Ni la tierra (Not even the Dirt/ Earth)

Author: Alondra Virrey

Part 2 of the "Muerte en el Ranchito" series

Read Part 2 here: Tablas de Madera / Wooden Boards

Death connects us to the land. My parents share that we prepare for death everyday, and we live this truth through humility. Death is one of the most humbling experiences - to view it, to guide people through it, and when the time comes, to experience it. To them, a good death is one that is accepted, anticipated, and when it arrives, unburdened.

In the United States, our way of life moves us quickly. We are not always given a chance to stand still - let alone recognize the Earth on which we stand. The world moves to its own rhythms, and death forces us to think of ourselves in tune to the earth, of la tierra.

My father warns me of forgetting these rhythms and shares a story of his uncle and his grandmother (my great-grandmother).

A view looking across a southwestern dry hay field with a cluster of trees and homes in the middle distance, and mountains in the background.

[Translation]

“[I recall] when my [great] uncle passed, a brother of my grandmother. He was a very bad man, because he stole everything [her livelihood and property] from her.

When my paternal grandfather had passed away, my father was only five years old, and his older brother only 7 years old. [Because my grandmother’s sons were too young] my great uncle - a brother of my grandmother - [offered] to take care of her lands until her sons had grown.

[Literally translated: I will take care of the land so that it does not stay alone.]

My grandmother accepted.

When my father and uncle were grown, [my great uncle] did not give them anything, [and throughout their childhood] he had mistreated them and hit them.

[My great uncle] had robbed them of everything, and never gave them anything.

But when that man was dying, he spent several days agonizando [lit. agonizing; fig. remorsing]. He wouldn't die.

[My great uncle] wanted to speak to my grandmother. He wanted to speak to my grandmother.

It was not until my grandmother had gone to see him and speak to him… that he was able to die.

I saw when he died.”

As his daughter, I can see through my father’s vindication; I see his pain. Although my father talks of justice in his story, it does not take away from his pain and empathy for his grandmother - a woman he often recounts with love and admiration. To my father, it made sense that my great uncle would agonize at the time of his death; a long, unhappy death is a purging for greed in life.

Despite my father’s feelings for his uncle, he and his community were present at the time of his uncle’s death. My father shares how greed harms not just the individual, but the whole community. His uncle suffered at the moment of death, but like a metaphor, those who buried him suffered as well. My father continues:

[Translation]

“[My great uncle’s burial] was the last time I helped with a burial before coming [to the US].

We [him and other men from the ranchito] had left at 6am - as soon as the sun had risen - we had to make the [burial] hole… since it was already the second day of the wake.

We began to make the [burial] hole. We were like 10,15, maybe 20 [men].

The dirt turned out to be tan dura [lit. so very difficult or hard]. We struggled to make the [burial] hole.

We would dig, [then] try to dig with boards, drills, pickaxes, shovels- everything!

We would [jump] into the [burial] hole and be covered in sweat by the time we came out. We would take turns.

It took us all day to make the [burial] hole, [and] it had to be six feet.

It has been the only time that I have dealt with dirt tan dura.

I think it is like a story that this man was so bad that not even la tierra [lit. the dirt or earth] wanted him.”

In the US - at least in Los Angeles - we do not create burials by hand. Here, we hire a funeral parlor to work on those details. They hire someone and use machinery to create burials. We do not work with the land or understand how it responds to us. Money allows us to carve straight into the land under us - break it open and force our machinery into it - with no relationship or sympathy to it. There is a loss of labor and connection to the earth in these final moments. We know nothing of who buries our family and community, let alone how the earth feels when we bury them. Living in the US has made us seek efficiency and convenience in a way that disconnects us to those around us and the land. We cannot build connections when all we do is take. The great irony of my great uncle was that his love of land and property had cost him the love of his family. More than this, it would seem that land did not love him back.

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Alondra (Nona) Virrey (she/her/ella) explores the Latinx way of dying in the United States. She centers Mexican communities and how they create a new home and find ways to integrate and transform their culture, including how immigration status, grief, community, gender roles, and a good death, frame their lives. Through her studies and background (MLIS),  she looks for the intersection of Latinx experiences in death, migration, and archives - hoping to create conversation and then action for change.