My grandmother passed away this morning. She would have been 95 next month.
It hurts so much.
My grandmother was so much more to me than just a grandma. She was my mother. She raised me off and on until I was about 7 or 8 years old. Then full time just months before my 11th birthday.
She was my best friend. My confidante. She was the one to sing to me when I couldn't sleep. She was the one who made me teas when my tummy hurt. And with her magic words, she healed all of my scrapes and bruises. Sana, sana, colita de rana...
Part of me wishes she were here now to heal my broken heart. But this is a wound that only time can heal.
Right now, I'm in stunned silence. I don't think I've spoken more than a dozen words all day since I learned of her passing. It's not that I don't want to speak, I just can't.
When I was about 15, my grandmother purchased a funeral plan. For weeks, she planned her funeral, picked out a casket, even going so far as to trying them out. I in turn, was mortified and didn't understand how she could talk about death and her funeral like it something so completely normal.
"Don't be sad, mija. When I die, it will be because I've gone home to be with the Lord. I'm going to be so happy when that day comes. So, don't cry. Don't wear black. Be happy for me. Be happy for you. And continue to live your life. Don't stop just because I'm no longer here."
Easier said than done.
Even knowing Gramm's wishes, I ache. Everything reminds me of her. And I remember every single thing about her, down to her favorite flower: carnations.
I realize how incredibly lucky and blessed I was to have been raised by my grandmother. She was a remarkable woman. And her memory will always live on.
I love you, Gramm.
Anita B. Enriquez
January 12, 1917 - December 9, 2011
Descanse en Paz