, and while we have a conversation pending and many issues to resolve, I want you to know that I’m forgiving you a little bit more with every passing day. There were some things you did the week we lost my mother that I didn’t like, and during the past two years, you’ve distanced yourself from us a lot. But remember that the Rivera family is a very lucky one: we can fight however much we want, but the love that unites us is stronger than a thousand arguments and disagreements. We’ve hurt ourselves enough. I think you had time to reconcile with my mother during those four weeks before she left us. But I didn’t. Let’s not repeat that. Let’s not tempt fate. I’m here with my phone in hand, waiting for you to call so that I can forgive you, and so you can forgive me.

  To my beautiful sister Jacqie, I’m sorry because I don’t tell you I love you as often as I did when we were little. I never meant to make you feel excluded. Forgive me, because being the second child isn’t easy. Growing up as number two forced you to follow my orders and inherit my sneakers. And for me, being the first meant I grew up thinking I knew it all. That’s the arrogance of an older sister. But I want you to know that, in my heart, you will always be MY number one, because you were the first sister that God gave me, and our history together is filled with pages that will never fade. Forgive me, Jacquelin.

  And, finally, I want to apologize to that little girl who liked to sing, the one who loved going to the swap meet every Saturday with her grandparents. To the girl who lives inside of me. With everything that was going on, I forgot about you and neglected to give you the love and time that you needed. I got lost in trying to please the world, and I forgot to pamper you the way you deserve.

  But it’s never too late, and you’re still that same little girl in my heart. And so I promise you that, from this day forward, I’ll take a moment to buy you a chocolate caliente and one of t
hose bolillos before the swap meet closes, and I’ll sit down on a bench with you and take the time to enjoy them.

  If you can forgive me, my little companion, you’ll be giving me wings to fly freely. Because in my short but intense life, I’ve learned a couple things, and the most important one of all is that only through forgiveness can we achieve true FREEDOM.

  A LETTER TO MY MOTHER

  Dear Momma,

  It feels like forever since the last time I wrote you a letter, and today it breaks my heart to know that I will never write another Mother’s Day card. I can’t even explain the pain in my heart I feel every morning from missing you; sometimes I can’t catch my breath from how much it hurts. I have been upset at the world, at God, at you, at myself and at life in general for taking you away so quickly without an explanation, without a final good-bye. My faith has been tested. Losing you without talking to you one more time was unbearable, as was dealing with the aftermath.

  I was somehow left alone to figure out how to navigate the gossip that pervaded my life. I needed you, Momma, and didn’t know how to face the world without your ever-present protection. You always handled the media so well. I didn’t know what to do, and I doubted myself until the day I decided to write this book. At first, writing it was a way of telling my side of the story, but as time passed, I realized that this book was so much more. This is my tribute to you. I decided to use these pages to heal me from the inside. It has truly been a journey to FORGIVENESS.

  Momma, we had a beautiful love story. Our bond, and all we encountered in life together, was by many standards simply crazy, but you taught me to face the tornado head-on. And today I feel that you stand with me and my siblings every day.

  I am writing this letter on my flight back home from Las Vegas. I can’t help but think of you each time I fly, especially after a day like today. The autograph signing was such a success, the people there were so loving and affectionate toward me . . . and I have no one else to thank but you and God.