By Kiara Covarrubias

Lola’s job is not simply employment; it is her identity. Lola cleans and cooks for my grandparents in Mexico. She serves others for a living. I see the Lola’s comfort when she has a broom in her hands and her discomfort when she has to receive help.
Lola, who needs more than most, is the least likely to receive help.
Lola refuses to sit at the same table where the family eats; we eat at the formal dining table and she remains hidden at the kitchen table. She will not even eat the same food as the family although it is part of her salary. She refuses the meat and I saw her eat beans with avocado more than once.
Monday through Sunday are her workdays, and from eight in the morning until four in the afternoon are her work hours. Along with receiving food from my grandparents, she receives $30 a week.
She has two boys: one of them is 16 and the other 9. Neither of them works. So, Lola, as a single mother, maintains her family with her meager salary.
Somehow she manages. Somehow, she reports to work every day with a cheerful and willing disposition.
But I know that she suffers. I know that her kindness does not soothe her exhaustion.
Lola has had diabetes for over ten years now and it wasn’t until last week that she received medication to treat it. She had not told my grandparents that she was sick and she did not have the money to pay for medication.
But last week Lola arrived to work sick and had to be taken to the doctors where my grandparents were then informed what was wrong.
Sometimes, I would walk into the dinning room and find her sitting with both hands on her forehead and head bent, but as soon as she realized my presence, she would stand and look directly into my eyes with a visible fear.
Before, I did not understand why she would be scared of me, but this time I understood.
Lola thought that I would tell my grandparents that she was resting instead of working, that instead of mopping for the third time, she decided that she would sit.
But just as I understood her fear, I think that this year she understood that she did not have a reason to fear.
I never even thought of saying anything to my grandparents, always having believed that we all need to have a time to be sad in our lives if we want to be happy.
But just as Lola’s strength amazes me, I know how common it is. I have met a multitude of Lolas in Mexico.