It was so wonderful seeing my family!  After being picked up at the Seattle airport my sister in law drove us “home”.  When we pulled into the driveway, even though it was now about 1:30 am, I could still see how much larger the house is now compared to the last time I saw it… about 2 ½ years ago.  My brother built almost the whole addition himself… I was, well, AM, impressed.

We didn’t have my luggage yet, so I got the “tour” right away.  I’d seen the part that is living room and kitchen and over when I was out there last time… the big difference there is that what was the garage, to the right of the living room, is now living room, and what was the laundry room, to the right of the kitchen, behind the garage, is now kids play room.  The rooms to the left of the living room/kitchen area are the same… a hallway with both kids rooms to the left, a full bath to the right, and the last door to the right used to be the master bedroom with a half bath of it’s own… now it’s my moms quarters.

My brother and S-I-L got her a new bed… full size, and so comfy!  The frame is a matte silverish metal, curled and pretty, and they got her some beautiful lavender flowered sheets and shams and comforter.  There are lovely pictures on the wall, and mom has started a new collection of pretty sticks and rocks… she HAS to have nature in her room.  They went in on a flat screen tv for her also, and she’s just thrilled with it… wields her remote like a pro… setting the alarm clock and sleep timer, etc…zip zap.

The new part of the house is to the right of the living room and kitchen/dining.  My brother did a really great job with it too.  There’s a short hall leading to a longer hall that T’s off of it.  On the Right of the T is the laundry room and a nice sized office.  First impression of the office is "WOW" as you see the big windows as soon as you walk in (this is the same in all the rooms of the addition… they’re beautiful picture windows looking out at pretty trees and bushes scattered naturally all over his 3 acres) and a lovely wood floor… I’ve always loved the furniture they choose… it’s natural wood, large and solid… the chairs in the office are made of actual tree limbs and round slices of trunk for the seat and chair back.  Off of the office he has an "L" shaped utility room where he can store lots of stuff… his ac/heat blower is in there too.

Heading down the left side of the T, first, on the right is the master bath… which is amazing.  He has a completely tiled floor (small 1" tiles), walls and ceiling (1' tiles) shower with two shower heads and a corner bench in it... there's even a stylish light in the ceiling.  He’s built the thing so solidly that I believe if the family got in there during any natural disaster… tornado, hurricane, earthquake… they’d survive without a scratch.  There is a huge oval roman tub sunk in a tiled platform with a lovely (privacy glass) window for light and built in cubbords in the walls surrounding the tub.  There is a recurring theme of artistically placed tiles in geometric form running along the base of the walls surrounding the tub and the entry archway of the shower that gives it such an elegant and professionally finished look.  The vanity has a granite counter with flecks of tan and gold throughout, and beautiful hardware, and his potty is behind a small half wall for privacy.  He was so attentive to detail that it shows... even the electrical in there is a thing of beauty... each switch is on a dimmer, and you can light the shower, the vanity or over the tub independently of eachother.  I fell in love with that bathroom!

Across the hall from the bathroom is a wonderful walk in closet… about the size of one of his children’s rooms.  No trouble hanging and storing clothing there!  He's put shelves and hanging bars in there so everything can be organized.  At the end of the T is the new master bedroom.  When you enter the room the impression is almost of living in a tree house.  In front of you is a wall of windows... clear and beautiful... the top ones angled to match the vaulted ceiling.  To the left is a four panel atrium (french) door opening onto their deck where the hot tub is... to the side of that is a beautiful dark teak wood dresser with his tv and dvd on top.  Directly across from that, on your right, is their bed (which my sister has since told me is extremely comfortable)... it is tall and beautiful with two horizontally long windows above the headboard... lying on his bed you can look behind you and see the sky through them.  The other furniture in the room is matching dark teak dresser and night stands, and a beautiful chest at the foot of the bed.  Again, all the lighting is on a dimmer so he can control the "mood".   All of it is done so beautifully… you feel right at home there.

I must mention the living room.  When you walk into the house from the front door (which is itself lovely with beveled glass in both the door and side panels) directly in front of you is the dining room... they have a lovely dark teak wood harvest table surrounded by tall matching chairs.  Looking to the right (if you stayed standing in the entry area) the living room opens before you... huge, with vaulted ceilings... the low wall is the right wall of the living room and is comprised of huge windows one next to another next to another, giving the room a sort of being outdoors feeling.  My brother installed an amazing fireplace that actually connects to the ductwork of the house and has a blower so that the heat from the fireplace can be sent to all the extremities.  He put it in the far right hand corner, and has completely rocked the entire wall to the ceiling.  The rocks are in shades of tan, and he has a smoky gray colored hearth… two huge sandstone pieces cut to angles at the ends to fit perfectly against the adjoining walls, and a mantle, also of sandstone, in one giant piece held up by triangular pieces of rock underneath for supports.  It took my brother (no small guy) and two of his burly friends to put the mantle up there.  The whole thing is just so amazingly perfect for that room and their home… I miss my fireplace in my house… pout.  The carpet is a light pecan color... a loop carpet... very attractive.

That first night when I arrived I was allowed to peek in on my niece Sage… her mama whips the covers off of her (I'm cringing inwardly not wanting the kid to get shocked and wake up and see me... at this point a stranger hanging over her bed staring at her) “see how big she’s gotten?” and I’m amazed that this little girl… no longer the baby I knew… is my niece.  Her little face is relaxed and her soft blond hair splayed around her on the pillow.   Then mama takes me to the “new” baby’s room and he’s scrunched up in a kind of sprawled out way at the very top of his red race car bed (my brother later told me that he wishes he could have that bed... "all the decals on it are real... they are for real parts... Edelbrock, etc... isn't that cool?")  My nephew Torin has seriously blond hair, very fair skin and looks like a definite cross between my brother and his wife (which is a good thing... wouldn't want the kid to look like the next door neighbor or anything... tee hee!)

My S-I-L takes me into the master bedroom where my brother is sleeping and she wakes him so he can take his antibiotic, and at the same time greet me.  I gave him a hug and it was soooo good to see his face!  He called me “Fleeb” like he always has, and I called him “Face” like I always have, and the note of familiarity was very comforting.  I felt like I belonged… like this was as it should be. 

The next day, Tuesday, was spent around the house... I played with my niece and got to know my nephew.  Well, getting to know my nephew may be a bit ambitious for that first day, actually.  I met him... he hid from me and didn't even want to look at me.  I then attempted to ignore him... still saw everything he was doing, but I tried not to let him see me looking at him as it bothered him that this strange person was in his house, hugging and kissing his daddy, his sister, his mom and his grandma.  I think I was somewhat successful because it wasn't long before he approached me himself... I even received a personal invitation from Torin to "come and play with me" the following day.

My brother stayed home from work because of his tonsils being inflamed... his antibiotic wasn't working and he needed to consult with his doctor to find a remedy... I know he didn't want to feel sick with all the family there.  My S-I-L went on to work though, she had to finish up paying all her representatives so she could take off the rest of the week.

After the kids finished their naps (no easy task to get them to sleep with a stranger in the house... especially when it's "silly Aunt Edie" who tickles them and playes on the floor with them and who refuses to listen to "noooo... don't") my mom and I took them with us and we went to do a little food shopping for my sister and her family before their arrival on Wednesday.  We put the kids in a shopping cart with a car front... they got strapped in (no wandering when they're out with us) and I proceeded to entertain them as well as scoot here and there helping mom get almost everything on the list.  Of course, there were several more trips to the store over the next few days... you never get EVERYTHING the first time... or the second... or aparently the third either.  It's some kind of family gathering thanksgiving day rule or something.

Mom made dinner which turned out really good, and we wound down for the evening early... we knew that Wednesday would be hectic... my sister, b-i-l and three nephews were arriving as was my other brother and his girlfriend.  Mom and I settled in to watch some Law and Order, and finally my S-I-L got home from work... poor woman... she owns the business so had to tie up all the loose ends and do whatever she could to make sure there were no disasters the rest of the week.  I heard her go in to the kids rooms and check on them, and then she knocked on moms door and said good night to us.

The next morning my S-I-L was hustling and bustling around (as she does ALL THE TIME... I’m not kidding… you can’t set a cup down without her zeroing in on it and whisking it away to be washed, dried, and put away… you turn, cup whisked away, you complete the turn… where’s my cup?  Hmmm… I just had it a second ago… looking …. Looking… hey, S-I-L… did you see my cup?... voice trails off as she smiles and you KNOW… without her telling you that she’s struck again… it’s just too cute!)… anyway, she was going out to breakfast with her sister and brother in law and the kids, and I invited myself along… she was happy about it… I just invited myself to go out with her, she told me it was breakfast after I did that, and she invited me to breakfast.

We went to a favorite family haunt… I think it’s called Sketchers or something like that, anyway the kids played on the pool table (yup.. .ON the pool table… not the whole time, but tiny Torin did in fact walk the pool table… it was pretty funny) and they played with the other machines too.  One of them was a gun for shooting turkeys on a screen… it was amazing… Sage was a really good shot.  She should be on those episodes of cops where everyone is shooting rounds off and no one gets hurt… she’d at least hit her man… and she’s only 3!  The breakfast was fantastic, and the conversation witty and fun… I had a great time!

We spent the rest of the morning doing a bit of running around, and then went home.  I played with the kids, talked loads with mom and my brother, who didn't have to work, and my S-I-L.  We laughed a lot, and it was perfect.  I made the ham and cream cheese/chives rolls and put them in the fridge for the next day’s munching.  I also made some tortilla rolls to accompany dinner that night after everyone arrived.  The plan was to have a taco/burrito night... it's easy, yummy, and the kids can have cheese quesadillas and be happy.  My brother built a huge roaring fire in the fireplace and the house was toasty oasty warm.

Dang!  I’ve got to go and I don’t know if I’ll get to post more today or not…. I’ll try.  As for now, have a lovely day!  If I can’t get back later today I’ll attempt to continue tomorrow.  Probably easier when the posts are shorter anyway.  Lubba!

Grandpa is home now. He’s been home about a week or so I guess, and it’s very difficult for everyone who loves him to see how he is now. He left the hospital promising his sons and B and I, and all the doctors, that he would go to dialysis twice a week. He needs to in order to cleanse his system because his kidneys are not working... they work enough to allow him to pass water, but not enough to filter the poisons from his system. This causes his poisons to build up, which makes him weak, and confused, and encourages infections to thrive.

Grandpa went to dialysis once and because it was such a difficult procedure... getting him ready and out to the car, then the time his son had to wait around for him to be done, and then get him back into the car and home again... it was a 7 hour ordeal. He was left exhausted and feeling like a burden on his son... that’s all he sees. He doesn’t want to realize that the two or three days he had afterward where he was stronger... where his mind was clearer... where he could eat without being nauseous... he won’t acknowledge those positive results.

I think he’s just ready to die.... he’s tired, and he’s the type of man who has lived his life on his own terms... having to do this dialysis is too much like being told what to do, and his quality of life, even with the dialysis is not great.

Additionally I think that the knowledge that one of his sons (B’s dad) is dying of colon cancer... I think that he’d rather go before his son. Because his son has lived two years longer than the doctors said he would makes him think that maybe... just maybe... one day he’ll start to get better and better, and he’ll start to heal, and the colon cancer will just go away. I believe Grandpa would rather die believing that is possible.

B supports Grandpa’s decision to live the rest of his life as he chooses... on his terms. B grew up with such love for Grandpa... his dad wasn’t around much so he was raised a lot by his Grandpa... he believed then that Grandpa walked on water... still believes it. It’s just tearing him apart to see him in this debilitated state, but he’s being strong. B visits every single day... sometimes he’s there in time to help Grandpa with getting from one chair to another, sometimes just to watch part of a sports game on tv with him... commenting and remembering days gone by when he and Grandpa shared in sports actively.

Grandpa got B started in his first business... helped him own it outright, and tried to teach him how to run it successfully. Grandpa owned a book store which was well known and popular in the little town they lived in (which now is pretty big... too big for me anymore). He got the place next door for B, paid to rent it and get a bunch of pool tables and video games in there... to start B off. He tried to teach him how to run the business, how to handle the financial end of things, how to deal with customers and to promote the pool hall.

B was very young... 17 or 18 I think, and already he was married and the father of a baby girl. He was in college full time and running his business full time... not much time to be a good husband... too young to be one actually. However Grandpa spent a lot of time with B teaching him responsibility, and of course there was Grandma... strong and religious and always ready to be there... to help B raise his little family the best she could.

Grandma is ever hopeful that Grandpa will get better again, but I think she knows. She’s getting frailer all the time, much of the time her memory isn’t so great... from one minute to the next at times, and I think the only thing that keeps her going now is that she feels she needs to take care of her son who’s dying of cancer. Having her other two sons living there, working and taking care of the bills and shopping and doing laundry... that’s a great help and comfort to her, but it’s her son who’s laid up that takes her concentration and prayers. She sleeps in a recliner outside his bedroom door every single night... just in case he should call out needing her.

I am continuing to do whatever I can, whenever I can. I don’t visit every single day but often, and sometimes I get called in to help with Grandpa whenever B is tied up at work and can’t get there soon enough. I call out "Hi Grandpa" and he always smiles... he loves to hear me say "Grandpa", and comments on that often.

Tonight I got called in to help him get back into his chair. He’s hardly able to help with moving him from one place to another anymore, and he’d slipped out of his son’s hands while trying to get to his wheel chair to go to the bathroom... he was sitting on the floor in front of his recliner when I got there. I called out hello to him and he looked up and smiled and said "hey girl!" when I walked in the door. I told him I knew why he’d ended up on the floor and he said, oh? Why? I said he’d done it so he could get me to come over again as he’d missed my visit earlier in the day. He grinned... I think losing some of his embarrassment, and said I was exactly right.

I helped his son lift Grandpa back up into his wheel chair, and off they went to the bathroom. I talked to Grandma a few minutes until she went in there to make sure everything was ok. I read the paper for a bit (I soooo hate the paper... it’s always someone getting killed or some politician bilking his constituents out of money or some country getting all rowdy and setting off a bomb or something... I just try never to read it usually.) Once Grandpa was done and they came back out to the living room I helped get him back into his recliner.

Grandpa had tears in his eyes and said to me that I was a good girl. I said I just love him and not to think anything of it. I made a date with him to watch an old black and white movie with him on Thursday after I get off of work, and he seemed happy about it... especially when I told him how the old black and white movies are my favorites. Then he said he wanted me to be the first one to lay a wreath on his coffin when he died... the very first one... before his own family. His son acknowledged the request, and I said that of course I’d do whatever he wanted me to do. I don’t know how to think about that. I know, because of the way he said it, that it’s an honor of some kind... though I’m not sure the family will be too happy about that, though his son didn’t seem to care.

I don’t know much about death customs. What people do, or expect to be done. I know I want to donate my body to science, and then, if it’s possible, after they’re done with me, I’d like to be cremated and my ashes scattered over the ocean. I know I want my friends and family to have a party... a happy occasion where they remember the good times and eat and drink and sing and dance... spending time living and being together and happy, rather than wasting time mourning me. I don’t believe much is accomplished by mourning... I know it’s necessary for closure... for the living to be able to come to terms with the loss of a loved one, but I don’t want people sad at my death for too long. I’d rather they be glad they’re alive and that they cherish their lives more so having been faced with the death of a loved one.

Maybe that’s idealistic of me, but I think that even if I died tonight, in my sleep, that I’ve had a really great life... the good and the bad of it... and I’m glad I’ve had what I have had. I’m glad to have known love... to have wonderful family members... to have done what I’ve done and seen what I’ve seen... to have danced and laughed and cut up... to have played the viola and been able to sing in choirs... for everything I’ve ever been able to do.... and everyone I’ve ever known.

Do I wish for death? No. Of course not. There are still so many things I want to do and places I want to see, but I’m grateful for all up to this point. If I were given a choice I’d of course fight for life with everything in me... to my last ounce of strength... to the last conscious thought... to my very last breath... if given the chance. I think most people would.

Yesterday was the two year anniversary of the death of my paternal Grandmother.  She was called “Abuela” (the Spanish word for Grandmother) by her grandchildren… she has fourteen grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren.  Her children called her “Mami”.  She was a very special person and is missed badly by everyone, but especially by my sister BL, and by my Aunt M, who cared for Abuela for the last three years of her life.

 

Abuela was a very interesting and amazing person, she was a true Lady, in every sense of the word.  She married my Grandfather against the wishes of her family, and was faithful to him until her death, even though he died years before she did, of lung cancer.  She worked hard to help support her five children… my mom can remember her working on the Staten Island Ferry for years… always on her feet.

 

Abuela was the kind of woman who was always proper, always correct in her behavior and in how she taught first her children, and then her grandchildren.  I don’t remember ever seeing her without her makeup on.  She would wake before everyone, take her shower, put her makeup on, get dressed, and have breakfast ready before getting the rest of us up.  Her nails were always filed and clean.  Her clothing was always pressed and proper… she never wore revealing garments of any kind… she never walked barefoot… she was a Lady… an aristocratic Lady of a fine family with very fine manners, and she carried it with her all of her life and was an amazing example to the rest of us.

 

In all of this, she was not stuck up.  My Abuela was kind, and caring, and always solicitous and charming to anyone she came into contact with… no matter what they did for a living or where they came from.  Even if she had reason to not exactly like someone, she never embarrassed them or made them feel bad.  She revered education and always encouraged her children, grandchildren and later, her great-grandchildren to  go to school, and to college... to learn everything we could in life.

 

I remember, as a child, myself and my sister BL went to live with her in Puerto Rico.   I was 9 and BL was 7, about to turn 8.  My dad arranged with mom to have us for one year… he was supposed to have us, but he sent us to his mom, Abuela.  This was a normal practice in our family… my Abuela had been raising my Aunt H’s kids from time to time already, and so now she had Dad’s kids, and as the years went on, she raised all the rest for periods of time as well.

 

Abuela put BL and I into Catholic School… my teacher was Sra Wood… I remember her to this day, and when I went to Puerto Rico over two years ago, to see Abuela before she died, Sra Wood still remembered me.  Neither BL nor I spoke Spanish at that time… we’d been being raised predominantly by my mother who doesn’t speak it at all.  We were young enough, however, to be able to learn Spanish quickly so that we could attend school and actually do well there.  My sister learned Spanish so quickly and used her English so infrequently that by the time we returned to my mom, a year and a half later, BL barely could speak English any more.

 

Abuela made sure our lives were well ordered and consistent.  Every morning Abuela would wake us to get ready for school, and tell us to hurry up so we could eat breakfast first.  We would have cereal, or Farina (a much finer version of the South’s Grits, and eaten with sugar and cinnamon… not butter and salt and pepper), or sometimes she would make us an egg and toast… and always juice or milk.  We’d have our clothes laid out the night before, pressed and clean, our shoes were shined and waiting, and our hair was always combed and ribboned or barretted.  We had our back packs for our books, and of course our little purses for our lunch and milk money.

 

We would walk the several blocks to the Catholic School, and we’d play in the school yard for a little bit before classes.  Whenever there were school events we were almost always involved.  I twirled a baton in the marching band, and I remember when Abuela bought me my very own baton.  It was shiny silver and had red and blue tassels on the ends… I would practice all the time… walking to and from school, and on the sidewalk out front of the house.  I'll never forget marching with our band and wearing my little uniform and me twirling like crazy... so proud that I was a part of it all.  I did well too!

 

I was a bit of a rebel even back then, and sometimes I didn’t much like the orderliness of our lives… I didn’t like always being told what to do, and I didn’t like having to do chores and what I considered to be unnecessary “girly” stuff.  For instance, one of the things we had to do every night, after getting home from school, doing our homework, eating dinner, and then playing with our Barbie’s for a while was to take our showers and wash out our underwear from the day and hang them in the bathroom.  I hated the washing out of the underwear, and I had to be reminded to do it almost daily.  My sister loved the order, loved the consistency, and loved that she was of a well known and respected family in our town in Puerto Rico… even the Mayor was our cousin.  None of that meant anything to me, and I pretty much refused to be entirely “proper”.

 

I was a child and was supposed to be “seen and not heard”… but I was too advanced for my age, and my mom had raised me, well, all her children, to believe that age didn’t matter… we were people with feelings and personalities of our own and we were allowed to have a “voice” in my mom’s house…that was not something I found easy to curb, or give up, in my Abuela’s house.  I was accustomed to speaking my mind, no matter how inappropriate my comments were… Abuela tried to help me curb that tendency… to think before I spoke, and then, to rarely speak among adults unless I was first spoken to.

 

Abuela was patient with me.  She consistently tried to get me to sit like a lady in a chair, rather than just “plop” myself into it.  She suggested that I laugh more “ladylike” rather than the hearty, “too loud” laugh that came naturally to me… after all, ladies were quiet and not loud and boyish.  Abuela tried to get me to be careful with my clothing… to care whether I “matched” or not… to “do” my hair, and my nails.  She would try to get me to sit still rather than fidgeting all the time, to cross my feet at the ankles and keep my knees together and my skirt pulled down over them.  She tried to get me to remember to say "thank you" and "please", and "excuse me" at the right times.  I was a handful, I’m sure.

 

Religion was very important to her as well.  Up until that time my sister and I had not been exposed to “religion”… .my mom was not into it… we didn’t go to church, and we didn’t lead “godly” lives either… think of the late 60’s and the 70’s… godliness was not something that was very popular back then… it was all about “free love”, and “make peace not war”.

 

While we lived in Puerto Rico, Abuela made sure my sister and I went to church every Sunday.  We got dressed up “proper”, and we’d walk the block from our house to the Catholic Church square... careful not to get dirty.  There we would mingle with the other neighborhood children, calmly, like little ladies, until it was time for us all to file into the church.  I was a member of the choir for a while, and we’d file up the narrow wooden stairs to the balcony where we sang the hymns.

 

We were in awe of the big statues of Mary and of Jesus that were along the walls, standing on pedestals in the church.  People would kiss the toe of the Jesus statue as they came in or left the aisle… (when we went to visit Abuela in 2004 we visited that Church… Jesus’ toe was completely worn away from all that kissing).  We even attended classes so that we could be baptized… it was unusual for children of our age to be baptized as most of the time in Latin families the children are baptized as babies... we weren't because mom wouldn't hear of it.  I remember our lovely long white dresses with lace overlay that were made for us, and I remember the ceremony… so long... and the Priest speaking Latin… ashes in a cross on our foreheads… holy water sprinkled on us and holy water crosses on our foreheads and cheeks… our Godmothers and Godfathers standing up beside us and our “religious” names being given to us.  (I don’t remember mine, but I’m sure “Mary” is in there somewhere.)

 

Abuela made sure we had a healthy respect for God and all he did for us… we had life because of him.  She taught us our prayers and we would kneel beside our beds each night to pray.  She made sure we knew what Hell was, and that by doing certain things we would surely get there.  She also made sure we knew that God was a loving God, and that if we asked for forgiveness, no matter what we did, or how many times we did it, we would be forgiven, and we could start fresh and new in His eyes… over and over and over again… as long as we were truly sincere in our asking for forgiveness.

 

Abuela tried to teach me that I didn’t have to let people know that I “knew” something… especially if the other person was proud of their own knowledge, or needed to feel superior to be happy… I would be better liked if I let others be “better” than me at stuff… or let them think they were.  This was a lesson she tried to teach me when I was all grown up too.  She would say that I shouldn’t let my “man” know that I knew about cars because he needed to feel like he was taking care of me… he needed to be “in charge” of that kind of “man” stuff, for example.

 

My sister fell right in line, immediately.  She adored the structure… something she had been missing at home.  Our lives were very free at home with our hippie mom and step-dad.  Our house was often filled with others partying with mom… often many of them were artists and they would take turns drawing us children, or each other.  Clothing was loose and many times very revealing or see through (and sometimes optional).  Bodies were just… bodies.  The feeling was that everyone has basically the same thing… we’re not born clothed… there’s nothing to be ashamed of or feel funny about. 

 

My sister didn’t do well with that concept and was often embarrassed by what others were wearing or how they were acting (we lived in a hippie home), and she tried to dress properly (by what she saw the other little girls in the neighborhood doing).  I was the opposite… I liked the freedom to do as I wanted when I wanted… no real bed time… no “go do your homework”… which I didn’t need anyway as I loved school.  I could wear what I wanted, talk to whom I wanted about whatever I wanted… I could be an adult… at age 8.  I remember thinking I was so grown up back then… a thought which was taken away from me when we lived with Abuela and which was very difficult for me to accept.

 

When my sister graduated high school upstate New York she went to live with Abuela again, and she enrolled in College in Puerto Rico… I had left home a year earlier and was living in New York City by then, in my own apartment, working to support myself.  BL once again became very close to Abuela, and they would pore through family pictures for hours… Abuela telling stories and explaining them, and BL just eating it up.

 

BL developed a routine there and was happy and content… Abuela was proud of BL and they continued growing closer and closer… a relationship I never did have.  I could have, but I was too rebellious to do the “right thing” all the time.  Still, Abuela didn’t judge me or tell me I was living a wrong life, or that I should be doing something else.  Whenever I saw her she was interested to know if I were happy… how my job was… what I did in my free time… and did I have a boyfriend, and did he treat me well.

 

The last time I saw Abuela she was basically bed-ridden.  Her intestines were messed up, her veins were hardened in her legs, and she was in pain a lot.  All of the family had flown in from various states to meet in Puerto Rico for a kind of family reunion… a special time for Abuela when she could still appreciate it and join in occasionally.  We all were there because we knew she was going to die, and we had to say our goodbyes… we didn’t actually say that to her, but Abuela knew it, I’m sure.  She was always a very intelligent woman, but as she was also such a proper lady, she didn’t mention it either, and she never showed a “feeling sorry for herself” attitude.

 

One of the best nights of our stay that May was one of the last ones we were all together.  My Aunt T had made a roast pork, a “pernil”.  She had also made yellow rice and gandules (a type of chic pea bean thing)… which we all adore.  We also had salad of course, avocado (from Abuela’s trees in the back yard), and fried platano’s (banana’s).  They had ordered some authentic, I’ve never tasted better than the ones in Puerto Rico, pork and chicken, pasteles (these are flat burrito type things, without the tortilla… the “dough” on the outside is very smooth and thick and has a flavor all of it’s own, and are filled with seasoned pork or chicken or beef, then wrapped in banana tree leaves and tied with string… then they’re boiled in water until the outside is firm enough to hold all the insides in when you unwrap them and plop them onto your plate… some people eat them with ketchup, but I like them plain... they are an acquired taste though.)   We all ate well that night, and Abuela came out and sat at the table with us.

 

My Aunt T had made one of her famous cakes… there really is no way to describe the incredible moistness… the incomparable flavor… the smoothness and creaminess of the icing… my dad I think said it best when, after taking a bite of the cake, exclaimed out loud, looking up at us from his plate, his eyes wide behind his glasses… “Oh my God!”  While everyone had cake it was almost impossible to talk of anything else but that cake… the exclamations of pure ecstasy were heard often and the sentiment shared by all, each and every time.

 

Afterward we sat around the dining room and the living room… some on chairs, some of us on the floor, and Abuela and her children (my dad, uncle, and three aunts) told stories of their childhood… and sometimes ours too (the grandchildren).  There was lots of laughter and good hearted ribbing going on, and the looks that were exchanged by all were ones that spoke of how aware we all were that this time was precious… it was so incredibly, amazingly perfect.

 

I’m getting goose bumps as I remember this part… and my eyes are filling with tears...

 

Somehow they started remembering the songs of their childhood, and how Abuela used to sing to them.  My father’s favorite song was brought up and he and my aunts began to sing it.  My Abuela began to sing with them, and as her raspy, soft voice was heard, one by one of the others dropped out until it was only her singing.  She sang in a voice so filled with love and tender remembering that we all had tears running down our cheeks.  She sang each of her children’s favorite songs…tunes of years gone by... familiar to us all.  Each time the song was begun with one or more of her children singing it with her and ending in her singing by herself, her tender voice filling the room although she didn’t sing loudly.  The rest of us were so quiet… not one tiny sound interrupted Abuela.

 

When she was done singing the entire room was quiet for a minute or so.  Each of us lost in our own happy memories… yet all too soon remembering why we were all there together… all too soon sharing looks that spoke of love and memories… and fear of what we knew was going to follow one day soon.

 

My aunts decided to cheer everyone up and started singing some of their favorite songs from the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s.  Most of us grandchildren knew many of them and joined in happily.  The evening ended with my Aunts getting up and doing the dance moves that went with the song “Love will Keep Us Together”… which were really great and we laughed and sang along… until Abuela actually got up and joined them.   She stood out in front of them… the three girls lined up behind her, and they sang one verse together… Abuela was doing the moves right along with her daughters.  The rest of us clapped and cheered and cherished the moment… it is a memory that I have vividly in my head as I write this… and thank goodness I have pictures too!  (I’ll try to find them and post some of them with this… maybe in a new album up top.)

 

The next day people started going home, and each of us said goodbye to Abuela before we left… knowing it was probably for the last time… in person anyway.

 

That was in May of 2004.  Abuela died October 2^nd, 2004, shortly after my dad arrived by her bedside… he flew right away from Las Vegas as soon as he knew… she waited for him.  All of her children were physically around her at the time she passed away.  She had been in so much pain, and she was struggling to breathe and unsettled… but when she heard them all… when she knew all her children were there, she relaxed.  They were soothing her with their voices… telling her they were fine, that they loved her, and that it was ok for her to let go now.  She slipped away quietly… all her children touching her… petting her… talking to her softly. 

 

The world should stop for a moment.  It has to… the passing of such an incredible person deserves no less… this was the sentiment expressed by my sister BL  We had been talking earlier in the day… knowing Abuela was about to die… hoping Dad could get there in time because if he didn’t he’d never forgive himself.  My sister said it should be somehow expressed by some cosmic event… that the loss of Abuela would leave such an emptiness that it would affect not only her family and friends but the whole universe.  I agreed, and we kept in touch throughout the rest of the day… waiting.

 

I knew it when she passed, even though I was here in Georgia, and she was in Puerto Rico.  I was driving down the road with my girlfriend in the passenger seat and she exclaimed “Edie… look at the moon!”  I did, and my breath caught in my chest.  The moon was bright blood red… the sky dark around it… no stars visible.  I cried out “NO… don’t show me that!  Why did you show me that?! My Abuela… she’s… she’s… she’s dying!”  I had almost said “she’s dead”, but I didn’t want it to be true… I couldn’t say that… no one had told me that.  It was a little after 10 pm at that time.

 

We arrived at the store and had been shopping for about 15 minutes when I received the phone call on my cell.  I began pacing the store, crying (looking back I must have looked like a lunatic to the other patrons).  My Aunt M told me what had happened, and how Abuela had slipped away, surrounded by her children, and I kept saying “I knew it!  I knew it when it happened!”  They told me it had happened just a little bit after 10 pm.

 

I got off the phone, my girlfriend was patting me on the shoulder… trying to comfort me… I got myself together and stopped crying.  I looked up, and one of my good friends, she herself is a minister, was standing there.  I hadn’t seen her in a few months, and co-incidentally she had called me earlier in the day just to remind me that she loved me and to make sure I was ok.  When I saw her there my eyes filled with tears again, and I rushed into her arms.  She held me and comforted me, and I told her the story of the moon.  She said it was God’s way of letting me know… of making it something special… cosmic… that it was a way to include me, and that Abuela was not suffering any more.

 

She left, and we checked out of the store.  As we were walking out of the store doors my girlfriend said softly, “Edie, look up”.  There… bright and clear, was the moon… big as it’s ever been, and the sky was filled with bright stars… so bright that they shone through the parking lot lights as if the lights were not there… the moon so bright that it almost seemed daylight.  I smiled, relaxed, all of a sudden feeling content… feeling comforted and at peace.  See, I knew Abuela was ok now.  I knew, deep inside me, without a shadow of a doubt, that Abuela was not in pain anymore, and that she was trying to let me know she was ok.

 

I called my sister and told her what had happened and she too was comforted.  We cried together on the phone, but at the same time we were glad that Abuela was ok now... not in pain any more, and that a cosmic event had indeed happened and marked the passing of this amazing woman.

 

We miss her.  My sister goes through serious pain each year on the anniversary of Abuela’s passing.  Our Dad is living in Vegas too, and they get together each year on the anniversary… they reminisce and spend time re-living some of the good times.  I cry a little, and I smile too… I remember the woman who never aged… the woman with life in her eyes and a gentleness and ladylike manner that we all wished to emulate.  I remember how my name sounded in her voice, and I thank God that I had the chance to know her.

 

Grandpa is still in the hospital, and though he’s doing better physically, he’s exhausted mentally.  I guess at 88 years old there’s just a limit to how much you can take.  I believe the worst part for him is being separated from his wife.  He’s always asking “Where’s my wife?”  He talks about her with so much love and tenderness.

 

He’s told us the story of how they met at a skating rink, she was 15 and he was 19, and she had shown up with a cousin of his, one of his favorite cousins as a matter of fact, and although he was mad at this cousin on that day, seeing she had this strange but beautiful girl with her, he approached anyway.  When his cousin saw him on the way she told Grandma that Grandpa was “just comin’ over to see you ‘cause I know he’s still fussin’ with me”, and she introduced them.

 

After that Grandpa and Grandma met often at the skating rink… she was too young to be allowed to go out and meet a boy on her own.  They fell in love quickly, but Grandpa left to go live somewhere else for a while (I think it was Tennessee, but I’m not sure), and Grandma just figured that it was over… she was very sad, but if Grandpa didn’t want her then so be it.  Grandpa got involved with another girl while away, and actually got engaged to her.  I’ve got to get the details straight, but somehow Grandma pulled him back… he left the other girl flat and went back to Georgia to seriously court Grandma.

 

Grandma was 16 by then and Grandpa was 20, and they decided to get married.  They knew they’d not get permission, so they eloped to “Walhalla”… where ever that is.  Grandma was supposed to be in school but she sneaked off with Grandpa and they got married.  They didn’t have a honey moon or anything because Grandma had to get back home.  I asked Grandma if she was scared to tell her mom she was married and she said “yes I was terrified… I knew mama would be so mad!” I asked her how long it took to tell her and she said “a long while… do ya know what she said when I did tell her?”  I said no, what?  Grandma said, with a smile on her face and a glance at Grandpa which spoke volumes of love, “She said she weren’t surprised.” 

 

Grandma carries an old Polaroid picture of Grandpa, when he was “young and handsome… see here?” and she presents it to whoever will look.  She always follows up with “well now, he’s STILL handsome, don’t ya think?” and a look of love and pride fills her sweet face as she looks over at him.  Grandpa just kind of chuckles at this and says “Awww …” in a pleased and kind of shy way.

 

They have spent 66 years together and have “had a good life” as they are fond of saying.  Until now, they’ve never spent one night apart.  This has been a huge scare for Grandma and I think she’s only able to cope with it by getting a little confused.  She sometimes forgets where she is, and where he is… she talks about events of the past as if she were doing them now, or just did.  She remembers here and there, and then she’ll call me or B and ask how we think things are going, she wants to hear that Grandpa is coming home… she wants us to say he’s going to be ok, that the doctors are “fixing it”.  I try to be positive and tell her that he’s doing better, and that if all continues to go well he’ll go home “in a few days”… I hate that I can’t be more specific.

 

B and I continue to sit the “night shift” with Grandpa, and it’s quite an experience.  In the past I’ve stayed at hospitals with my mom whenever she had to be there for an extended period, but this is different. 

 

Each night I go in there with a positive attitude and I’m smiling and teasing Grandpa, and his spirits are lifted… visibly.  He loves it when I call him "Grandpa"... he says it makes him feel better, and it must because every time I do a sweet smile goes across his face, and sometimes he chuckles softly.  Last night he said to B “Well, she certainly has spirit, doesn’t she?”  B laughed and agreed.

 

By morning I’m exhausted, and by the time I go home all I want to do is cry.  I hate that Grandpa can’t get himself on to the potty… I hate that he’s so frustrated all the time because just changing position on the bed is a major effort, and he needs help with that too.  It saddens me to hear how much he wants to have his wife there and how he knows that she’s “confused” lately… he’s afraid she’s going to forget who he is.

 

I cry all the way home, and then I try to do what’s needed for the day.  I give my pets all the love I can with whatever energy I’ve got left, and then I have to go again… to work or to pay bills or go shopping… there’s always something.  I love Grandpa, and I want him to get better, but it’s going to be a long time, and he’s never going to be self-sufficient again… and he knows it.

 

Tonight he’s getting to see Grandma.  She’s going to be there until 8 or 9, and B just called me to tell me he went over there and they’re both so happy to be together, even if it’s just for a little while.  I could hear Grandma in the background… talking up a storm to Grandpa and her voice just bubbling over with happiness.

 

I hope tonight will be a good one.  Grandpa had another dialysis treatment today so he’s exhausted, plus the time he’s spending with Grandma… I’m sure he’s going to sleep well tonight... he needs it.  I’ll be up watching him though… and I’ll be praying that he feels tons better in the morning… that removing all those poisons in his system makes a difference to him… and that he recognizes it and wants to continue treatment.  I also hope that his doctor decides it's time to give him that pacemaker now... once that is accomplished Grandpa can go home.  He needs to be home with Grandma.  She needs him to be there too... the rest of their lives, however long that is, needs to be spent together... they just belong to eachother and should not have to be apart... that kind of love is so rare... whatever time is left has just GOT to be time together.