My mother’s eyes began to welt. Enrapture filled her gaze. I stood at a distance. The Basilica reeked of worship and sweat. The eyes of pilgrims — glazed over with faith, tradition and hope – glared at the sight of La Virgen. My mom kept signaling to my sister that she was too far from her. My sister, preoccupied by an opulent façade, looked bemused. There stood a deacon. To the right stood a sister. Above, iconic, hung the image of La Virgen de Guadalupe. The hoards of faithful squirmed by each other like an army of ants. My mom signaled to my sister.

“Come closer”, said her gaze. It was time to pay dues, four decades worth of dues, to the patron saint that saved her daughter.

As the story goes, my sister — born in 1968 and now approaching 41 (in her words, “I’m eternally 29) — spent four weeks in intensive care after falling gravely ill when she was merely a few weeks old. She turned a multitude of shades and colors during those first weeks. For a young couple with their first child, it was much to bear. Realizing her daughter may be lost, my mother turned to her faith for guidance. She made a pact with the Virgin Mary: save her daughter in exchange for a promise of eternal devotion. That promise involved a pledge to visit the Basilica in Mexico City with my sister, a 1500-mile trek from Los Angeles, Ca. For a family recently emigrated to the United States, a new daughter, ill, and without much security, the profundity of my mother’s pledge was as monumental as the great call of Alexander to conquer the Persian Empire.

My mother, a stalwart of her faith, made her way to the center of the church. There stood a few thousand men, women and children ripe with devotion. My father lead the way. My mother wrapped her arms around my sister. The movement of her lips meant her promise was unfolding. My sister looked towards the altar intently. My mother wept. My father then cloaked my mother with his arms. Bells rang outside. A mariachi began to play “Las Mañanitas.” A baby raised his head to the heavens, blinking curious little blinks of innocence. A man prayed, coughed, and prayed some more. I stood there, silent, confused and in awe. I don’t think I’ve ever made a promise akin to this. I don’t think I could ever keep it if I did.