The Women Who Came Before Me
Updated: Jul 4
by Chantell Van Erbé.
Before I tell my story, I must first tell theirs.
The women who came before me shaped my life long before I entered the world. Through quiet resolve, unwavering vision, and the strength to endure, they laid the foundation upon which my family would stand. At the heart of this memoir are the women of my maternal family. Their lives became part of mine long before I was born, and their influence continues to guide both my life and my art.
A Mother’s Dream
My mother, Edny, believed I was meant to be an artist before I was even born. While she was pregnant with me, she wandered the halls of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, dreaming about my future. She was drawn to the tender, intimate portraits of Mary Cassatt, the evocative realism of Jules Bastien-Lepage, and the haunting elegance of Madame X by John Singer Sargent, a painting in which she envisioned me. Even then, it was as though she could already see my future unfolding.
Following a Puerto Rican tradition, my mother placed my umbilical cord inside an art book, a symbolic gesture believed to influence a child’s future vocation. To her, there was never any doubt. I was meant to be an artist. She believed it long before I ever picked up a crayon, and through that simple act, she affirmed what she believed was my future.
But my mother’s story, like the stories of so many women, is also one of sacrifice and perseverance.
A Childhood Between Two Worlds
Born in Puerto Rico, my mother spent much of her childhood at La Casona, the home of her Aunt María Rosenda, whom we all knew as Titi Senda.
La Casona had been established by Senda’s parents, José Ramón (Papa CheChe) and Francisca (Pancha). Together they raised ten children there, including Senda. Together they raised ten children there, including María Rosenda. More than just a residence, La Casona was a working farm where the family grew sugarcane and coffee. The men made rope and built coffins, while Titi Senda raised many of the children in the family, offering them love, guidance, and stability.
Decades earlier, during the 1920s and 1930s, Puerto Rico had been devastated by a tuberculosis outbreak that claimed many lives and left lasting scars on countless families. Although the worst had passed by the time my mother was born, La Casona still carried the weight of those losses. Senda cared for many people suffering from tuberculosis, watching some recover while enduring the heartbreak of losing others, including my great-grandmother, Amalia, the wife of Senda’s brother, Cornelio, who died during childbirth. Her passing left Senda to raise the newborn, Anna, along with Amalia’s two older children: Amalia, just six years old, and Rique, my grandfather, who was only four.
Caring for others became Senda’s life’s work. She lovingly cared for Papa CheChe until his death at more than one hundred years of age and, in time, nursed several of her brothers and sisters through their final illnesses. These hardships drew the women of the family even closer as they relied on one another through life’s greatest challenges.
Despite these hardships, La Casona was also a place of creativity and fellowship. The women sewed, sang, crocheted, and played instruments together, encouraging one another while preserving the traditions that united the family.
For my mother, La Casona was also a refuge from home. My grandmother, Carolina, affectionately known as Caro, was trapped in a difficult marriage marked by the infidelity of my grandfather, Rique. A veteran of the Korean War, Rique had received an honorable discharge, and his veterans’ benefits became an important source of support for the family. As his relationship with another woman continued, Caro was often left without the financial help she depended upon. On more than one occasion, his mistress intercepted the veterans’ benefit checks at the post office before Caro could receive them, leaving her and her children with even less to survive on. While Rique struggled to support two households and many children, Caro did everything she could to provide for her own family. She made limbers, traditional Puerto Rican frozen treats, to sell to schoolchildren, worked in a school cafeteria, took in sewing, washed laundry by hand, and accepted whatever work she could find. Despite her tireless efforts, it was never enough to provide the stability her family deserved.
Over time, La Casona began to fade. Those who had survived tuberculosis eventually passed away from old age. The younger women grew up and moved on. Some married, while others sought new lives beyond the family home, leaving behind a place that had once thrived with industry, music, and tradition.
When Senda left Puerto Rico for the United States, my mother was heartbroken. She felt abandoned, as though the woman who had truly been her mother had left her behind. For years she remained in Puerto Rico, feeling isolated and longing for the person who had always been her source of comfort, guidance, and unconditional love.
A Late Marriage and a Sudden Goodbye
Senda had spent much of her life caring for her family, always putting others before herself. She waited many years to marry, not because she lacked suitors, but because her responsibilities left little room for a life of her own. Finally, on May 4, 1950, in her forties, she married Mayórico (Mayo), the brother of my grandmother, Carolina. It was Caro who introduced them. But fate had other plans. Their marriage would be tragically short-lived.
On a stormy day in Puerto Rico, Mayo walked into a grocery store, unknowingly stepping into the middle of a heated argument between a father and his son. In the chaos, a gun was fired, and he was caught in the crossfire. In an instant, Senda was widowed before she had the opportunity to build a life with the man she loved. After years of caring for others, the happiness she had waited so patiently for was taken from her almost as soon as it began.
A Hardship, Faith, and Poetry
My grandmother, Carolina, or Caro, was the youngest of many children, born to Crispolo and Catalina, who were already older by the time she arrived. Deeply devoted to their Catholic faith, they read the Bible, prayed the Rosary every day, and held firmly to their religious convictions. Catalina was a gentle and mild-mannered woman, while Crispolo had a deep appreciation for literature and poetry. He passed that love of language on to his children, especially Caro.
When Caro fell in love with my grandfather, Rique, her parents strongly disapproved. Believing he was too unstable to provide the secure future they envisioned for their daughter, they refused to support the relationship. Determined to be together, Caro and Rique ran away and were married at La Casona, the home of Titi Senda. Although their marriage began without her parents’ blessing, it was embraced with love by Senda and the rest of the family at La Casona.
With limited resources and many mouths to feed, Caro spent part of her childhood boarding at a monastery for poor children, where the nuns provided shelter and a basic education.
Life there was strict, and her schooling was limited. Beyond the fundamentals, she relied on her own determination to continue learning. The beauty of language and the rhythm of poetry remained with her throughout her life, becoming a source of comfort, inspiration, and quiet joy.
A Painful Departure and Struggles in America
Caro and Rique had two children together, my mother, Edny, and my uncle, Joe. Determined to give them a better future, Caro made the heartbreaking decision to immigrate to the United States. In December 1959, at the age of forty-two, she left Puerto Rico.
She was forced to leave behind the home she had built, which my grandfather, Rique, eventually claimed without offering her any compensation. She also entrusted their beloved family dog, Bulcan, to Pasqual, the owner of the neighborhood candy store, and left behind the large convex family portraits that had once lined the walls of her home.
Carrying only what they could, Caro, Edny, who was fourteen, and Joe, who was twelve, boarded a plane and stepped into an uncertain future.
Having already mourned the loss of her husband, Senda had moved to the United States several years earlier. Although she had little to spare, she faithfully sent money home to Puerto Rico to help support Caro and her children. It was Senda who eventually persuaded Caro to come to the United States in search of a more secure future.
Senda worked tirelessly in a sewing shop that produced clothing for families in need while also caring for her niece Lali’s children, one of whom was deaf.
When Caro, Edny, and Joe arrived, Senda was waiting at the airport with warm coats in hand, ready to welcome them to their new home. After years apart, my mother was overwhelmed with joy to see her again. Their reunion, after such a long separation, brought warmth to an otherwise bitterly cold day.
Settling in Union City, New Jersey, was a dramatic adjustment. They moved into an apartment building where the heat was unreliable, the plumbing outdated, and the winters were bitterly cold, a stark contrast to the warmth and familiarity of Puerto Rico.
Almost immediately, Caro filed for divorce, determined to close one chapter of her life and begin another. Soon afterward, Rique married the woman with whom he had maintained a long-term relationship in Puerto Rico. Although Caro devoted herself to building a new life for her children in the United States, the heartbreak never left her. She loved him until the day she died. Many evenings she sat beside the radio listening to romantic songs, quietly wiping away her tears as she mourned the life they never had together.
To support her children, Caro worked in an embroidery factory, enduring long hours each day. Learning English brought another challenge. At the age of forty-two, she struggled with the language, while Edny learned it quickly. Joe, only twelve years old, found the adjustment much more difficult.
Art, Strength, and Creativity
My mother came from a lineage of remarkably gifted women. She learned to sew at just nine years old, and as she grew older, her talent for fabric and design became unmistakable. She did more than make clothing. She brought ideas to life. Her aunts were exceptionally skilled in both sewing and art. Her Titi Amalia could recreate almost anything by sight without ever using a pattern, while her Titi Anna was a gifted artist. Creativity ran deep in the family, shaping the artistic spirit my mother carried throughout her life.
She also loved watercolor painting and sketching. Whenever she had the opportunity, she painted delicate washes of color or filled pages with drawings.
Like many women of her generation, my mother married young. She built a life with my father, Gary, and together they welcomed my older sister, Kim, and me. She used her sewing talents to create intricate props for his paintings, designing costumes, fabrics, and elaborate details that enriched his work. She also instilled in us a lifelong appreciation for culture and beauty, handmaking all of our clothes when we were children. In addition, she was proficient in American Sign Language, a skill she carried throughout her life.
Long before their marriage ended, my mother encouraged my father to pursue art, supporting him wholeheartedly. She accompanied him to countless exhibitions and was his greatest advocate, always encouraging him to follow his passion.
After fourteen years of marriage, my parents divorced. Determined to build a new life for herself, my mother became a middle school art teacher, sharing her love of creativity with her students. She also worked as a fit model for Playtex bras, embracing new opportunities with confidence.
Later, she remarried and found lasting happiness with her husband, Dan. Above all, she found her greatest joy in her children, grandchildren, and great granddaughter, surrounding us with love, warmth, and unwavering devotion. She was the heart of our family, always nurturing, generous, and selfless. She was also unintentionally hilarious. Her quick wit, expressions, and way of looking at the world could leave everyone around her in stitches, often without her realizing why we were laughing.
When Titi Senda passed away in 1983, my mother was devastated, and so was I. She had become like a grandmother to me, nurturing my love of art from a very young age. She possessed a deeply spiritual nature and viewed the world through a uniquely imaginative lens. She encouraged me to draw cemeteries, the Virgin Mary, Jesus, and visions of heaven, never discouraging the unusual subjects that fascinated me. Her influence on my life was profound, shaping not only the artist I would become but also the way I came to understand the mystical and the unseen. That gift has remained with me ever since.
A Mother’s Dream Fulfilled
To her very last day on earth, my mother was my greatest champion. She believed in my art with a conviction so profound that I do not believe I will ever know another person who believed in me quite the same way.
Before she passed away, she witnessed one of the greatest milestones of my career, my first one woman exhibition. Although she was too ill to attend, she wept when she saw it come to life. Smiling through her tears, she said, “This is exactly what I always imagined for you.”
My sister, Kim, was also there to celebrate with me, even as she battled cancer. We were inseparable, and our bond was unbreakable. She told me she would not have missed it for the world and was proud to stand beside me as I realized a lifelong dream. Before she passed away, she promised she would always be with me, and I have carried those words with me ever since.
Kim passed away in 2020. Three months later, my mother followed.
Today, I am proud to carry these memories and share them, knowing that I am now the keeper of my family’s history. I carry with me the songs my mother sang, the poems my grandmother cherished, the recipes passed from one generation to the next, and the artistic spirit that has flowed through the women in my family for generations. They are treasures of my family’s heritage that connect me to those who came before me. Their voices, their love, and the lessons they taught continue to live on through me.
This memoir is my way of honoring them and ensuring that their stories are never forgotten.
Who are the women who shaped your life?
What stories, traditions, or gifts did they pass down to you?
In what ways do they still live on through you?
Every family has women whose love, courage, creativity, and quiet sacrifices echo across generations. Their stories matter. May we remember them, share them, and carry them forward, so that those who come after us will know whose shoulders they stand upon.
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