We received the news unexpectedly those January 11th, 1980 and it was almost impossible to believe that the most autochthonous flower in the Cuban mountains had withered; as if the dawn could be conceived without the trill of the birds, or the palm without the cooing that offers to its feather the wind, or the flag of Cuba without its solitary star.
How to convince us suddenly that she had left the woman whose name invoked so many times forever which if it was a guardian deity, the humblest children in this earth. Her premonitory name Celia Esther de los Desamparados Sánchez Manduley.
She cost to think of the definitive absence of who never preferred not to be public presence. But we always knew that she was in the precise place and the opportune moment, storing with loving meticulousness each tract and testimony of the history, making is thrilled of town, transforming each promise into certainty, favoring the beauty in each social work where it placed their sensibility.
Now that the time has passed and she is evoked to forty and a years of January 11th, 1980, we know that Celia didn’t never leave; that it is in the place where she zooms higher the Homeland, next to a bust of Martí; that it accompanies us in each moment of happiness or regret; that their name continues being among us the most sublime definition of patriotism, she surrenders, fondness and loyalty.
Translated by Julio Alberto Jiménez Ruiz