Siempre creí que mi nombre era “Leticia:, porque tanto a mi hermana como a mí, todos nos llamaban así: “Las Leticias”.
Esto para mí no era raro, el no tener conciencia de mi nombre era como el no tener conciencia de mi vida entera.

My little world was limited to a small space, as the first years of my childhood were spent within the earthy walls of a cave.

I never knew what a bed, a table, or a chair was. I didn't have a cradle to rock me in, and I don't remember being on my mother's lap.

She, my mother, didn't speak well, she couldn't string together a single sentence with due sanity, and together with my father - they were both insane - they went down from the cave to the village to bring us some food.

These absences filled me with terror, because my parents, to make sure nothing happened to us, tied my sister and me up with a rope, and sometimes it took them a week to return.

For days that seemed endless and endless nights filled with anguish from my little sister's crying, we remained huddled in the same place, and if we felt hungry, we ate everything within reach, including our own waste.

My parents almost always returned with firewood to heat the cave, which was cold even during the summer months, and with food scraps they collected from the garbage dumpsters. Those moments were happy times for me. I rummaged through the sacks, which, although dirty and faded, contained a hidden treasure that I slowly discovered: hard tortillas, cold bread, rotten tomatoes and chiles, a pair of torn shoes, a floral skirt missing a button, a blouse for my little sister, and with a bit of luck, a battered doll.

We never celebrated birthdays because my mother didn't even know the year or day she was born, nor did she know how to read or write, and both she and my father had difficulty expressing themselves. The only thing I know about their past is that they were born in Colima and from there they came to live in this cave where my sister and I were born.

Providence decreed that one day a person would come to our cave. What she saw astonished her, for the scene was enough to astonish anyone.

It's hard to imagine living like this: two girls tied with a rope, without clothes, their bodies malnourished. Covered in infections and pimples, their heads covered in lice, crawling instead of walking, and making a series of guttural sounds instead of talking.

Este retrato correspondía a dos niñas que representaban menos edad que la que tenían, esas niñas éramos mi hermana y yo: “Las Leticias”

So, with my seven years under my belt, with my five-year-old sister and with a very sad past, we arrived at the Ortigosa Home a few years ago.

The specialists gave us the all-clear; their diagnosis was blunt: respiratory problems, adenoiditis, dermatitis, seborrhea, bronchitis, parasitic infections, and chronic acute malnutrition. Mentally, the diagnosis was equally discouraging: language, articulation, and motor coordination problems, all of which demonstrated significant developmental delays.

Hogar Ortigosa does not accept girls in these conditions, but every rule has its exception, and the Mothers of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and of the Poor welcomed us with love.

Today, after some time, my sister and I attend a special rehabilitation school where we are given an education that will allow us to face life with greater expectations.

I know we can learn a trade because, for example, we have computer skills, and they are preparing us so that, when we leave Ortigosa, we can live with dignity. We, who suffered so much, have acquired increasingly solid moral foundations, and now the future looks promising.

Estoy consciente de que tengo un espacio que es mío, que soy una persona, que mi hermana se llama Lupita, y sobre todo, que yo tengo un nombre también: yo no soy una “Leticia, soy Juanita.

Hay lugares que marcan nuestra vida, una casa, un paisaje campestre, el hogar de una amiga… yo tengo grabado en mi memoria un solo lugar: Las Islas Marías.

Llegar a las “Islas”, era llegar al terror, aunque iba del brazo de mi madre y en compañía de mis dos hermanos, nunca me sentí protegida porque las celadoras efectuaban un examen que resultaba agresivo a mi persona.

Este examen lo sufría en forma periódica ya que las “Islas” eran la extensión de nuestro hogar pues en ellas se encontraba mi padre, recluido por un delito que cometió.

As in dreams I remember my little ranch, I was five years old when one night I heard my mother crying, two men came home to take my father to jail for robbery.

Two years later he was released, but soon after he reoffended and was taken to prison again.

I was nine years old when I learned that my father, along with a nephew and two other men, had committed murder. The sentence was 20 years in the Marías Islands.

My mother followed my father and went to live with him in the islands. My sisters, Mirthala and Francisca, stayed with an aunt, and I ended up in a government boarding school.

Nos reuníamos todas al ir a visitar a mi papá, pero cuando cumplí los 11 años me negué a volver por las “revisiones” que nos hacían y además porque mi padre me infundía miedo, tenía un carácter violento y siempre tenía pleitos con sus compañeros.

On the islands, there are Mothers of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and of the Poor who provide spiritual assistance to the families living there, and one of them suggested to my mother that we stay at the Ortigosa Home.

Mother took charge, and my sisters and I now live together in the Tranquil Home. My sister Francisca is 16 years old, serious, and withdrawn. She recently graduated from high school with the highest distinction as an exemplary student, and her dream is to become a great doctor.

My sister Mirthala, who is 12 years old, is very playful, and exhibits the behavior of a child who is beginning to discover the world, a world that is offered to her full of dreams, hopes, and dreams.

When you've been missing everything, when you've felt rejected by your parents in childhood, overcoming that and growing in search of transcendence as a human being is no easy task.

If I had to find a name to title my life, without a doubt it would be this: What the world rejects, God collects, because they cast me aside, but He took me in and protected me through the love of the Servants of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and of the Poor.

I met my father the day my mother died. I was 12 years old then. I thought he would take me to live with him, but he didn't, because I had been conceived out of wedlock and he had his own family.

Due to social conventions, what people would say, and the fear that I wouldn't be accepted into their social circle, they donated me to the Ortigosa Home, forever.

I learned to grow with my reality. I never judged my father. The only thing that hurt me was the separation from my sister. She stayed as a boarder at a school in Mexico City, and I stayed at the Ortigosa Home in Monterrey.

I arrived at Ortigosa sad, insecure, I didn't know what awaited me, I had no one, I had no love.

The Servants of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and of the Poor became my surrogate mothers; they suffered for me and with me. They tried to unite me with my father, but my father and his family rejected me and them as well.

My father had six siblings and my mother twelve, and no one was able to take care of an orphaned niece, and they never looked for me. Realizing that no one cares about you produces a crushing, intense pain that seems to never end.

The first thing my dear mothers did was teach me to face my reality, to accept myself as I was, to accept that I didn't have any family, and this hurts, but when you know your own truth, your heart heals.

I enjoyed everything: the jobs, the parties, the outings, the studies, the washing up at boarding school. I think we're happy when we build happiness with the gifts God gives us.

When mothers observed my abilities and my way of acting, they helped me complete a degree at Labastida University through benefactors.

At the same time, I was growing in my faith, taking courses outside of boarding school; my mothers sent me to the Better World movement, the Christian Life Days, and the Christian Leadership Movement.

In 1963, I became the first female president of the Christian Life Days movement and began traveling, carrying a message to other cities such as San Luis Potosí, Saltillo, Torreón, etc.

Within the activity of these movements, I found fulfillment. My life changed incredibly; now I could practice everything my mothers had taught me at Ortigosa. Through action and practice, I developed further in my social life.

In this environment of young Catholics, I found two true friends. They invited me to their home, a true home, and their parents adopted me spiritually and continue to offer me their love to this day.

It was they, my spiritual parents, who handed me over to my husband at the altar of the Immaculate Conception. The Santa Sofía Home of the Ortigosa Hospice was decorated by all my companions, and the wedding reception was held there.

With my character, I demanded my rights from life: to study, to work, to leave my home, the Santa Sofía Home, dressed in white; and to provide my husband with a bride dressed in white.

After 28 years of happy marriage, I was invited to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the founding of the Christian Life Days Movement, and all the young people who participated in its creation at that time gathered together.

I felt proud to be able to show them my life, the photos of my husband, my four children, my home, My Own Home! A wonderful word that makes us repeat "Glory to God!"

My husband and I became directors of the Mexican Tennis Federation. He is a renowned artist, and together we are part of the Luz de Jesús community, where I have a group of people under my care.

With my husband and children, we travel to various places. My children visit their grandmothers, "My Mothers," and I can say that nothing remains of that little girl who once arrived at the Ortigosa Home because her family rejected her. Now I can say with my head held high and a confident voice, I AM Pilar, I AM Very Happy, and I AM A WINNER.

Pilar Medinilla de Jasso.