Te Amo Abuelita

gran-kissing-alena So much I would like to say, so much I really can’t figure out how to say. This is a hard post to write. Doesn’t seem like it’s possible that a year has already gone by. We keep finding pieces of you in our world: stickers, letters, cards, handwritten recipes, blankets made, memories. I know that you were not happy in this world anymore. Losing mom broke your heart, I firmly believe that.  I wish you had been able to see the baby as she is now. You would have loved her.

I remember when I had Kaitie and the two of you would play ball on the floor. You were in your 60’s and still you played. I want that for myself. I think you missed that toward the end. Your life didn’t have the same quality. Not being able to do things frustrated you and it hurt to see you like that. But I miss you. And here come the tears. I always counted on you being there. I know you are here in spirit, but I want to be able to touch your face. To see the love in your eyes when you watch the baby.

My life was so much richer because of you. The times you picked me up from school for that special lunch away from the cafeteria, all the times you showed me how to do things. You were the one that taught me the joy of the musicals. Although I never did get into your Three Tenors. How many times did we sit there and watch Darby O’Gill together?

My grandmother: who could make lace doilies, run the bases, butcher a wild boar, make homemade tortillas. You had such a life. I always loved the stories you would tell, stories of you working for the Perkins, of things that you saw when you were working the fields. Stories of when you were a little girl. I think I will always remember you jumping on the chicks and squasing it.

You were beautiful. I know I didn’t tell you that enough but you had such a wonderful heart. I miss that. I made pancakes for the baby the other day, and was finished before I realized, I hadn’t made them right. I could feel you looking down, telling me that I should have made her silver dollar pancakes. With melted butter. Never mind that I was trying to make sure we all sat down together. You never sat until everyone else had eaten. It was your joy, that cooking for people. I know I benefitted from it. Maybe that’s a family trait, the cooking thing. And maybe that’s why the whole family is a bit… round.

Oh those days waiting around while you pulled off the freshly made tortillas off the comale. Warm with butter, those tortillas were the best thing in the world. I’ve given up trying to make my own, they always come out looking like dough ghosts. So many things I would still love to learn from you. How to make tamales, how to do the Spanish cutwork. There are songs I never learned, stories I never heard. I am thankful I got your voice going through all the family history in those photos. Not only would I never remember, but now I have your voice, captured. It will be like having you there.

I’ve rambled all over Gran, there is no rhyme or reason to this. You are with me, I feel you at times. But I can not reach out and touch you, I can not feel your arms holding me close. I miss you. I hope you know how very much I love you. You will never be far from my heart and you will always be remembered. I will not let the baby forget about you. So thankful you had some time with her. That she had the time with you. Her days were blessed by you.

I miss you. I love you. Give mom a kiss for me. Tell Chase his nana says hello. Don’t give those angels too much hell. Save a place for me, I’ll be there sooner or later.


2 Responses

  1. What a beautiful tribute to your Grandmother! She has probably been singing the songs today you have blipp’d for her and smiling because of these special moments you have shared with us.

    I miss her for you.

  2. Wow, that was beautiful… that’s about all I can get out through soggy eyes.

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