My mom lives in Mexico part of the year. She lives in a beach town that we first visited as a family back in 1979 when I was about five or six years old. It was a random pit stop during a road trip from Los Angeles to Guadalajara as we drove south to visit our relatives. My siblings and I loved it so much that we begged our parents to bring us back the following year. They did, year after year, as it became our family vacation spot—spending almost every summer there as I was growing up.
As my parents planned for their future, they ended up buying a house there and deciding to make it their part-time home during their retirement years. My dad didn’t get to enjoy that kind of retirement for very long, barely six months, before a heart attack ended his life. Still, because of their return to Mexico year after year, my parents developed a strong and connected community of friends with whom my mom still gets to share daily life. And when I say daily, I really do mean daily.
Each day, almost invariably, one or two of my mom’s friends stops in around 10 am for coffee and breakfast, or just coffee, before they set out to start their day at work or to run their errands. They chat, check-in, talk about what they have planned for their day, before setting off with a quick nos vemos al rato (see you later)—which then they usually do. They plan their special days together – birthdays, holidays, death anniversaries – and have weekly social gatherings, usually at my mom’s house, to play games like Loteria (a kind of Bingo) or Tripoley, which they play for money (not much; a peso per game usually).
When my mom got sick with COVID, the Delta version, soon after my dad died and a few days after I had returned home from his funeral, it was one of her friends who called me to let me know she was sick and not doing well. Because my mom was also sick with grief, the virus was hitting her hard and she was really struggling to hold on to life. I headed back to Mexico and stayed for three weeks, giving her and my cousin, who also caught the virus, 24/7 care until they got better.
This was in 2021 and medical professionals were stretched beyond thin. I learned to give injections (using different needles, at different angles, and in different places on the body depending on the medicine being given), administer their other medicines, regulate their oxygen levels, and work the oxygen tank (the treatment COVID patients receive in the U.S. when they ended up hospitalized, was administered at home for patients in Mexico). I cooked their healthy meals and ran trips to the pharmacy to fill their prescriptions; dragged them to their labs tests and reported to their doctor the daily updates through WhatsApp twice a day. But I wasn’t alone in the task, because it was my mom’s community of friends that were on call for me whenever I needed help or relief.
This is the community of friends that call themselves “la UVA,” which is a nickname used in Mexico for a group of women friends, an acronym that stands for la Unidad de Viejas Arguenderas – the “union of gossipy women.” It might have misogynistic roots, but they don’t take it that way at all and proudly claim themselves as members of “la UVA,” some of them with the special privilege of being an “original” UVA member – those who were part of the very first women that started socializing and gathering at my mom’s house.
My mom’s life in Mexico is very different than in the U.S. For any given moment of either joy or distress, celebration or mourning, las UVAs are just a phone call, or a minute or two of walking, away.
Most recently my mom had Typhoid fever (yes, it still happens!) and it was one of the UVAs who discovered it. She had come by the house early as usual but found that there was no coffee made and my mom was still in bed (two of the UVAs have keys to my mom’s house, so they can let themselves in). They check in on my mom and she says she’s ok but is just not feeling so hot. By the afternoon, when they follow-up and find that my mom is still struggling to get out of bed, they have a doctor over the house that very day. Lab tests are completed, she’s diagnosed with Typhoid, and is started on treatment immediately. She was better within two days.
I love la UVA, both for selfish reasons and out of true admiration. When my mom is in Mexico and I’m in LA, and even though my dad is now passed away, I don’t worry that she is living or suffering life all alone. She lives in community with women. They take care of one another and share in all that life brings with it. I admire the way in which they include each another in their lives every day; the way they accompany one another and share a daily rhythm. I often get messages with pictures of a spontaneous gathering of celebration or just plain fun that has broken out among them simply because they were together – made possibly because of their daily rhythms.
I like what they make possible for themselves and am challenged to reflect on my own rhythms. Obviously, each of us have our different goals or intentions regarding community, it might not be daily life-sharing with a community of women; still, how do our daily rhythms facilitate those goals and intentions, or not?
Place – the physical structure that makes a certain life possible – will be the next step of my reflection…
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I love, love, love this essay, Xochitl! Having a community of women such as you describe is essential for our (women’s) flourishing. Tu mama–parece muy guapa y feliz! Thank you for this glimpse into your mother’s life.
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Hah! – said the same thing you did Esther! I always write before looking at other comments
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I love it! Great minds…:-)
It was (long overdue) time for me to write about my mom and the gifts she brings to my life. I know my dad and brother has been much the subject of my reflections these last few years, but I fully recognize that I am a product of both of my parents. And my mom’s ease at creating community has always been impressive to me and has definitely shaped who I am. I think of us all here on FAR and how we are an extension of our in-person community. Thank you both for your comments.
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Xochitl – oh I love love love this essay – to have such a community of women is a dream… had I had such a community I could not have gone through what I did last fall – it wasn’t a woman who stepped in – it was a compassionate male Vet – since then women have shopped for me as I recovered – taken me to the doctor – etc but that kind of closeness must be nurtured over years and you don’t suggest this but it is clear that a cultural element is also involved – when I lived in NM I witnessed the same kind of community in the Pueblos… with other Americans? – well what is wrong? Why is it so hard? Loneliness and depression are rampant…I think su[er ‘rational’ folks have forgotten what genuine feeling means….so glad to that you don’t have to worry about your mom! Thank you for this inspiring post!
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Yes, Sara, you are so right about the cultural element involved. Life and community feel a lot less atomized in Mexico as opposed to the U.S. We are “individuals,” to our detriment, I think. I’m glad for the community that has supported you – blessed be!
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Thank you for this wonderful post! What your mother has is a true community, community as it is supposed to be, a true model for all of us! It can be hard to create and sustain these communities as we become overwhelmed with work and family obligations, but it is so important to try to create them when and where we can. Thank you for again sharing your wonderful family with us.
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Hi Xochitl, I just wanted to stop in and honor you and your journey. It has been the hardest of hard journeys of late, esp when I think about your father and your brother. I did not know you mother struggled with such health issues. My husband had Typhoid many years ago and it is a tough illness. And Covid as well. OMG. Blessings to the UVA and to you for all you have been coping with. You write, you live your life with such grace and strength. I know it may not feel like it on the surface, but I can see your integrity and courage. You are a beacon of “living life” in the face of grief and struggle, a role model for all of us to follow. Just thank you for being! And for sharing your life with us.
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Your words are so kind, Janet, thank you. I appreciate them, and you <3
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Thank you for this beautiful story of your mother’s community. There is no internalized negative masculinity in a circle of women who love each other and want to help each other. There is no competition, no jealousy. The women in my women’s circles are often shocked that there is now a group of women in their lives that they can reach out to any time for help, support, advice, or food … whenever they need to. These communities can change our world as it has obviously altered yours by bringing you such relief.
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I’m so glad your mother h as such a wonderful community of friends. I am blessed to have that, too, and I’m so grateful. I’ve had some major health issues and been in the hospital twice in the last two years and my friends have really stepped up and helped my mother and I. My best friend came and stayed with my mother while I was in the hospital and took care of her. I don’t know where we would have been without our friends.
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I’m in a cab on my way to Bombay. My father passed away Saturday but I needed to get away. Sadly I’m unable to grieve the death of my beloved dad with my mother because of all the toxicity in the house. Ironic that I’ve had to leave my own parents’ house, my own mother behind with a woman who made and continues to make life unbearable. All in the name of concern and tradition. I wish my mother had her own group of ‘UVA friends” The past 40 years would have been different for her. And for the rest of us.
Thank you for reminding us of the strong and sisterly bond women are capable of though, Xochitl.
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Vibha, I am so sorry to hear of your loss. And to need leave home to grieve sounds especially harrowing. I hope you have a community that supports and loves you. My deep condolences.
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Thank you for your kind words, Janet. <3
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Vibha, I am so sorry your papa has passed, and for the situation at your mom’s home. Grief in itself is already such a difficult process. It is good that you are giving yourself what you need. Losing one’s beloved papa is a deep pain. My heart is with you, and I send you love and light from afar. Thank you for your vulnerable sharing.
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Thank you for your heartfelt thoughts and support, Xochitl. I know you understand what I might be going through, having lost your own beloved papa not too long back. I am so sorry for your loss, but very happy that your mom has a wonderful support group, including a loving daughter. Much love.
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Thanks for this Xochitl, real community is so important especially now that relationships seem to be turning virtual on social media. I do so love it when I phone someone and am not greeted by an answerphone.
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