The Light and the Shadow: Memories of a Godmother and the Pain
They never gave me much love. I never really felt what it was like to be loved, so the little they gave me was always enough for me. I would cling to that person, and to me, we were already friends, colleagues, whatever it was.
On the street where I lived as a child, there was a lady who showed me a lot of affection. Her name was Dona Ana. Dona Ana was a teacher. Her house was simple, even dirty, and she had two children. One of them, Rodrigo, died in an accident. I still have memories of him today—a handsome guy, full of life, almost wild. I won't lie, sometimes I see myself in him. I was young, about six or seven years old, and I remember looking at him, thinking how beautiful and wonderful he was, and telling myself, "Wow, I want to be like him." Everyone liked Rodrigo. He was free. Unfortunately, he died very young in a car accident. After that, Dona Ana was left with her older daughter, Daniela, and her husband, Seu Célio.
Oh, how I loved spending afternoons at Dona Ana’s house. She always cooked delicious meals. All the birthday cakes in the neighborhood were made by her, and they were so good! Dona Ana was such a kind soul. But I also remember how my adoptive mother, Isabel, and others would talk badly about her behind her back, saying she owed money to everyone, that she was dirty. I never cared about that. I liked going to her house; there, I felt loved.
Sometimes, I would spend the entire afternoon there with her daughter, watching movies, talking, laughing. Other times, I would go to the kitchen, hug Dona Ana, give her a kiss, and she would always tell me she was my godmother. And she truly was a wonderful godmother, a person who always brought light into my life.
I remember one time when she saved me from Isabel, who was beating me. Isabel found me playing hide-and-seek under the bed with other kids, and in a rage, she pulled me out and started kicking my face. The door was open, the house was full of people because of a party, and even then, she didn’t hesitate to do it. The one who saved me that day was Dona Ana. She was passing by, saw the scene, and shouted for Isabel to stop. Isabel stopped, and I clung to Dona Ana. From that day on, she held a special place in my heart.
I always called her godmother, and whenever I had the chance to be by her side, I was. But she passed away, taken by breast cancer that devastated her and her entire family. She became unrecognizable.
I’m grateful to Godmother Ana for saving me, but I also remember that she was often involved in my schoolwork. Isabel would take over my projects and make me sit there, watching, wanting to participate but unable to.
The way Dona Ana adopted me as her godchild was peculiar. Isabel, my adoptive mother, always made a point of telling everyone: "César’s uncles don’t care about him, César’s grandparents don’t care about him, César’s godparents don’t care about him." Isabel always made sure to pass on the idea that I wasn’t important to anyone.
