It's Been a Year

     I still remember the day. I was at the high school in Rio Grande City, attending to my work duties, and I received a phone call around 10:15am. I knew right away what it was about. I didn't listen to the voicemail until the student I was talking to had gone back to class. Walking away from the campus, getting into the security and privacy of my car, I listened to what my father was telling me...she was gone. I cried all the way back to the office, explained the situation to my supervisor, picked up my daughter at daycare, and drove back to Mission to prepare my things to come back home to Laredo. Losing my grandmother was a great loss to the family. She was the head of the whole clan and losing her was like losing our guide into the world...what would we do now? It's been a full year since she's been gone and it's still a hard thing to understand.
     My grandmother was unlike anyone I've ever known in my life. She was the type of women who was headstrong and determined yet very warm and loving with the people she adored and cherished. Whenever anyone would visit her, she'd make them feel as if their mere presence had made her whole day. As if she had been waiting the entire day for them. I remember she'd always call me 'mija hermosa' and her whole face would light up with her sincere and endearing smile. My grandmother was a private woman but when it came to it, she could make conversations with just about anyone. I would tag along with her on her 'mandados' and she could start talking to a lady at Super S about the bananas. We'd go to Narvaez and she would talk to another person about the long line and what carne was best for the tamales. We would head over to Alfredo Santos and she'd make conversation about the weather with the cashier. She was adorable, my grandmother was, and she was gracious to the point that many people liked her.

     A thing that I remember the most about my grandmother was that she loved to sing. Most of my life I lived next door to her and I would come running over to her kitchen door (it was always open) and I'd hear her singing about situations I didn't really understand at the time. I know my family remembers her singing a particular song, but I personally remember her singing 'Los Laureles'  and it went something like: "ay que laureles tan verde, que rosas tan encendidas". The melody and feeling in her voice just made the world seem at peace. I thought life was really perfect. She would also do a dance, which to this day I have been unable to master, and she'd be sliding up and down the kitchen floor like nothing could stop her. Family members would be there, trying to mimic her move and just couldn't do it. To this day, when I picture her face, she's always smiling and I can still hear her singing as if I'm still that five-year-old little girl peering into her kitchen.
     As I've said before, humor has always been a family trait that has been passed down from generation to generation. My family is filled with quick-witted individuals so jokes and pranks are inevitable. This particular incident happened a couple of months before we lost her. Grandma liked to have her bread toasted to the brink of it being burnt. Grandam referred to this as 'pan tostado que thurene' (yes, I know I'm not spelling it correctly, my apologies). Well this particular morning, my father was preparing her breakfast and Grandma bit into her toast and found that it wasn't toasty enough. So my father took the bread back and put it into the toaster again. When it was just right, my father took it back to my grandmother and waited for her to test out its 'toastiness'. Well when Grandma bit into the toast, my father crunched up a bag of Fritos he had been holding out of her view. My grandma jumped at the crunching sound and my father started laughing and asked her 'ya thurena Ama?'. Grandma's response was laughter and a 'que cabrono...y con tu propia madre!'. It's moments like this that makes the memories so enjoyable.
     My grandmother was an amazing woman full of love, laughter, and a sincerity that's so rare nowadays. Visiting her grave is hard. As much as I try to focus on all the positive memories she left behind, I'm still filled with the longing to visit her house and call out her name and hear 'ay mija!' and when I'm leaving for work I look at the window to her kitchen and expect to see her waving hand send us off with her blessing. I still visit her home often and even though it's missing her essence, I feel the comfort and love I used to feel when she was still there; and my family and I often sit down and reminisce about what Grandma taught us and what she did. So every now and then, I'll write about what she taught me and what I remember most about her. All I know is that I miss her and still love her greatly. Que Dios la tenga en el cielo.