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| Frank Campbell Funeral Home |
It was a sunny day, though the weather channel said rain. Everyone brought their umbrellas but used them to block the sun.
It is estimated that over 20,000 people lined up to pay last respects to Celia Cruz. It is estimated that the wait was 2 hours. It is said this was the biggest funeral, surpassing Judy Garland and Cardinal O'Connor.
We, the mourning fans, did not hear these reports nor take heed to the weather report. Fans poured in toting umbrellas, pictures of Celia, flowers, flags, rosaries, and radios to play her music.
I had 3 large bottles of water, a bottle of juice, bizcochitos, fruit, Goya crackers, cheese and bought a slice of pizza on the way to eat while on line and toys for the kids. I warned my 3 year old,
“¡Donde vamos va haber mucha gente!”
“¿Y por qué? ¿Por qué va haber mucha gente?”
“Porque todo el mundo quiere ver a Celia Cruz.”
“¿Y por qué todo el mundo quiere ver a Celia Cruz.”
“Porque les quieren decir adios a Celia Cruz.”
As I pushed my stroller with both kids in it, weaving through the crowd, I listened in on fans' stories of how they loved Celia Cruz, or how they had met her once or seen her in concert.
A curious passer-by asked a Celia Cruz mourner, “What does it mean when everyone says ‘azucar’”?
The fan answered, “It means something sweet.”
I wondered how the fan was going to explain Celia’s trademark exclamation at the end of a sentence, Celia’s vocal signature phrase.
“The sugar cane comes from Cuba and she’s from Cuba...”
I couldn’t believe there was a historical perspective on the word ‘azucar’!
I get to the end of the line and hear the crowd singing the song– Colorá! There were also shouts and screams- Celia!- when the camera passed by. The priest who gave the mass in Miami passed and everyone screamed in salute. Some people were selling t-shirts. Mostly people were trying to move the line as quickly as possible by not leaving much space and keeping close together.
I asked the people facing us on the other half of the folded line how long they were waiting. “Como hora y media.”
Yeah – that’s what I thought. With one hand I pushed the stroller and with the other I ate and fed both kids pizza and juice. Push and more pizza, more juice and push and we started the 2 hour wait to see Celia Cruz.
La Diva could not stand the heat any longer and started whining. Everyone around became concerned. -Mira que tiene calor. -Quizás tiene hambre. -Aquí tengo un jugito. ¿Quieres darle un jugito? -Tiene mucha ropa puesta. Mira ese niño. No tiene ropa y está bien. -¿Tienes sombrilla?
And La Diva kept fussing. The people kept on mothering her -No hay aire. -¡Sácala del coche! -¡Está afixia!
Finally I had to do something. I obliged the people and took her out the stroller. Now, how was I supposed to hold her, watch my 3-year-old, and push the stroller, all at the same time? A women named Victoria from Columbia helped me out. I am indebted to her! She pushed the stroller and helped convince my 3-year-old to sit and I carried La Diva- for the entire 2 hours! I couldn’t put her down because she would start fussing. I knew she would have only fussed for a few minutes but these people didn’t know that and I didn’t want to go through that again!
When we stepped away from the line and walked toward the entrance, you can smell the flowers from the outside.
As we walked in, you can see the fans in front of us, stiffen, trying to hold back tears.
You feel sadness all around. There are a couple of large pictures of Celia and there are white lilies of the valleys right before you walk into the room. And there she was.
I don’t remember what color dress she was wearing I just looked at her face. She looked exactly the same- Full make-up and full hair and I looked at her nails- her arms folded with long painted nails – just like a queen. I bent over to make the sign of the cross on my three-year-old and another for me and one for La Diva who was surprisingly very quiet.
There were people on the left and on the right dressed in black and sitting very quietly- almost motionless. I walked passed the casket toward the door and I heard a sniffle that made me look. It was La India- dressed in black, crying, covering her face with a handful of tissues.
I walked out to have the sun shining on my face and to see the fan that was fighting back tears earlier now in full tears. The cameras flocked to her as I kept walking by and fought back my own tears. I didn’t want my son to see me cry.
What would I tell him when he asked,
“Mami, estás llorando. ¿Y por qué?"
I guess I might have told him,
“Estoy llorando porque hay azúcar en el cielo.”
Next page --- >Aguacero
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