An Elegy to my Grandmother

 

 

You birthed
four children, but you really had eight, my brothers, sister, and I. We called
you our second mother. I remember when Ruben dropped a brick on my head, and you
made it better by giving me a cup of soda. You would always give us sweets and
even as we got older, you’d buy Cassie Hot Cheetos. Then you would snitch on us
to our parents about how bad we ate. You liked to pick fights with us. Even the
last day I saw you, you gave Cassie and I $20 at Cardenas and Cassie tried to
give it back to you, but you just got angry at her, so we kept it. I remember
the way you spoke and the face you would make when you chastised us, you would
chastise us now and say, “Why are you crying?” But, it’s because we miss you,
we love you, and we would love to fight with you a million more times.

We are
going to miss you, but I know you live through us, and you know, I thought I
wanted to say goodbye, but I’m glad I didn’t. Because there is no need for one,
I’ll see you again.

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