Almost everybody in this world knows someone who is or has battled Cancer. It’s really hard to see someone battle with Cancer because you really cant do anything. You’re just feel.. helpless. Hopeless. And totally broken. Especially when that person has always been part of your life. Like your Grandmother.
My Abuelita. She really was an incredible woman. Almost like a saint. She was always helping everyone around her, no matter if she knew them or not. She was one of those people that everyone loved. She didn’t care if you were Black, White, or Caramelized, she loved everyone and everything. She’s the little lady you thought was crazy because she talked to her flowers and plants. She was my second mom. She cared for me and my older brother when my mom was in the hospital and there was no hope for her any more. She cared for me when my mom got a brain hemorrhage and didn’t know who I was.
I have so many memories of this incredible and lovely woman. When I found out that I was pregnant, I already knew it was going to be a girl. Everyone else said it was going to be a boy, except her. She knew too. I wished that my Abuelita would have lived till Natalie was one but she lost the battle to Colon Cancer on November 10th, 2007. It was Midnight with ten minutes. I was sitting right by her when I saw her take her last breath. I wanted to wake her up. I wanted to do everything possible to save her. She had already decided she wanted to leave this Earth. In Peace. Up there. She was tired of fighting. Of losing the strength I admired and still admire to this day. She didn’t look like my Abuelita anymore when the Cancer spread all throughout her body.
I remember when I was over at her apartment one day and she was laying on the couch. She had her hands on her stomach and she looked like she was in pain. She looked at me and she asked me if I wanted to see something. She lifted her robe and on her stomach there were baseball sized tumors sticking out of her stomach. There were about 10 of them. I hugged her as gently as I could and I cried for hours. For days. My face was blotched, swollen and red. I still had hope that she was going to be cured. She couldn’t die. She was the best grandmother ever. She was my friend. And on top of all of that, my second mom. She couldn’t leave me.
The day I knew it was all over was the day that the in home nurse handed me a paper. Stage 5 cancer was bolded at the very top. I couldnt read past the second line. My eyes were blurring. Tears were already running down my face. She was leaving and there was nothing I could do anymore. The viewing and the burial all happened in a blur. I was a mess those days. And hardly eating. My life was crumbling. My second mom, mi mama grande, had left this Earth.
The viewing was really hard for me. My family talked about her, happy and sad memories, my family played songs for her and tears ran down my face all that day. My mind kept playing tricks on me and I kept on thinking that her eyelids were fluttering, that she was stirring in her sleep. I kept on yelling that she’s going to wake up. My family could only console me. That’s all they could really do. I think they were just trying to shake some sense into me.
The funeral. The funeral was well, the funeral. I sat in the front when my family talked about her. My face was blotched and puffy. This isn’t really happening. It’s my worst nightmare. Losing someone I love. But yes, that was my Abuelita‘s body inside that coffin with gold roses on the frame. One gold rose for each of her kids. Eight gold roses. When her coffin was going down in the dirt, I wanted to lurch after it. Something, someone somewhere held me back. Dont do it the voice had whispered. Maybe it was angel because I knew I was surrounded by no one. I was alone. No one was within 10 feet from me.
Life hasnt been easy now that she is gone. Everything is harder without her. The days just pass as a blur but they seem to take forever. I still catch myself sometimes asking my mom to invite my Grandma. I still look at her pictures and cry. I still think of her and cry. I miss her every second in every day. I think of the times we spent together and I smile and laugh but then cry. Natalie will never have memories with her like I did. She wont get to make tamales with her. My grandma isn’t around to see how clumsy my daughter is, just like her mom. She wont be around for Natalie’s quinceanera. She wont be sitting on the second row of her wedding. But I know that forever and always she’ll be looking down at us smiling. This is who I’m writing for. This is my muse. My inspiration. My Abuelita.
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This is for you, Abuelita. Maria I. Marquez (July 31, 1941 – November 10, 2007)
In memory of anyone you know that has been struck by cancer.
