Post by Magalucia on Jan 17, 2008 13:54:53 GMT -5
My grandmother is one of those rare people with a life-long, boundless capacity for joy. For years she was my vacation buddy. We drank cold Bohemia's while our feet were buried in warm sand in Mismaloya. We were photographed with iguanas on our heads in Guayabitos. We climbed the outside wall of a rural rodeo and raised our legs as the bulls ran by beneath our legs as we sat on the ledge somewhere between Tepic and Mazatlan. We spied on a bikini contest from our hotel balcony in Puerto Vallarta and mimicked the drunk spring-breakers. We danced. Everywhere we went we danced and we sang. My favorite trip was when,at the nice young age of 85,my grandma mooned me while dancing in the living room of the Velas condo.
I long to shut off this screen, board a plane and steal my grandma from the pain; take her away from the needles, the prodding doctors, the loneliness. I want to put a beer in her hand, a sun hat on her head and let her eat what she wants, sing what she wants, cry if she wants. I want her to tell me stories of the Cristero Rebellion, of her youth in La Huerta, of her dressing up like a man to follow my grandpa to the local cantina when they were first married. I want her to remind me that when I was little she thought I was a holy terror and somehow I grew up and became her best friend. I want her to feel the gentle breeze on her face as the sun sets and smile thinking that she will soon be with old man Abraham. I want to say goodbye and see her smile. I want to kiss her forehead and feel her squeeze my hand. I want to lay next to her as she dies.
I long to shut off this screen, board a plane and steal my grandma from the pain; take her away from the needles, the prodding doctors, the loneliness. I want to put a beer in her hand, a sun hat on her head and let her eat what she wants, sing what she wants, cry if she wants. I want her to tell me stories of the Cristero Rebellion, of her youth in La Huerta, of her dressing up like a man to follow my grandpa to the local cantina when they were first married. I want her to remind me that when I was little she thought I was a holy terror and somehow I grew up and became her best friend. I want her to feel the gentle breeze on her face as the sun sets and smile thinking that she will soon be with old man Abraham. I want to say goodbye and see her smile. I want to kiss her forehead and feel her squeeze my hand. I want to lay next to her as she dies.