I sit here alone, contemplating, thinking too much like always. Sometimes, it’s a curse, but at other moments, it’s a gift, thinking. Certain realizations, revelations are made and discovered. New perspectives are formed, and perhaps even a new outlook on life.

Images of my grandma flood my thoughts. Walking to the corner store with her on 16th and National. “Pick something, whatever you want, baby girl,” she would say. I answered with a wide grin before I ran off to pluck the spicy mexican candy from the shelf. Looking back at it now, I realize that the little box she would always purchase when we went to the corner store was a pack of cigarettes. I wouldn’t doubt that everyone remembers her insistence when it came to eating more of her cooking. Then again, she didn’t have to do much insisting before we sheepishly smiled and grabbed the second helping that was on our minds the minute we took that first bite. The most relaxed I had seen her was the day before she was going to be taking her citizenship test and the whole family came over to help her study. It turned into a competition. Half of my uncles and aunts on one team, and half on the other (plus my grandma) would get asked questions from the study book and whoever answered correctly first earned a point. It turned into laughing and joking, and despite my grandma’s lack of English, she beat all of us especially on questions like,’Which territory did the US buy from France in 1803?’, because who knows the answer to that question anyway without studying prior to being asked? I can still hear her contagious, raspy laugh when I think about her. In that moment, in her small, warm kitchen, I was so proud of her.

It was sudden, but at the same time, the urgent tone of my mother’s clipped voice was in a way, expected. When we arrived, I knew- we all knew- that the situation was grave. I’ve always hated the smell of latex gloves mixed with the faint scent of rubbing alcohol combined with the drip sound of the IV. I don’t usually like to take situations like this seriously. It’s just the way I’ve always been, but the sullen, faraway expression on my dad’s face drained me completely of any good feeling, instead, replacing it with a deep, emptiness in the pit of my stomach. When I looked around the room, they were all like that, all eight of my uncles and aunts, plus my cousins and eventually family from Mexico and California. “Wow, the whole family by her side!” the nurses would say with a pleasant smile. Of, course, I thought, why wouldn’t anybody and everybody she knew come to this amazing woman’s side at a time like this? Her hair was still a beautifully thick field of black tipped with white, which we brushed through everyday. Warm brown, ringed with the clearest of blue skies, they were the most peculiar eyes I’d ever seen, with the exception of my dad’s, identical to hers. We shared good memories, stories, happy thoughts with her in that room. In a way, it was like that time in her tiny kitchen, all of us crowded in, sharing good vibes, except this time, she was slowly running out of time.  

A year and some months had passed, and it was the day of my quinceanera, my fifteenth birthday. The first few melodies of that oh- so- familiar song filled the small church where my godfather gave me his blessings. It was ‘El Pescador.’ Everyone sang along with the trio in front, and the combination of my family’s voices mixed with the strumming of the three guitars had this hearty feeling to it, it was almost tangible and I began to weep. She will not be here for me today, I realized. Anxiety crept into me, unwelcome and persistent as ever. I was about to perform the dances we prepared, but as the first song started, I was assured that the long summer my cousins and I spent practicing was worth this amazing moment. Around me, the clapping and cheering continued as my cousin gently set me back on my feet. My hair, a tousled mess, cheeks bright, eyes shining, the amount of love and togetherness I felt for my family overwhelmed me. I felt the excitement bubbling up inside of me, but at the same time, tranquility settled over me like a warm, comforting blanket. The source of my sadness now became the reason why no one could alter the triumphant expression on my face. My grandma, was indeed with me all the time. Although she had been gone for more than a year, I was reminded numerous times throughout that day and there after, that she was by my side, proud, and cheering me on with the rest of the family.