Dulce Recuerdos de mi Abuela: Ramona Gonzalez (Jan. 6, 1906 - May 5, 1994)

May 5 marks the anniversary of my grandmother's passing from this physical world.

I lived with my grandmother the last five years of her life. Every morning right at 6:45, she would get up, boil some water, make a cup of instant coffee, and sit down and eat a pan dulce. While playing cards later in the afternoons, she would look at me, a wild eyed and energetic college student, and confess "You know I steal energy from you." Silence. The click from the edges of the cards being placed on the table would resonate through the kitchen. Not once did she look up from her game of solitare. I glanced at her, noticing the white curtains catching the morning breeze behind her. I would answer, "Ah, si, that´s nice, grandma." I thought that she was a bit strange for saying that, but then again, I felt like taking a nap every day at around 1 pm. Hmmm, maybe she was.

My husband, Alex, says that we live in a disposable society, and that we keep the crap and throw away the valuable stuff. He comments, "As an American society, we are in such a bad place because we throw away our old people letting them rot in old folks homes. Our actions are a sad commentary on our society." Our elders are our connections to the past, and we break that connection when we forget about our roots. I will never forget my abuela, Ramona. She had a gift of knowing how to use language, and could hold a group of people in suspense with her cuentos and chistes.

The sweetest memory I have of my grandmother is my 21st birthday. For my birthday, I wanted to have a get together with my friends at my house where I was staying with my grandmother. Worried that grandma would not want to stick around, I asked her if there was anything I could do to accommodate her. She said no, and that she wanted to meet my friends. The evening of my birthday arrived and my friends started to arrive. Perched in her regular seat at the head of the table, my grandmother was the focus of attention as my friends entered the small house. Each of them approached her and greeted her with the utmost respect. After the food, and after the singing of "Happy Birthday," I cut the cake.

We all sat down at the table and watched as my grandmother said to my Swedish friend Tina, "Give me your hand." She put down her fork piled with cake and extended her hand to my grandmother. She turned my friend´s hand over, palm up, and brushed her hand over it. My grandmother murmured, "Hmmm, muy interestante," and a hush fell over my friends. "What is it? What do you see?" Tina demanded, with eyes wide ready to peer into her future. Grandma preceded to read the lines zigzagging on her hand and fingers. That evening, each of my friends touched my grandmother's hands letting her smooth over their palm and tell them about their future. With each hand she touched, she told a story, and all my friends listened. I think they forgot that it was my birthday party. But that didn't matter. My friends enjoying my grandmother's wisdom was the greatest gift.

Esa noche viene a mi mente hoy dia.

Abuela
- Cristina D. Ramirez

The fragile days I spent with you
the last years of your days
rushed by like the currents of el Río Bravo.
No estas aqui.

Puedo oír tus cuentos y dichos
In my mind
Like echoes through a canyon.
The memories of your words mix with the smells of guiso y calavasas
cooking on the stove.
The knowledge you imparted with me
chases away my ignorance
like the first signs of spring's arrival
on a winter’s afternoon;
Your wisdom resides in me.
Pero tu, no estas aqui.

Before, I would not let the wisdom in,
I thought it to be old-fashioned,
A tattered book with yellowed edges,
abandoned on a shelf unread.

Abuela, me has dejado un gran plato
servido con palabras y memorias
De tu juventud.

Abuela, I feel you now,
Como el sol en las espaldas
De una mujer sin blusa.
I embrace my memory of you
Like a child embraces her mother
For the last time.
Abuela, si estas aqui.