She never quit.
con la frente muy en alto,
So with your head held high,
despídanla con honor.
Say good-bye to me with honor.
Quiero mi grupo norteño,
I want my norteño band
y que sea con tololoche,
May there be tololoches
échense un trago por mí
Have a drink in my name
y también un que otro toque.
And play a few tunes.
Ya se fue la hija del pueblo,
la mujer de los huevotes.
(...)
(...)
A mi familia querida
My dear family,
mis padres y mis hermanos
My parents and my siblings,
se muy bien que en la otra vida
I know very well that in the next life,
volveremos a juntarnos para reír y gozar
We’re going to meet again.
de lo mucho que triunfamos.
To laugh and talk of all our triumphs.
Y no me extrañen mis jefes que su hija la rebelde
Don’t miss me, Mom and Dad,
por siempre vivirá.
Your daughter the rebel will always live.
Que en mi lindo Playa Larga
In my beautiful Long Beach
haya una última parranda,
Have one last party,
que me canten mis hermanos,
My brothers will sing,
mi madre flores reparta,
My mother will give out flowers,
mi padre fotografías,
My father will give out photos,
y mi hermana lea mi carta.
And my sister will read my letter.
Tomen tequila y cerveza,
Drink tequila and beer,
que toquen fuerte las bandas,
The band will play loud music,
suelten por mi mariposas,
Release butterflies for me,
apláudanme con sus palmas,
Clap your hands for me,
por que así es como celebran,
For this is how you’ll celebrate,
cuando se muere una dama.
When a lady dies.
Chay wrote “Cuando Muere una Dama” when one of her fans, Blacky, passed away before her performance at the Gibson. Chay sang at her funeral and something clicked inside her. It got her thinking about how she wanted to be celebrated when she passed away. Shortly thereafter she wrote the lyrics and showed them to me one day when we were in her car parked in front of her house. She waited patiently while I read, though before I got to the end there were already tears streaming down my face.
“It’s beautiful,” I said once I finished. “But I never want to hear it.”
She was surprised to hear me say that because I was usually a huge Jenni Rivera fan. I’d listen to her songs on repeat for days.
“I never want to see it become a reality,” I explained. “I never want to live without you and if you die, I promise I’ll throw myself in the coffin with you.”
Chay paused and looked at me. She knew exactly what I meant.
“I know, Sister, I know,” she answered. And after a brief pause, she added, “But it’s still a badass song, right?”
“Right!” I said, breaking into laughter.
I stayed true to my promise and listened to the song only once before hearing it again on December ninth. And to this day, it breaks my heart to listen to it.
• • •
We all knew we wanted Chay’s Celestial Graduation to be a celebration, a reflection of her life and the beautiful person she was, but that meant different things to each and every one of us. Some wanted an intimate event with only the family; others wanted a big Michael Jackson–type tribute. We all love Chay in our own way and we wanted to honor her in the way that felt best to us. There were some discussions within the family but ultimately we decided to have an event that would include all the important people in Chay’s life, her family, her friends, and of course her fans. After her family, Chay lived for her fans and it simply didn’t feel right to have an event that didn’t include them. So we decided to have the event at the Gibson Amphitheater, the place where my sister had some of her favorite concerts with her L.A. fans. Even though she had grown big enough to fill the Staples Center, she often said the Gibson was her favorite because it felt more intimate and she was closer to her audience. In fact, she had planned to come back to the Gibson in March 2013 in a concert called “Unbreakable.”
In the days leading up to the Celestial Graduation, Chay’s son, Michael, worked tirelessly to prepare his mother’s cocoon, the beautiful wooden box that would hold her remains during the ceremony and in her final resting place. She had specified that she wanted a red cocoon and since we weren’t able to find one that was the exact color she wanted, we had a special one made and Juan, Gus, and Michael sanded it down before it could be painted red. I cannot imagine what was going through his mind as he prepared Chay’s cocoon but I know it was everything she would have dreamed of for herself—a beautiful red cocoon decorated with seven butterflies—five for her children and two for her grandchildren at the time—to honor our very own “Mariposa del Barrio.”
I was struggling to find a place in my new role of trustee while planning every detail of the celebration and at the same time mourning my sister. I spent every day and every night thinking about her, about what she would have wanted, what she might have thought about this or that decision. I was overwhelmed and I realized I was still angry at God because I wouldn’t talk to Him in our daily jogs. I didn’t understand why He had taken her from me. I hadn’t been able to speak to Him since December ninth until one day I couldn’t take it any longer. I went out for a jog and cried out to God at the top of my lungs, “I want my sister back! Why did You do this? What happened to our plan? What happened to our two million souls? How in the world do You expect me to do this if not with my sister?” In my pain and desperation, I thought He could hear me if I shouted loud enough.
My sister was part of the dream. We were going to travel the world together and change people’s lives; we were going to bring them God’s love and show them that they no longer needed to be afraid. But now that Chay was gone, who would care or listen to Rosie without Jenni? How was I going to do God’s will without my sister?
I felt as though He was waiting for me to speak up about my anger and let it out verbally so that I could discover what He already knew, since He knows my deepest thoughts and feelings before I open my mouth to say them or even rationalize them into thoughts. My anger didn’t scare Him away or make Him upset. He showed me how it separated me from Him, but He wasn’t separating from me. He was waiting, kindly and mercifully, to help me deal with the wide range of emotions I was having now that my greatest fear had come true.
Then I felt God speak to my heart again: “The plan for
the two of you to travel the world together was your idea, but I’m still working on you reaching two million people.”
I took a deep breath. God was still there. He hadn’t forgotten about me, and our plan was still in play. That day I understood that as humans we set our own goals and objectives, and while the Lord hears them, it is ultimately only His will that counts.
• • •
On December 19, 2012, the entire Rivera family, along with almost seven thousand of my sister’s fans attended her Celestial Graduation at the Gibson Amphitheater, a couple of thousand outside, and many millions more followed the celebration via the live broadcast on Spanish-language television. Together we all sang and cried and laughed, and prayed. We celebrated her life the way she would have wanted it to be celebrated.
Every member of our family was dressed in white, except my mother, who wore red—Chay’s favorite color. In the background, on three large screens, were beautiful photos of Chay at many stages of her childhood, family life, and career. We wanted people to see not only Chay the “Diva de la banda,” but also Chay the mother, the sister, the daughter. The incredible woman we all loved.
We started the event with the same intro music Chay used at her concerts—a five-minute musical summary of who she was as an artist. Anytime that music started blaring out of the speakers at one of her events, her fans knew it meant she was about to appear onstage and the crowd swelled with excitement. In planning the ceremony, we wanted her fans to feel those same emotions for the last time. Thinking back, I realize maybe we needed to feel those same emotions; maybe we needed to feel that at any moment Chay was going to make her appearance.
On the stage there was nothing but a catwalk (like the ones she had for her concerts), thirty-five chairs for the family, and a microphone under a spotlight, representing her presence. The men in the family—my father, my brothers, and Chay’s two sons—and I were backstage with the cocoon in silence. We were praying for strength and peace. We had said to one another that we weren’t going to cry—we wanted to remain strong and serene for our beautiful Diva. We were all wearing white gloves because we had the responsibility of carrying the cocoon to its place in the center of the stage.
As soon as the music started, Chay’s daughters, along with my mother and the rest of the family, walked onstage to their assigned seats. As the music started to take over the amphitheater, I began to feel butterflies in my stomach, just like the many times before when my sister was about to go onstage. But any excitement I felt was crushed when I realized she was lying in the cocoon next to me and she was never coming back. I was holding back tears, trying to be strong like my brothers but then Lupe began to cry. And I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tears streaked down my face and before long Juan was also crying. We had a few seconds to collect ourselves before our cue came and we started walking forward to give the Diva her grand entrance.
And we did. We carried the Queen to her spot on the catwalk. Those were the hardest one hundred steps I’ve ever had to take but the crowd loved it—I could hear them cheer and sob, all at the same time, all for their beloved Jenni. Every single emotion possible was palpable and in that beautiful moment of joy and despair, we shared the heaviness of one another’s sorrow.
When we finally arrived at her spot on the stage, we carefully placed the cocoon on its stand and touched it, as if wanting to reassure her by letting her know that we would be right there next to her. I bent down and kissed the cocoon as I would have kissed her on her forehead. I don’t know why but in that instant, I saw the strongest woman in the world as the most fragile creature of God’s creation and I felt the need to take care of her. It was as if the roles had been reversed and now I needed to caress and take care of my big sister.
Chay wanted music at her celebration, so we made sure to invite some of the best artists of our time, artists that Chay admired and who admired Chay. Among them were Ana Gabriel, Joan Sebastian, Los Horóscopos, Larry Hernández, and Olga Tañón. Chay’s manager, Pete Salgado, helped us plan the spectacular event and no detail was spared in making it the graduation of a Queen.
In addition to the musical performances, we organized it so that Chay’s closest friends and immediate family members had a few minutes to speak. Everyone—my mom, my dad, my brothers, Chay’s children, Pete Salgado, and Pepe Garza, her mentor—got up on the podium and spoke. The whole ceremony unfolded during several hours but to me it flew by. In the midst of all the pain I was feeling, it was a breath of fresh air to hear other people talk about my sister’s beautiful life—and not her death, which was all the media had been talking about. It was like spending a little more time with her. I had never experienced the death of a loved one before and in that moment, I understood how important it is to have a ritual where everyone comes together to celebrate a life. The intensity of emotions in the amphitheater was palpable and I felt blessed to be surrounded by so many people loving and missing the person I loved most in the world. I don’t know that I wasn’t entirely able to process what was going on, but I remember the whole thing in flashes—flashes of pain, joy, and devastation, all at the same time. When I see the videos of the ceremony, I can hardly believe how every member of our family was able to get up on that podium to speak. I was in awe of Johnny, who spoke with the poise and elegance of a grown man, not a little boy distraught over the death of his mommy. Chiquis, with what had recently transpired with her mom, was nervous about what the public would say to her but her words were so beautiful and so full of love for her adoring mother that I am sure there wasn’t a soul in the world who doubted her devotion. Jenicka and Jacqie spoke and each sang Chay a song with their beautiful voices. Mikey would have made his mama proud with his thoughtful and compassionate words. My mother, my father, and my brothers all spoke to Chay from their hearts and I’m sure she was smiling down on us as we took turns to give her our final farewell. Daddy and Lupe each sang her a song before a silent, weeping crowd. The people in the audience were just as distraught as we were and from high up on the stage where we were all seated, I saw how everyone who was present that day loved her from the bottom of their hearts. They were hurting just like we were hurting, and I prayed that they could find peace.
During most of the ceremony, I had my eyes fixed on the cocoon.
But I was also doing all I could not to look at it.
When my turn came to speak, I was so nervous. I hadn’t prepared anything—with everything that was going on how could I have even thought about putting pen to paper? And throughout the ceremony Pastor Pete asked me several times whether I was sure I could do it.
“Yes, I can do this!” I mumbled back at him, knowing that I had absolutely no idea what I was going to say. I just hoped God would help me find the right words in my heart.
As I made my way up to the podium, I had to walk past Pete and I was worried that he was going to ask me again. But he didn’t. He just said, “You can do this.”
I started to speak and before I knew it, all these words were coming out of my mouth.
“Before you knew Jenni Rivera, I knew her as Chay, my only sister,” I said as I took the microphone. “It is such a great blessing that God has given me the gift of being her only sister; her first living doll.
“I have feared this day since I was seven years old and my sister and I talked about it several times. I would say, ‘Sister, I cannot live without you.’
“I thought that when this day came, I would not be able to bear the pain, and perhaps I couldn’t if it were not for God, who lives in me. God’s Word says in Romans 8:28, ‘All things work together for good to those who love the Lord and are called for His purpose.’
“Jenni Rivera loves God; the Rivera family loves God. Jenni is made for the purpose of God—and also the Rivera family, which means that all things work for good.
“God gave me my sister for forty-three years, and those years worked for good, and now she is given to me for all eterni
ty as a sister—and that works for good.
“Not one day of our lives would go by without her saying ‘Sister, I love you,’ and I’d reply ‘I love you.’ She would answer, ‘I love you more.’ We would say this back and forth until one of us surrendered. Now that she has graduated to Heaven with our Father God, I let her win. I can tell her that maybe she loved me more, but I can take the time to say that I’ll miss her every day of my life.
“If you see me with a smile one day, it is because God still has me standing, and if you ever see me cry, it’s because God is healing my heart.
“Jenni Rivera left a huge legacy and that is God’s plan. His plan continues and will make Jenni live forever. The suffering we have today is huge but short-lived compared to an eternity we will have with her in Heaven.
“All things work together for good. If God made this day my sister’s graduation, this day works for good.”
Looking at the casket, I continued my speech and I said, “‘Sister, how are you?’ And she would have answered, ‘Sister I’m good; and you?’
“And now I can tell her, “I know you’re good. Sister, you are always the first in everything, even to meet Jesus. You are the first and I am happy for you. Enjoy Him, kiss Him, and kiss His beautiful face for me. I love you, Sister, every day. Today is Tuesday and tomorrow I’ll see you in heaven.
“God bless you.”
When I heard that girl whose biggest fear was to lose her sister open her mouth and speak so coherently while standing in front of her sister’s cocoon, I asked myself, Who is she? I have no idea how I was able to speak with such clarity when inside, I was a complete mess. “All things work for good,” I said, and I meant it. I had just lost my sister; I was living through the worst days of my life, yet I knew, from what I had lived through up until that moment, that God works for good. I didn’t know how or when, but I felt deep in my soul that this tragedy was going to work for good. That everything that has happened in my past—the sexual abuse, the abortion, the violent and abusive first marriage, and so much more—had somehow prepared me for this pivotal moment. And I needed to be up to the challenge.
My Broken Pieces : Mending the Wounds from Sexual Abuse Through Faith, Family and Love (9781101990087) Page 22
