I could not believe my tía Olga was in town. See, she was born and raised in Mexico, and unlike all my other grandmother’s children, she chose to stay and build her life there. That choice, however, would come to haunt her later in life, when she found out my grandmother was in her final stages of cancer. In desperation to see my grandmother in her final days, my tía and mom sought ways to have her granted a visit across the border to spend time with my grandma. After what seemed like years later, she was finally approved.

 

I have never understood feeling bittersweet as much as I did that day.

 

Flashes of

My tía Olga in tears, embracing her mother that she had not seen in years,

My grandma, bony limbs sticking out the edges of her now oversized clothes, struggling to get off the wheelchair that seemed glued onto every inch of her skin,

And the stifled sounds of sobs and laughter, as well as disbelief, circling around our living room.

 

After my tía Olga settled in, the days passed us by once again.

The once knowing looks in my grandmother’s eyes were now cloudy and dazed,

The talks of days past were no longer spoken…

 

She was losing her mind.

The pain had become insufferable,

And the very thing that was supposed to help her had taken away her ability to be who she was.

 

Even then, her hands would still occasionally find my face,

While she said

to anybody listening,

“Que bonita mi nieta.”

Even then, I knew she loved me,

​

Just as much as I love her.