Juana Avalos Albano

May God bless our family, and may this blessing, be shared, with you, and your families.

Time is not always a line that separates us from our past and future–a timeline starting somewhere at one end, and ending at another. Time past, is present. And Time future, is here; as we remember my mother; as we remember ourselves. For we are to be, in the future, as we have always been, in the past. Sometimes even, the love of others--from the past–pervades our present, and prefigures our future.

Our remembrance of Juana (Jenny) is of one theme: A love, born in Mexico, flowering here in Pasadena–and, through our very lives and last breath, continues into our future.

Mexico 1938: Just a month or two before Juana was born, the Mexican government seized control over Mexican oil, controlled by foreign interests; nationalizing Mexican oil, for Mexicans.

So Mexico, was taking back–was coming to its own modern identity. And Mexico was to be an ally to the U.S. as WW II was spreading from Europe, to the whole world. Many Hispanics would be called again to serve, as they had in WWI. And where was my mother, in all this?

Juana was born in Esperanza, Colima, Mexico, on June 2nd, 1938, She was the daughter of Victoria Ceballos and Alejandro Avalos. Victoria had two more children, Alejandro (‘40) and Graciela (‘42) (Graciela was to live in Colima city),

Juana was the eldest of three siblings. And there was love born here, among a farm life, that was both idyllic, and hard. For starters, mother Victoria died in giving birth to Graciela. And the two sisters would grow up separately.

So, Juana was raised by her paternal grandfather, Cristobal Ceballos, on the farm in Esperanza. And she was a lone wanderer of the land; somewhat of a tomboy, without her mom, She was unique enough, in her character, to be out of place with the field workers. Perhaps, due to being a highly sensitive individual, who did not fit well among others. She learned to manage the house, on her own. She would climb trees, play in the river along the side of the house. The river rising would flood on some years. Perhaps, this is why she would say in late life to me, that she was used to living alone..

One year she ran into a fence, just being posted. She showed me the scars on the back of her head. For a time, my mother was blind for year, but recovered. She talked about how people would think she was pregnant, because she had a big belly. Perhaps, this was due to, not eating right, even though she grew up, on a farm. Though she went to school, she never got past a 3rd grade education, returning to the farm to work.

She would mention how she and her brother Alejandro would fight–but also sing. Mom describes singing with her brother in town, and she describes, being the cutest kids.

She also mentioned how a strange couple, came to see the beautiful children, at the farm once. But she would describe the event as one where they wanted to take them away. Grandpa Cristobal would hear none of it.

One year, they found out that they had a sister Graciela, living in the city of Colima, and my mom Juana, was very, very happy to hear, that she had a sister. That love lasts here through to this day, in Graciela’s children, Jay and Grant.

As a young lady, she wanted to leave the farm, for a better life. Her actual father came by one year, but would not take her from the farm. She told me she once got chickens to sell, to have money to leave. She dated occasionally, but more or less, men kept away, as she was protected once again, by Grandpa. And she wanted for someone to, take her away.

Surrounded by a farm community, she still grew up in solitude. But everyone was to find out, the strength of this woman, to leave, and to care for others.

There was no television, and the movie theater was a rarity.. A coal processing plant would come to the region, after she left. The Mexican countryside was about to turn somewhat industrial.

Tijuana c. 1955: A Bridge between Two Worlds

“Tia Naty” would visit down to Colima and up through Los Angeles. She brought my mother from Esperanza to Tijuana. There, mom lived with the Zendejas family, Marcial and Mercedes. In the big bordertown of TJ, Juana became a nanny to children. She loved being a nanny. Once, however, she recounts having been accosted by a man, taken to a restaurant, not knowing why. But a policeman had arrived, and the guy left her. Again, always, some threat around the corner.

Los Angeles c. 1958: A Hearty LA Welcome

Tia Naty, traveling to Los Angeles, also brought my mom “Jenny” to meet Comadre Adela Gutierrez, of Lincoln Heights, who took her in.

There Jenny met Rita Gutierrez and the whole gang of around thirteen brothers and sisters! It was an education. Mom dated; respectable people, and less so (one was found through a radio station; that didn’t work out). But again, she was protected by someone; in this case, Mr. Trinidad Gutierrez, Adela’s husband

Pasadena 1961: Marriage, Dedicated Wife and Mother; and Citizen

I think mom did not get directly touched by war. Dad was 4F and did not serve during WWII [unlike Rudy Ortega. Gloria’s husband, who was a marine and fought fiercely at Iwo Jima, the Marshall Islands, Guam; earning a silver star, two bronze stars, and the purple heart]. Dad was spared the difficulties of being a soldier.

And so a domestic life of two people, untouched by serving in the military, was to be at the center of the household. But Dad lost his mother in the Philippines to the war. None of us were untouched by world politics.

Tony Albano (Gramps) had lost his wife Lilian, to cancer. Gloria was his daughter-in-law; and Gloria’s children, Cherly, Charles, & Robin were his step grandchildren. And Cherly’s kids, were Lilian, Ernie Jr. and Damon.

Tony was born in 1902, in the Philippines, an island country, and grew up in a time before the first World War. He had been a resident in LA County since 1930, and had become a U.S. Citizen in 1947, as a resident of Pasadena. Mom said he had western features; he was dark skinned. She was from Mexico, white as a dove, with blue-green eyes. I believe Mom said that when they met, Tony said something like “You’re mine.” At least he acted that way. They dated; and within three months, they were married November 23, 1961.

Was this rare? She was twenty three years old. The age difference was thirty six years. How did this come about? I don’t know, but the makings of a lifetime relationship had begun. Mom would say years later, that she loved the food, and that she loved him. Marry for love, she taught me.

The 59 year old chef enjoyed his second life. But the loss of his mother in war, and the loss of his first wife, must have taken its toll. I rarely saw my father in anger. I saw a quiet, and patient man who did not raise his voice nor spank his children; one who thought about life with his books, and studies; enjoying his young wife and kids, from age fifty-eight to his death, at eighty-eight..

At one point he tried his hand at running a restaurant. Mom would try to help at the register. But this didn’t last. My father wasn’t afraid to show his vulnerabilities. He wasn’t a businessman, but something of a people person, and a practical artist when it came to cooking.

Mom became a permanent resident on April 23, 1962.

It took them a while to have me (‘65). Then Lisa came right after (‘67). And then Veronica (‘72) came as a surprise, when Dad was 71. Born in 1965, I would see a black and white photo of mom adoring me preciously, and in silence. The first born, and the only son.

The Maroon Oldsmobile was worn out to the last mile. I remember Dad driving it, barely making it up the road, out of the Rose Bowl. The yellow Chrysler Impala

station wagon, was destroyed, when I took out the transmission, to “fix it” in high school. We eventually bought a light blue Ford Fairmont to replace the Impala, but this was totaled in a major car accident while my mom was driving. Luckily, she survived with only her back going out, momentarily. We could have lost her then. A painful lesson learned.

I remember kids playing in our large backyard. And my father building an extension to the garage, with a patio three times the size. Dad was strong. And he built a playhouse the size of a small house,for us. And the gardening we did together. And the pool table. And the train set. And the tether ball. And the swing set. And the hide-and-seek games. And the bicycling. And like fifteen different animals we owned at one time or another, in the back. Childhood was an education, and it was a good life–with my sisters and I.

Mom had a portrait of Jesus and Mother Mary always in her room. A painting of the Last Supper in the dining room. These supported a theme to the house. Both nations, Mexico and the Philippines, were Catholic countries. And Dad knew Spanish. There was much the same between the two.

Eventually mom had her sister Graciela visit Pasadena. Living here for the time being. Cousin Roy would bring his friend Dale Myers to some of the holidays. Sister Graciela was married on Dec, 18, 1971.

In 1972, I remember living with the Vanderfleet’s (neighbor’s Oma and Opa), waiting to hear of Veronica’s birth. I remember not being allowed to play with her. I remember Veronica learning to walk.

The one thing that startled me, with mom, is that she sang a few times alone, when I was a child. Unusual, and beautiful. But the singing stopped as she raised us three children.

In 1976, mom started working part-time for In Home Support Services. She also worked as a nurses aid, tried to get the certificate, but never did.

Mom was conscientious about raising her kids, and would fight against any injustice to them at school.

Dad would go to the PTA meetings and take the kids to church.

Whether Pope, or Presidents and their families, mom would love the pageantry of government. She loved the Rose Parade. She loved Princess Diana

She kept on her wall, a print of John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King.

It was a blessing for her to see Sister Graciela have two kids, Jay (‘78) and Grant (‘80). They lived across town, and for mom’s whole life, they were second family.

Adolescence brought a tension that could not be resolved between my mother and my sister. Lisa was worldly, and street wise, and wanted to live an active life in the world. Mom did too, but mom was content in her own space; contemplative, and simple. I was like that.. So, fighting would increase through the adolescent years, with Lease.

In 1985, Juana became a Grandmother, with the birth of Matthew (‘85} and later Melissa (‘91). But the stress of personality differences between Mom and Lisa, meant it was time for Lisa to find a life outside the house.

Mom buys her own ‘86 Toyota Corolla in 1987. Dad was surprised, He asked suspiciously, “Who bought that for you?” Then he was proud of her when she said that she financed it herself. But mom had problems learning to drive. She later woud say how much she loved driving, enjoying the freedom it gave her.

I do not know, what mom taught Lisa. But seeing my sister, mother her kids, was to see someone as fierce as my mother, protect and love faithfully and intimately, her children. Is this instinct, or a deep personal education coming from both parents? Both, I would say.

I am not sure what Veronica learned from my mother. I only know, that they were close. And mom loved the tiny child, that was to become the college graduate. But Veronica was no homebody like me. She traveled the world, and was dedicated to the Scientology mission of peace across the globe. To the end, Mom loved the calls she got every night from Veronica, who would get off of work late.

I watched Dad as a child. Dad was hale, but as time went on, he lost weight and became frail. Around 1980, he suffered two strokes. The second stroke, was to leave him, unable to speak for the last ten years of his life. Dad communicated by gesture and remained–with the help of Juana, who never flinched–a surprisingly autonomous individual, to his last days.

Older Filipino men of the time, were known to marry much younger women, preferably nurses, to help take care of them. Practical. It was partly Dad’s luck, to find his faithful wife. And he knew it.

Pasadena 1990: The Death of Her Husband; Becoming closer to a full time IHSS Worker

Dad died December 31st, 1990, at 88 of a failing heart.

So having given herself to her husband, my mom now turned to others’ homes and others’ basic needs. She did what she knew how to do, taking care of others, as an In Home Support Service Worker.

I watched those years; her working hard, for very little pay. She’d use her own gas, and pay parking tickets accrued from taking the elderly and infirm around. My mom taught me, through example, how to work honestly, while caring for others selflessly.

The government was talking about deportations. Mom started taking classes. On April 1st, 1994, mom became a US citizen.

The gardening we did, continued in the front yard. The roses would bloom, and She’d go to Dr. Carlos in Tijuana. Time for insulin. Time for an operation; a hysterectomy. She came out; OK. I’m on her bedside, watching her on my knees; thinking I’m a child again. I was given more time with her.

Mom had diabetes and a medication weakness in controlling her sugar That love of eating had turned to its dark side.

One day she was outside, blessing the house, and I saw another side to my mother, rarely seen. A house whisperer no less. What I don’t know about my mom. Like the singing.

Every four or eight years. Mom would have to take the driving test. Yes, she knew how to drive; she knew the answers to the test. But she wasn’t test savvy. She didn’t know how to mark the test! So, we’d practice. And practice. She usually test out orally, after failing many times. But, I was there for mom. I’m thankful, I did what I could.

Her companions on a day-to-day were her sister and brother-in -law who lived across town.Then there were the Roldans; Edgar Sr. and Julia. There was Comadre Teresa.

In December 2005, tragedy hit twice, as Juana’s sister Graciela, and her brother-in-law Dale, died, days apart. The Albanos were all quiet, as the services went on around us. For myself, I would say without spirit that year, “They are dead. Why should I be happy?”

Pasadena 2006: The Autumn Years

Mom became a Great Grandmother as granddaughter Melissa begat Jasmine (now 7), Olivia (now 5) and Abel (now); and daughter-in-law Gabriella begat Zoe (‘) and Mateo (‘). Each birth was a blessing, and great grandma deeply relished her encounters with them.

Gloria dies

Mom would read the Bible. She would read books on Catholicism, on diabetes, on health; stories from Reader’s Digest. She’d read and listen to biographies about the Presidents’ and their wives’ lives.

There was a definite time when mom stopped working for IHSS. But I would hear her, even in her eighties,say that she would go back to work, to make ends meet.

Pasadena 2019: Love Remaining–Covid and beyond

In my later years, I found the foundations to the patio Dad built in the back, to be 2 feet thick. Overbuilding the foundations to last. Not a calculated mini-max build. The minimum amount of material, for the maximum effect, within cost. Like the food he gave his kids, he gave abundantly, and made it seem, without limit. Not a professional way of handling it. He would call himself, a “Jack of all trades, a master of none.” The remnants of my father – remains throughout the house.

One thing that Mom only told me once recently, was that she loved the hugs that her husband would give her; and she said it with such peaceful happiness.

Grant, you were not far away. Not just your phone calls your gifts, and you wonderful wife and children; you were represented by your brother Jay, who would present himself regularly. As Lisa would represent us, to you all, in Texas.

Rita and all the Gutierrez’ in our hearts, especially elder Maggie, we saw going, one by one–at the continuing funerals. God bless the Gutierrez family.

Cousins, Efrem and Ofelia, and neighbors Martha and Paula were her last friends, talking daily on the porch; or at length, over the phone. The neighbors made her a wooden ramp from the porch, so she could use her walker to get from house, to car. I cannot tell you how you filled an empty house, with normalcy and friendship.

Dad would not stop driving until 1985, when he was forced to, for health reasons. Mom was barely passing the DMV tests. The last tester said, she would be passed for a year, but that she must consider giving up her license. And she did, remembering Dad. I became mom’s chaffeur, and she was content with that. Traffic was getting worse, and there were close calls.

Her dentures had deteriorated; hearing was going, so I tended to have to yell. Those talking to her on the phone, would have to get used to her missing some words on speaker phone. But her walking kept going with her seat walker. She’d go around the long block by herself! I was kind of proud of her. On the day before I died . . I mean, she died, she pressed on saying she would like to go to her physical therapy appointment. But they canceled her appointments when they saw her: she was too much of a fall risk. But mom pressed on patiently.

She wanted to die in her home. To the last day, like Dad, she was walking and eating, and doing everything in her house. I thought I had more time with her, but it was not to be.

She practiced a Spiritual parsimony. And more and more, I could see her depending on me. And I will be there for you, mom, even as I pressed on, in my own projects, and was tired.

Being around a person for 58 years (longer than my father was married to my mother), is to learn to be with a mystery of who another person is. Could I become wise enough to accept her for who she was, and help her be herself? She wanted to go to Mexico; to her roots. But she’d not gone for so many years (we did not have the money) that when she recently called, many people she knew, had already died. Like Dad, she was one of the last. Time had past by, in this idyllic home. I think all because of the money. We had little income; but we worked together with what we have. To make up for a lack of worldliness, she kept things in her spirit. There was always frustration from me, to have her be someone else. But there were times when, we would simply be together, and understand each other.

I tried to assess, to judge my mother’s intelligence. But, the more I knew, the less I could judge. Why judge? Why not come to see her, in her infinite complexity, and just be there. Surprised by another being, I knew not who?

I heard that singing from mom again, but foreshortened; it could not come back. Maybe too many years of giving.

Mom to her last days, was taking care of herself; was not a burden to us. She loved her home, but would feel the pains of her bodily arthritis and a four year cough would not go away..

Physical therapy, which she did every week, would have the therapist saying she was very limber for her age.

Her sugars were out of control; loving eating had its downside. Ozempic was the first medicine in years that controlled her sugar levels. And the doctor and I were trying to get the weight off of her. She had lost fourteen pounds since she started taking Ozempic. But during the last month, she could not tolerate the Ozempic with metformin combination. She slowly stopped eating.

Dying Day Aug. 14 2014: The Assumption Day of Our Lady

She would continue to read, and she would study the TV, as she could.

I had been a guard part of my life, but my Mom was my guard, all of her life. She not only put up with me, and my eccentricities, but she protected me every single time I was at risk.

Simplicity. Childlikeness Openness. She had learned to defend herself at work. But there was no hard-heartedness here. Just the wish to live as long as she could.

She died in her kitchen while walking from her room around noon. I, having worked the graveshift, had found her upon waking and gave her CPR. The ambulance tried to resuscitate her for twenty minutes, but they could not.

She survived the immigration to a new country. But this world had gotten so complex. That included the medicines.

Given the horrors of war, and the possibility of the end of the world, my mother was lucky to have lived, to see our community, in relative peace.

For an unknown future, we live from those who came before us. The traces of their existence, remains in the things we touch, and take for every day reality. We are they. And we have a debt to those who have comforted us, and have shown us to be, who we are today. A debt that cannot be paid, except in living our lives, as best we can, with their teachings in mind.

So many lives my mother touched, and so few remembered here, in this remembrance. Please fill in the blanks, in how you remember her personally. The good, and the bad.

She remembered you all; would ask about you, and would be happy to hear of the good things, and pray when the news was hard. And she struggled with illness, but she showed me, how much she loved life.

A love continues to flower, and has not stopped.

There is a complex modern Mexican identity. Mexicans are a mix of European stock, mixed within levels of history of a land that goes back to three historical epochs: Native American, Aztec, and Colonial European. These levels of history are alive, in the complexity of modern Mexican identity, and were present in Juana. She was Mexican, and always declared her love for her country, especially when she got her American citizenship. And she was, American too, which was her beloved second home. She used to say, “I love this country because of the rules.” She had to explain that to me. She loved the order of civilized life here. She did not see corruption in this world.

A question draws itself out: “How did my parents make it?” I think there is a deep mystery here. I was witness to it. But the real question is, “How can we?”

When did you meet her? What was she like? I cannot tell you how my mom’s life affected you and yours. Do you remember when she laughed, at something you said. And other small things, now gone and unremembered; except in glimpses, for moments. May we gather them all, and not forget.

But maybe, it's not good, to remember the dead, if it means living in the past. On the other hand, maybe, it's the only thing, that ultimately, makes us human. That makes the future worth going through and realizable. Though remembering, hurts too.

Please remember Juana, as you encountered her; and pray for her, and honor your memory of her. As I will pray for you and yours. In time, we all come together, in the hope of a meaningful life. That meaning does not come in isolation, but because our lives are witnessed, through each other’s eyes. Therefore, witness my mother’s passing, and remember your own lives, and how you touched my mother. May any tears of remembrance, only make for gentleness and kindness, to your fellow neighbor. Let all shortcomings in this changing world, in its hardness, be wedded to only good thoughts and deeds.

I don’t think we can do any better: May her faithful life of love, guide our own.

–Anthony Avalos Albano Jr. (son) September 3, 2024