I felt lost in a huge newsroom. People were friendly, but they didn't understand me or the culture that came with me. My passion for writing and my love of storytelling deserted me. I went to work, but I couldn't write. Ay, mija, ya no llores .
Te voy a visitar .
Me quedo contigo un mes . I asked, my voice tight with emotion. I felt selfish, knowing that my teenage brothers and sisters needed her as much as I did. A few weeks later, my mom and brother delivered Ita Marcela. Every morning when I finished showering, I'd find her sitting on the couch saying her litany of morning prayers.