Part 2: The Song              That Ignited Spill:He Was

How Did Writing
A Song About
Losing My
Mama Grande
Lead To
Spill The Musical
Finding Me?

My mom . . . . with her mom . . .
"Mande"

Simona T. Estrada & Juventina R. TrevinoSimona T. Trevino
&
Juventina R. Trevino

Getting ready to say good-bye

to Mande “‘Til next time.”

I’d give anything for just

one more “‘Til next time.”

When my grandmother died — my mom's mom — she was the first person in my life I had ever lost . . . And I absolutely adored and loved her.

Mande's — short for Mama Grande . . . Grandmother in Spanish — love and affection stood at the door of her small front porch. She would always stand there waiting to pour all of it out on my family with a huge, warm hug the second we got out of the car and walked up those small wooden steps. This never changed every time we'd drive two hours from Corpus Christi, Texas, to San Benito, Texas, every month to visit her. Mande always spilled so much love over all of us . . . And she always had a homemade lunch, cooked with so much love, waiting  . . .

Mande’s new house and kitchen,

built in front of her old house . . .

same love-filled cooking.

Four Generations:

Mande, my mom,

my sister, and her daughter.

I had just returned to Nashville from Corpus — as those of us from there call it — after being home for the Christmas and New Year's holidays, when, a few weeks later, I received the news that we had lost Mande. This was my very first time ever . . . ever experiencing death up close, and I was absolutely heartbroken.

Days later, I was in San Benito, Texas . . . but this time . . . this time, it was the final goodbye. A goodbye that meant this part of our lives was over . . . for good.

But as much as I wanted to grieve losing Mande . . . I couldn't. It wasn't because I didn't want to. It was because, even though I didn't know it at the time, something hurt me far greater and far more deeply than losing Mande did . . .

Watching my mom . . . lose her mom.

“ . . . And I catch myself smilin’

at all those memories . . . ”

From The Song, He Was

Mande, my mom

and my dad.

The last time my family were

all at The Ranch . . . together.

It crushed me. I remember, oh, so vividly, watching my mom kneeling down at her mom’s casket, just crying and crying and crying.

It wrecked me.

Suddenly, I couldn’t grieve losing Mande, because my heart became concerned with my mom’s own broken heart as she said goodbye, for the last time . . . to her mom.

And from that moment, through the days and weeks and months and years that followed, my concern wasn’t my own sadness and grief. It was making sure I was there to walk with my mom through hers.

Before I left Nashville for Texas for the funeral, I had a scheduled co-write with my extremely talented songwriter friend, Adam Dorsey. (This is a future He Was Part 3 of the many parts of this story.) I walked in with an idea called She Was about my grandmother’s funeral.

I explained to Adam that the idea came from standing outside the funeral home and hearing everyone talk about Mande in the past tense. And how weird and strange and surreal and unreal hearing it felt . . .

No one is supposed to become past tense, right?

That’s not how it’s supposed to go, right?

The ones we love so much are supposed to live . . . forever . . . aren’t they?

Mande and all her kids.

My mom is far right.

The gravel road Mande lived on —

named after our family: Trevino.

I took this picture of

of Mande's living room . . .

. . . and bedroom after she

passed away. I am so glad

I did . . . Because

the mind forgets.

It took me nineteen years to return

to The Ranch. Twenty-six years later —

The Ranch and even Mande’s

beaten down house are all gone . . .

But . . . the memories are not.

Warmth-filled memories of

Mande's old house — before our family

built her new one right in front of it.

We ended up co-writing my idea together, but because there had been a huge hit called She Was around that same time, and because Adam’s wife had recently lost her grandfather, we changed the title and the song to He Was.

Fast forward several years — and several reasons — later, I independently released the single for He Was along with a music video.

Quite honestly, trying to make it in the entertainment industry — whether it’s Los Angeles, New York City, or Nashville — it can be . . . it is, for so many with their pockets full of dreams . . . heartbreakingly unforgiving.

I couldn’t understand why God was so adamant about me putting out this song after I had walked away from songwriting many years prior, because of all the heartbreak that comes with trying to make it. I didn’t understand why this song mattered so much.

But through all of those years of unrelenting trials that seemed to work overtime trying to break me along the way, God would eventually show me that my wonderful Mande — whose love I felt with every fiber of her being — had left this aspiring Nashville songwriter one huge gift with her goodbye . . . through this song she inspired me to write . . . He Was.

Me and my siblings with Mande.

Our last time together

with Mande in San Benito.

Me and Mande.

Be the one who takes

a million pictures . . .

Looking through all of these . . .

I am so glad I did.

And God revealed to my heart that the reason He Was mattered so much was because it would eventually lead me — someone who loved musicals . . . but who never . . . ever . . . dreamed he would someday write one himself . . . much less a BROADWAY musical — to writing exactly that . . .

I thought God wanted to use He Was for something else . . . for someone else.

But He had an even bigger vision for He Was than the one He originally placed in my heart . . .

Because years later, He Was would become the beginning of a chain of events I never could have planned . . . events that would completely change the trajectory of my life and ultimately lead to something I never went looking for . . .

Spill The Musical . . . finding me.

And how did one little song written because I lost Mande possibly do all of that . . . ?

Almost 20 years later — first time

in San Benito after Mande

passed away . . . I played our

 He Was music video . . . and in deep in my

thanked her for this song that

changed my life forever.

My older sister walking

to hangout where we

always would with our uncle.

“ . . . listening to him

tellin' stories . . . ”

From He Was

My siblings and my uncles.

My siblings, niece and Mande's sons (our uncles).

My Tio Beto and my brother

showing off his "guns". Ha ha.

Me and my siblings.

I don't think any of us

knew this last time at The Ranch

together . . . would be our

last there . . . together.

Such a happy time.

My niece and nephews.

Now . . . my niece has

her own kids the age

that she was back then . . .

Oh, How the years go by . . .